I wish I could really believe that people cared for me. I wish I could find someone like me. I wish I could make art that people really appreciated, or be content to only make it for myself. I wish I did all the things I mean to.

Flying

Last night I dreamed of dying. I was exiting I-95 on one of the ramps that curves so sharply that you have to go like 25 miles an hour, but I wasn't paying attention and took the turn too fast. My car spun and spun and spun, so fast, but it was staying on the road. I said out loud, "Lord." And in my head I thought, "Take me home or save me, Lord, whatever You want." The car kept spinning until it finally hit the wall and went flying through the air. I saw a lake and trees and the blue sky and braced myself for impact. The moment my car hit the ground, I woke up.

I was lying on my bed in the darkness, but my body was frozen and for a moment I was sure that this was it, I was dead. I could've sworn I felt the separation between my soul and my body, the way you see in movies where the transparent body gets up while the actual body stays down. I was afraid, but not as much as I would've thought I'd be. There was a strange sort of peace about it.

I have dreams like that often, where there's some accident and I end up hurtling through the air, anticipating a fall. Sometimes it's a roller coaster, sometimes it's a swing. The car was a first for me.

I don't think they mean anything. I just wanted to write this one down to remember it. I'm pretty sure it was brought on by me watching 49 Days and then driving to Cocoa Beach.

A Grieving Heart

My second film shoot was with Hannah. The assignment was to take pictures with leading lines at a shutter speed of 125, letting the light meter dictate the f-stop. I decided to tell a story using the five stages of grief as a loose guideline.

"A grieving hearts ties you to the past and blinds you to the future."

The story is a literal representation of this quote. A young girl goes about her life with a blindfold on and a mysterious ribbon holding her back. At first, she tries to ignore it.

Then she gets angry and tries to fight it, to no avail.

She does everything she can to escape the force that's pulling her, trying to believe that if only she were stronger or if she went somewhere new, things would be different.

Her strength fails her. New views can't change what's in her heart. She slumps in defeat, having given up.

Grief overtakes her. She knows what she has to do.

She gives in and follows the ribbon to its end. It's tied around the headstone of her little sister, who has been calling her back all this time. 

Having come to terms with her sister's death, she is finally able to slip off the blindfold and loosen the ribbon.

Vow of Obscurity

I've spent most of my life being sad. I wanted to be strong, and somehow, strength came to mean anger for me. So I tried to be angry instead of depressed. And it's worked a little too well. I can feel myself solidifying into an angry, bitter, cruel person.

When I was in middle school, I wrote, "Insecurity is my obscurity." The older I get, the more the opposite seems true as well: Obscurity is my insecurity. I'm scared to death of being overlooked. I also wrote,

I don't like the corner
I don't like the stairs
When on the sides
I'm in despair

The only place
That won't cause tension
Is in the center
Of attention

I was trained to be an actress from a very young age. I'm more comfortable on a stage than anywhere else. Some call me a drama queen, but I'd go so far as to say I'm an attention whore. I long for fame. I don't even need world fame, just a little bit of internet fame would do. Every hobby I've had has been geared toward this. And I've spent my life searching for the satisfaction I thought I would get from being known by people.

It's made me an awkward person. I'm not very pretty, so I resorted to being funny. I'm not very clever, so I had to use myself as my material. I became a clown for the sake of being noticed. I don't know how to shut up and blend into the background. All I can do is act silly and hyper, hoping for eyes on me, even if they're glaring.

Some people take vows of poverty. I think I need to take a vow of obscurity: to swear to not be famous for anything, to live a quiet life doing the greatest good I can with the least amount of recognition possible. To not let my left hand know what my right hand is doing. I think something like that would do me a world of good.