Not so different

Guess I'm going to a workshop afterall.  Used two of my movie vouchers yesterday, and then went to a solo performance in Fremont, so didn't end up getting much done around the house.  Almost skipped the solo show because my stomach hurt so bad and all I wanted to do was crawl up into a fetal position somewhere.  I did that when I got home.  Mostly doesn't hurt now.

That show was José Amador´s "El Hijo Prodigo," which was based around a trip he took back to Puerto Rico, which then brought in elements of life in Puerto Rico, family, and childhood stories/memories.  It had played at a solo/fringe festival earlier and I hadn't been able to see it.  I'm interested in Puerto Rican life (which I've mentioned before, my grandmother was from Puerto Rico.)  Much of what he talked about, I'd heard bits and pieces of before (not his story, but of life in general), still, I found it helpful to hear again, to explain things, to understand where I came from, if that makes sense...neither of my parents talk much of family history, but it's under the surface permeating everything.  Again, like with Sonia Sotomayor's story of her parents, the telling of his stories are similar, and similar to my grandma's, as well.  I said something to him about it after, and then started crying while walking down the street, it's the pain that lives in the blood.  It drove people to want something better, it drives people still.  I appreciate the honesty of the story.

The two movies I saw were "Paris, of the North," an Icelandic film, and "Flowers," a Basque film (the latter of which I thought was Hungarian for some reason, probably because I had looked at a bunch of movie descriptions before choosing one, and was surprised by how many Spanish-speaking people were in the audience, initially.  The film was in Euskara.)  They both had slow story telling.  Both portrayed non-sugarcoated people.  Both dealt with the messiness of life, the non-resolution, non-idealistic outcomes, though the Basque film had a little more closure, but there weren't any answers.  I liked all three performances for the same reason: there is no perfect life.  There is no shiny outcome.  Everyone is struggling, and in spite of the varnish we see and read about everyday, how everyone is more perfect than you and you just aren't trying hard enough:  you are actually alright.

The older I get, the more I feel like I missed something, forgot something.  Got left behind.  It didn't bother me as much in my 20's.  But now, the bombardment of messages of who you are supposed to be, and what you were supposed to be by some magical age ("20 under 25 to watch!" and the like), and even I know these articles and headlines ("30 things everyone should know/have done by 30!) are fluff, they get to me, the constancy of them wears at me, makes me feel like I haven't done anything with my life.  Makes me tired.  (I know why I made the choices I did.  They felt necessary at the time.)

Anyway, these three shows made me feel better.  Not because they make me feel like I'm better or worse than anyone else, but precisely, because they don't.  Because this is life.  And when we are alone, with no one to impress, we are here, deep in the muck of it.

One last day of nothingness

On the curbs today: Christmas trees, disposed and dry, lying on the grass, waiting to be taken away.  Remnants of holidays hauled off and forgotten until next year.  In the trees, found gloves and other winter wear, adorning the otherwise bare branches.  The difficulty of going out in the cold, because I don't want to be cold.  But go, I do.  Walked the lake.  Cooked.  Watched some tv.  Walked out again to run an errand (actually, did that 2x.)  Made kale chips because I wanted "junk" food; tastes an awful lot like potato chips somehow.  All procrastination.  The intention was to write.  Finally, walked over to the coffee shop, drank hot chocolate, journaled, and then wrote more on the piece.

Lost glove, January 2/L Herlevi 2015

So...one of them puts in a personal ad.  The other reads it.  Realizes that they know who it is, and likes them, but figures, "well, if they liked me, they could've asked me out, but didn't, so..."  But then decides, what the heck, that since it's anonymous, to answer the ad anyway, who's gonna know?  The replies go back and forth and they decide to meet, under that pretense of being strangers, which is false.  2 hasn't come clean, yet.  Keeps putting it off.  Keeps meaning to get to it before they are scheduled to meet, but chickens out time and again.  So...here we are at the meeting place.  1 (the one who placed the ad, and who really is unaware) is there, 2 walks in, chickens out, walks back out.  Really doesn't want to hurt 1, so attempts to enter again, slightly altered in appearance from before...and where does that go?  The jig is up...how does it end (for now)?  Do I need the fourth character?  What's the "special?"  Need something tangible by Sunday.

Words or no?  Still unclear.  Need to figure out the length of it, too.  Still, the concept needs to be solid first.

Another break.  Time to mull it over more.

(Though I found all this from observing life, there are examples of it all around, (mistaken identity, tricksters, personal ads): Cyrano, Shakespeare, that Piña Colada song, "Must Love Dogs," etc..That song has been running in my head since Christmas from an association from an old Jazzercize routine, Knox Blox (piña colada and mocha) that my mom took to her class.  My brother was commenting disparagingly about Knox blocks(?) and I was remembering that I kinda' liked the mocha ones.)

Triggers everywhere.  Just got to write it down when it comes.

Day off

Called in to take the whole day off, had originally only asked for four hours so I could go pick up the film. Have really done nothing, except go to a coffee shop and attempt to read a little more of David Copperfield, got a couple chapters in before I had to leave as the air conditioning was turned up and I was really cold. Eyeing my books now to see which ones I'd like to part with, I'd like to go buy some fruit at the farmer's market tomorrow.

Just ran out of my room to the sound of intense sobbing. I thought something horrible had happened, but it was my housemate's daughter, and I think she's okay. I would be very concerned to hear an adult sob that hard. (I'm pretty sure both my female housemates are home.)  I feel I should do something productive. Purge more stuff. At least make a run to H&M to drop of old, worn-out clothes for recycling. Been meaning to do that since January. Slowly, slowly, letting stuff go. I know I need to, it's just a matter of working up the energy to try to find something useful to do with it besides tossing it in the trash. I think it's true that you have to let go of things to allow life to flow. To allow new things to come into your life. Things are not love, no matter how much sentimentality is attached to them.

Still need to do the resume, that was my main reason for taking the day off, that and I haven't had a vacation day since Christmas, where I didn't have classwork or some other committment and am about to go into a really long over two-month stretch with no days off, since I have classes on weekends and at night. I want to pull myself out of this state of entropy before that starts up again.

Have at least managed to bag up old clothes, but not the books, nor have I made it out the door, nor looked at bus schedules.

I did get rid of the clothes, then wandered around the store because I was enjoying the music. Finally cooked the greens and the artichokes, sore hand be damned. The artichokes were wonderful. Was enjoying them so much I accidently burned the greens a bit, still edible. Pan's okay, smoother now. Should have it burned more often.