It's the final countdown

I finished comparing the lesbians and the heteros around 3:15 this morning, after half a pot of coffee had been digested, as well as a grilled cheese on wheat bread. Tip toes were made around the apartment, over my semi-clean floor, around the maze of people and sleeping necessities in the living room, and into the kitchen multiple times in order to refill my little red cup. My brain let me sleep at around 4, after visions of Carmen de la Pica Morales and Bette Porter had finished tap dancing their way through my head. At 8, the final countdown came blaring out of my phone and I contemplated hitting snooze and sleeping for another hour, but then I remembered the zombie storyboards and how I need to type up the shooting schedule and shot list so we can film this weekend. I cut the feminists out of my paper, made them disappear by throwing them into a top hat along with a rabbit. Where did they go? It's magic. At eight thirteen, the themesong from The OC started playing. Molly was calling to tell me her key got stuck in the door. I didn't understand. The door? To our apartment. Oh. The front door? Yeah, the front door. The door downstairs? No, upstairs. The one to our apartment. Oh. I'll get it. Okay. Because I tried, but people were sleeping and it made too much noise. People are still sleeping? Yes. Okay. Then I'll get it. How are you going to get back inside? I don't know. But I got the key out of the door and I put it somewhere in Molly's room. I had an "I want to go to Europe" moment the other day, craving bits of Barcelona and Prague. I haven't seen enough of the world. Not even close. I need to fill up my Facebook maps.

Quotes remind me of people.
“I think there's something peculiar about me that I haven't died. It doesn't make sense but I refuse to die.” ~Judy Garland. That one reminds me of Jocelyn. Don't know why. Jocelyn's a stubborn girl, an April only-child like myself, but more determined and also blonde.

“People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.” ~Audrey Hepburn. Morgan. Because she never throws anyone away.

"There are many things in your heart you can never tell to another person. They are you, your private joys and sorrows, and you can never tell them. You cheapen yourself, the inside of yourself, when you tell them." ~Greta Garbo. Chess. Because I don't think I've hit something I haven't been able to tell her yet.

“Joey : Pheebs, you wanna help?
Phoebe : Oh, I wish I could, but I really don't want to.” ~Friends. Becca. Because she appreciates the show just as much as I do. And loves it a little too much. Just like I do.

"For beautiful eyes look for the good in others, for beautiful lips speak only words of kindness, and for poise walk with the knowledge that you are never alone."~Audrey Hepburn. Rachel. Because she's a geniunely nice person and beautiful inside and out.


This entry was longer than I expected. Time for zombies.


Poker Face is about bisexuality. Ahh! They're everywhere! The queers are everywhere!

I've lost it.

Words have failed me. I don't know how it happened, or when. All I know is that blank pages used to be empty with possibility and I dreaded them a lot less than I do now. Creativity and promise used to mix with the blood in my veins. Now all that's in there is coffee and some nostalgia combined with the want for European cities and gelato. I think I stopped believing in reality when I was at the castle, because we all were focusing on the present instead of the future. I've never gotten over that. It was a semester of self discovery and perfection that was cut short and ended with sleepiness and impatience in an airport in Detroit. One three month period of clarity that stands out in the years of discomfort and "ugh, shoot me now"s that seem to define specific weeks in Boston. This is the week that everyone is unhappy and everything goes wrong; the last thing I want to concentrate on right now is schoolwork, and the blank pages my papers are supposed to be written on are screaming at me because I haven't started. When I was four, I wanted to be a writer. That continued until I was nineteen, and now I stay away from it as much as I can. I've lost the ability to concentrate. My want for anything un-material is almost gone; I've stopped craving love and friendship and now only want to buy shoes, dresses, television on DVD, and books. Maybe a few more pillows to fall into and rest on. Continuous plane tickets to elsewhere. Everything I want to see and do has a monetary value. Paris for 900, Barcelona for 800, New Zealand for 1300, Dubrovnik for 1000. The dots on Orbitz's website blink in time to the Jason Mraz song softly coming out of my speakers, but don't help. Our name is our virtue.

Castle.