i'm at work. inside a tiny room of cream walls and barred windows feeling something like a mexican prison and realize: i'm getting paid (modestly) to check my plethora of online communities and pursue other promising futures and paychecks by emailing music venues for my boyfriend's band, searching for local auditions and drafting an online resume of theatre works, frequently switching from tab to tab, gmail, facebook, the troubadour, backstage west, blogger, etc. all the while, praying i don't become wholly apathetic which is a legitimate fear, even at 22.
this isn't a new realization. it comes and goes here in the box office. between the bush-ly economy and overpriced mediocre theatre tickets, we just aren't selling, making it quiet around these parts. we're either diving for the phone when it actually rings, or getting irritated when there is finally something work-related to do since it is interrupting our precious facebook stalking time. "they broke up?"
anyway. what depresses me is exactly how much time i spend on the internet. i spend my entire work day at the computer. processing orders in provenue and flipping back to the internet in between calls and direct sales order sheets. on slow days, like today, i can spend quite a bit of solid time writing emails, updating blogs, watching monkey's blow their nose on youtube... just to drive home and open up my more comfortable mac and once again, login to facebook, check gmail, etcetera etcetera. i can usually justify it. i stay pretty productive on the internet doing things that are worthwhile or reading blogs of my favorite poet friends whom i believe are truly brilliant and far far smarter than me.
but somehow it still depresses me to think of how much time i waste (and a lot of other people too) on the internet. the other day, shawn played me a new song he just wrote, for the first time. and as he's playing i'm leaning over looking at who else just posted on my wall. seriously? whoa, jamie. not even giving him my full attention as he's sharing something new and personal. that's sad and really really gross.
you would assume that i would end this with a promise to not spend so much time on the internet. no such promise. i mean, i would like to but i'm just not into making promises i can only average about a week in keeping. maybe i will try harder, but i'm certainly not going to post here on the internet for people to read and keep me accountable that i promise to take more time smelling the flowers and reading out of real books or actually listening to my boyfriend. i don't really have any other points to wrap up with or a closing argument about any of this. i just thought i should write a post so that i didn't feel totally useless and unproductive between now and when my shift ends. so there you have it.
i'm standing there in the aisle holding a copy of memoirs of my melancholy whores and he texts me 'it wasn't like that just know that o.k.?' and then i pick up rimbaud and study the french. then burroughs and i feel the pages of food. what if i could eat books for breakfast and that was how i read? i text him back 'yeah'
last night i dreamed i was in paris. with angelina jolie and her mom. i had a bastard child with a black kid who promised to bring in some paychecks to help. my mom mostly took care of the baby, a girl, who was not black at all. i was scheduled to audition for a selection of different ballet companies on a certain date along with tobin, doug and a bunch of other apu students i recognized. all carrying their black bloch bags. i recieved a few phone calls the day of the audition to hang out. forgetting about the audition, i was excited to finally feel like i had friends in this city. one call from dereau to come to a bar on grande boulevard and one from megan olson but the connection was bad so i was unsure of where to meet her. i almost went but remembered the audition i didn’t prepare for at all and bumped into angelina jolie and her mother and we raced to the dance building downtown. we tried to take a short cut but ended up winding through some building’s interior chute system and had to back track our way out to the street...then sprinting to the building we enter only to find hundreds of frenchies holding up huge signs that were enormous tabloid looking pictures of all of us foreigners explaining how we were dangerous. they were angry and threatened. photocopies made of passports, compromising photos in dangerous situations. doug started shouting and creating a ruckus and i don’t remember anything after that though i assume we were immediately deported.
i don't write as much because i am happy and not so much confused. and life is beautiful again just like i knew it would be and will be. someday. today and tomorrow. brian wilson, sunday. hollywoodbowl. fireworks. kisses. la parapluie. a girl is in europe. i have a friend in new orleans. and soon, my amy will be in chile. and i want someone to hold me. maintenant and good. please don't spoil my day. just lay by my side, à côté de moi and be you, my relief, the end of a long day coming down.
"...built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. it grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation’s apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep...
...and to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world –- our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of american leadership is at hand. to those who would tear this world down –- we will defeat you...
..to those who seek peace and security -– we support you. and to all those who have wondered if america’s beacon still burns as bright –- tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope. "
today i saw a young girl, maybe my age, maybe a little younger, standing at the corner where the homeless man usually stands right off the freeway on lake avenue. jeans and a warm coat. thin blonde hair blowing across her face in november wind.
her cardboard read "TRAVELING need spare change."
and i got a flash forward vision of myself only i'm in albuquerque or firenze. those american freeway offramps selling flowers holding signs; the tourist crowded market square and the smell of italian ham and sitting against a wall with erin or tobin or shawn or amy or one of those. and we've dug in the dumpster and put our change together to buy a large marker, shivering colder in the american purple sky. taking turns sleeping on the sidewalk of a tiny european street in the heat of summer, playing harmonica til dawn and the tip of a hat, currency from five different nations gathering on our blanket where i sell my jewelry and offer to write love letters for a cost. i rip out bits of my journal, pieces of sentence and with pretty edges, sell them. we speak in gnarled accents to americans who might pay for us to get to siena or paris or carson city or just the border of tennessee, fare to cross a bridge to the other side of the bay where our friends are waiting. scarves are pulled tight, knotted, over damp and dirty hair, dark dark eyes and weathered smile lines are the marks of a traveler. tired but not weary. poor but not needing. we move forward or we stay for awhile, neither matters much. stop for 5cent coffee, overnight sleeping bag desert sky side of the road bus stop route 66 french train hard back chair passport check ticket check and we roll into the sunset finding home.
a sudden motivation to research theatre jobs in europe. for some reason the cold rainy overcast weather makes me think of europe. and wet sidewalks too. always wet sidewalks.
i'm not making ends meet now, how could i possibly make ends meet over there? without direction, pursuing: nothing in particular. i'm barely making rent on my own now. the ever constant threat of moving home hanging in the air (ah! the horror!) $100/month on gas, $50-60/month on utilities in a house i'm never in because i'm working overtime in a mediocre minimum wage paying job. squeeze in money for a few groceries, although taco bell is faring over everything lately, it really is more cost efficient. i've also got about $2,000 i owe my parents. another $5,000 from the first time i went to europe. parking tickets, speeding tickets, and too much money wasted on cigarettes and wine to help get me through this difficult time. the list goes on concluding, of course, over $100,000 to the fool who let me go to apu and have the best time of my life. idiots.
i am literally dropping mere pennies in my pink piggy bank so that i might buy a plane ticket in hmmm, lets see...2018?
i'm currently in the midsts of my second (okay...sixth) failed attempt at living in europe. i'd settle for a visit at this point. please? anyone?
i'm texting shawn as i'm thinking this telling him i'm depressed that money equals freedom. and he says, "imagination equals freedom." and i suddenly feel impassioned to cry because of course i should've known better but i still feel trapped and bound and bitter because
$1700 would get me to paris by monday and $0 would not.