"It's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got..."

So I'm back at Brandeis after a long break.

Yesterday felt like running the gauntlet. Returning to my chosen solitude on the same day as the anniversary of my father's death just felt cruel. There was no relief in the return. Just the familiar silence settling around me as I shut the door to my room.

I'm writing only to keep myself from finishing the novel I started yesterday. A novel I have burned through because I've been in here alone most of the day. The number of pages remaining has dwindled alarmingly quickly. Sometimes I hate being a fast reader.

My classes are mostly in order for tomorrow. The morning will begin at 10:40 with a yoga class in which I am not formally enrolled. So the day will begin with a contest of wills. Me against the teacher. Who will win? Who knows. Following yoga I will head to a Spanish class, and then Human Rights in a Global Perspective. I should be really excited about the last one, but I'm not excited about anything now. If not for dinner with Emily and Jenn, I could easily have gone all day without speaking a word to anyone.

I titled this post optimistically. Clearly I don't have what I want right now. I just need to find it in myself to want what I've got. What I've got is an incredible opportunity to further my learning, something that has always been important to me. I just have to keep repeating that to myself. Soon, classes will pick up and Spring Awakening will begin and I won't have time to think this way. I hope.

What awaits in the future, though, does not make this moment any less lonely. I'm trying to tune my focus to things that at the very least make my mind move in interesting ways, even if they can't make me happy. I should write down blocking notes for the show I am about to direct. I should read the provided syllabi for upcoming classes. I should...but I don't want to. I just want to be at home.

Friends

So Emily and I had dinner tonight with our friend other friend Jenn. Emily mentioned how she likes to read my Facebook profile because I always have amusing statuses (stati?) and people always comment all over them. She said she used to think that people were just fake-Facebook nice to me and that they couldn't actually love me that much in REAL life.

But then she visited WV and saw that my friends so, in fact, really love me that much. People freaking leap on me when I enter a room. Literally. I have the bruises.

I'm just sharing this because it really made me smile. Sometimes I forget how much my friends love me. I never forget how much I miss them, I just have to occasionally be reminded that the love flows both ways. Thanks Em, for reminding me. Even though you've met them all of once :)

Update

I was pretty good about blogging every day there for a bit. Sometimes more than once a day. Because sometimes being alone leads to great introspective thoughts that weaves itself into insightful prose and relieves the inner tension besides. But then you find all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on youtube and POOF! introspection gone in favor of trashy internet television.

So, an update on my life. I am like 90% certain that I want to double major in Anthropology and Creative Writing. Yay life choices. Don't ask me what I want to, you know, DO with those majors. I don't have to know that yet. I like to write. And I like to study people. That can be enough for the moment.

I dressed as a watermelon for Halloween. A sexy watermelon. That's right. A sexy watermelon. See, I realized AFTER Halloween that I liked the costume because it took the idea of a sexy Halloween costume and mocked it. I mean, there is nothing at all sexy about a watermelon. But someone at the Garment District (costume store in Boston) had the idea to manufacture a skanky little watermelon dress that happened to look great on me. So...I wasn't being a run of the mill slut. I was a slut making an ironic statement about slutty costumes. That's right. Think about THAT.

What else? I went to a meeting for one of the theatre groups on campus. One of the girls who hangs lights with me (Elana) is on the board for Freeplay, and she encouraged me to come. Freeplay specializes in artistically interpreted plays used to make a social statement. Fun, ya? And they need directors. And also writers. Both of which are services I can offer. I think I'm going to try to direct Wedekind's original Spring Awakening(not the Sheik musical, the old one) next semester. I already found someone who potentially wants to stage manage for me. So...potential fun to be had.

It's autumn in Boston. Obviously, it's beautiful. The trees are on fire, and there are crunchy leaves to step on everywhere I go. At night, the campus lights illuminate the yellow leaves from beneath, creating an incredible contrast to the deep blue of the sky. It's so beautiful. It's the time of year that makes me think of pumpkins, and apples, and long walks in the dark with my friends as we try to take advantage of the last moments of warmth in the air.

Hope you all are enjoying your autumn!

Arts Writing

So, I went to an improv comedy show tonight at Brandeis. For anyone not aware, improv(isation) is a form of theatre in which there is no script, nothing prepared at all. The actors just have to think on their feet and go with the flow. It can either be really cool or tank really tragically.

The show I attended mostly fell into the tragic tanking category. Their timing was off, the cast kept laughing at their own jokes, and their humor was really just sort of cheap.

The reason I'm writing clearly is not to praise this troupe. Actually they really don't have much to do with the story. The crux of this is that at the show, I was sitting next to a reporter from the Justice (Brandeis student produced newspaper) who was taking mad notes the whole time. I happened to peek at the notes (hey, I'm considering Journalism. It's not creeping. It's studying.) and was shocked at how harshly this reporter was eviscerating the show.

My first thoughts were in defense of this troupe, they worked hard for this! They're up there performing a show! Then I thought, wait a minute, I don't think they're any good either. Why do I have a problem with this reporter's notes?

Then it hit me. The reason why I will never be an arts reporter. Are you ready for this?

I'm an artist. I'm an actor. I know exactly what it feels like to be up there sweating under the lights, speaking words that seem to come from somewhere deep inside you that you didn't even know existed before. I know exactly how much time, effort, energy, and heart goes into giving a production everything you have, and I know exactly how it feels to be told that it's not enough. Your best wasn't good enough. And you sit there and you put your head in your hands and you beat yourself up and think "What did we do wrong?" until you're dizzy. Then you go home, cry for a night, then go back out and do it all again.

Yes, everyone gets bad reviews. No, not all productions are amazing nor do they all deserve audiences.

But I will not be the one responsible for crushing the dreams of a creative team. I couldn't do it. Art and creativity are too important to discourage anyone from trying their hand at it.

That is all.

On Rejection

That's right kids. Lights Down, my baby (my beloved play that I wrote and got to direct and decided to send to a publisher...) was rejected by Playscripts' Inc. It's a sad thing. I'm very disappointed. I worked hard on Lights Down, and Playscripts' rejected it with a form e-mail. Not even a personal note telling me what was wrong with it. Just a generic, "we don't want it" sort of letter. Thanks for crushing my dreams Playscripts' Inc. Thanks lots.

BUT upon further reflection, I have come to this realization.

The Beatles were rejected once.
J.K. Rowling was rejected NINE TIMES.
Stephen King reportedly has enough rejection letters to paper a room.

Quite frankly, Lights Down has never been in better company.

So I asked the magnificent G (who originally recommended Playscripts') if he knew of any other publishing companies who look at stuff from young new playwrights and he suggested Brooklyn Publishers. I submitted Lights Down last night.

And just a note to Playscripts' Inc, WHEN I MAKE MY MILLIONS AS A WRITER, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST ONES INVITED TO BITE ME.

That is all.

Have a nice day.

A Year

Or very nearly one.

Brendan my dear, nearly and entire year has passed since I got the phone call. That one horrible phone call. Lizz told me you had...I don't even know what phrase to use. "Committed suicide" sounds too...technical, too detached. But "killed yourself" sounds juvenile. I don't know what to call it. I don't want to call it anything.

But she called me, and I slid down the wall in my dorm hallway. Cell service died, because that's what concrete does to cell service. I just sat there on the floor, staring at my knees, unable to believe it. I called Lizz back and we talked for another minute, but neither of us knew what to say.

I walked back into the lounge on my hall(where I had previously been studying) and sat down like nothing had happened. I just stared at my computer, at all the messages scrolling down Facebook. Messages that I now understood. Messages that made me..numb inside. A few of my friends came in and I finally found my words. "One of my high school friends...committed suicide...this morning."

I remember that it was the most beautiful sunny day. Cliched though it is, I sat in my favorite seat by the window and looked out and wondered how the world could not be crying for the loss of you, who were so young and so loved.

So loved, Brendan. It's been nearly one whole year and people still write on your Facebook wall. All the time.

I'm so sorry Brendan. I'm sorry we hadn't talked in a long time. I'm sorry you didn't know how much you meant to me. I'm sorry. I am so very sorry. You touched so many of our lives. Maybe if we had let you know it, you would still be with us.

The rest of that day I was in a daze. I didn't know what to do. My roommates left me alone. I turned off the lights and laid down on my top bunk and stared at the ceiling and thought about you and remembered you and did all the things I thought you were supposed to do when someone dies.

I felt so cut off from everyone. All of our friends at home could grieve together, and there I was, stuck in Boston.

I was so terrified I was going to miss your funeral. I tried my absolute hardest to get my flight rescheduled, but I couldn't do it. I ended up rushing directly from the airport to the church, getting in late. But it didn't matter. As soon as I got there I was crying. Crying so hard I could barely see how packed the church was, how tear-streaked everyone else looked.

I think I'll always remember your funeral. And the day I found out you had died. Some things just don't go away.

You are in my thoughts a lot Brendan. Even now, nearly one year past, I still think of you nearly every day. You are so near to my heart boy. And I bet you didn't even know it.

I hope you found your peace. And I hope you can see how much we all miss you down here. Love you forever kid.

Quincy Square Market

Go there. It's freaking amazing.

Emily and I went on a Halloween costume searching adventure this past weekend and part of our adventure was dinner at Quincy Square Market. What a cool place.

It's a total tourist trap, first of all. But as I learned from my summer in Harpers ferry, tourists can be pretty cool people. The thought of tourists should not necessarily send one running in the other direction. I thought Harpers Ferry was diverse, but oh man. Quincy Square Market is WAY more so. There are people from all over the world gathered in this place. Emily and I heard a French conversation! I didn't understand a word of it, but still. Way cool.

The diversity of the populace is well represented by the services offered in Quincy Square Market. Basically a giant food court, I saw most of the globe represented in culinary form. I decided to go for some Bostonian cuisine. Emily and I both enjoyed soup in sourdough breadbowls. She had clam chowder, I had lobster bisque. Delicious! Maybe it was the soup, but the entire atmosphere just felt so...Boston. As a port city, it makes sense fro Boston to be a gathering a cultures in their more extreme form. As you go farther inland, the different cultures tend to be softened, more combined with US traditions.

In Boston all the culture feels stronger. Maybe that's just because I haven't been in a place that had any noticeable culture to speak of for most of my life. But I don't think that's it. I think Boston is truly a unique place. I really love this city. It has so much to offer, and I plan on exploring more of it as often as I can.