^

“Write before you die.”

I’m lonely. I’m living in a new city with people that I don’t know very well who don’t eat vegetables. And I feel like I’m dying when I don’t eat vegetables. And I am not proactive about getting my own vegetables. And how many times can I use vegetables in a sentence.

I told this guy I know that I was so tired of auditions. And yes, it sucks to get your hopes up and all that, but really I’m just tired of preparing and getting wound-up, and then waiting. And he said, “But, Abby, this is why you are here.” And I wanted to say, “ I KNOW. I hate that about myself. I can’t breathe when I’m not pursuing this crazy art form, but I feel so heavy sometimes.” But all I said was, “Yeah. But I’m tired.” And that sums it up.

I am so tired. My back hurts worse than it ever has. My thighs have a sore, burning sensation, and I have no idea what it’s from. Walking? Lame, Abby, lame.  I’m sitting in a Starbucks, (which I thought about vaguely calling, a “coffee shop”, because how much better does that sound? Consumerism, man.) and it’s raining so hard. And I forgot a jacket, I’m slightly shivering, but I really have nowhere else to go.

Right now, life just seems hard. And don’t get me wrong, I know all the statistics (not really, just the ideas) about how many people are living in poverty, and “Oh man, they would love to trade places with you!” And I realize how incredibly lucky I am. But I just want one person who likes me enough to sit and listen to me type in a Starbucks so I’m not alone.

And everyone wants that. They want someone who can just sit with them. And a lot of times, when I sit and think about what I’m doing with my life right in this very moment, I get hopeful and not so very discouraged. But, when I think of how I’m feeling – not what I’m doing with my life, I get so discouraged.

I screwed up my first chance at getting into the theatre at school. I got called back, and I checked the callback list, and did not see my name. And then, this girl asks me why I missed my callback, because we have the same name, so she noticed when I was missing. And this kid I know was like, “Yeah, I saw your name too.” And I’m really wondering, is something wrong with my brain? Because, man, how the hell did I miss this? I feel so stupid.

I feel really stupid when I tell people in my department the story though. It goes,

“And yeah, I just don’t know how I missed it.”

“Like… did you check the call back list?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see your name.”

“Well, no. I have no idea how that happened.” (Like really? Yeah, I saw it, but I’m sitting here telling you this story about how I failed to see it.)

And my acting teacher makes us lean on each other. And pat each other on the back and the arms and the legs. And I weirdly love it, but also am like, “I’m unsure why this is supposed to make me a better actor? Is it even supposed to make me a better actor? Or just a more touchy-feely individual?” I don’t know. I’m cool either way I guess.

And I know I’m going to get through it. And I know that the little bits of love I feel for this new life will grow into completely loving it whole-heartedly (or at least, that’s the hope), but right now. Right now, it feels lonely and hard.

“Write before you die.”

“Write what you know.”

I know that some things that are right aren’t easy. And I know some things that aren’t easy aren’t right. But I’m here. 

I think I've been in a small love affair with being broken beyond fixing.

This is no good. In my mind I see broken as being romantic.

Not romantic in the "Baby, I love you" way. But in the Jane Austen way.

That way.

It's nothing close to that beautiful, though.

The truth is, it's messy. And gross. And revolting.

Pushing people away doesn't help.

Literally being the hardest person to get to know is not good.

Or not sharing hardly ANYTHING worth any significance.

And when I finally open up, you don't get a couple pieces of information at a time.

Boy, do you get flooded with depression, elation, whining, rejoicing, etc, etc.

I don't practice moderation. You either get none of my real emotion or every emotion my body possess.

This sounds so freeing and somewhat poetic or artistic or whatever shit.

It isn't.

Or maybe it is, but we just think that artistic and poetic and whatever is amazing.

Maybe the real truth is that those "artsy" people are messed up.

Real. Bad.

See? There I go again. Making being broken sound so hard and romantic and blah, blah, blah.

Oh, don't listen to me. What do I know?

My condemnation of drama comes from a drama student with a penchant for irony apparently.

So, last night we went to see Paper Route in Asheville. Which is two hours away. When we got to the venue, they oh so kindly told me and my sister Emily we couldn't get in because we weren't twenty-one. When this girl who wasn't twenty-one had just got let in because she wrote a blog for 'press'. So, while we were standing outside, our sister Katie was inside, so we couldn't leave. Which, let me tell you, some homeless creepers were creepin'. Luckily there was a huge garage window thing, but still. Finally, the bartender and bouncer apparently were like 'Well, they are cute. Also, we would be major dicks to make them stand with the homeless people all night since they've already paid.' So they let us sit inside. Literally a foot from where we had been outside. Which. . . it was nice of them to let us in, but really? When I inevitably started rocking out on my bar stool fifty feet away from Paper Route, they still did not let us move. Anyway, this little story is being told to say how awesome Paper Route is as a band. After the show, I went up to them and started talking to the lead singer, JT. This is the conversation we had:

Me: So, hey, you guys were great, I loved it!

JT: Yeah, well, I would look back at you guys and you gave me hope. I was a little worried about the set because of the way the crowd was, but you were rocking out and I was like 'YES!'

Me: Yeah, well, I would have been right up in the front, but I'm underage and they wouldn't let us move past that place in the back.

JT: WHAT?! Are you serious? That is awful. I'm so mad. That should never happen under the Paper Route roof. Seriously, you should have come to me. I am not kidding. I would have done something. I can't believe that. So you were just stuck back there?

Me: Well, yeah, but it was nice of them to let us in. I mean, they were like, 'Oh well, we probably shouldn't leave them with the creepers.'

JT: That is stupid, but if you would have touched alcohol I would have beat you.

Me: Hah, I wouldn't have. But it was okay.

JT: Still. That is so stupid. I can't believe this. Where are you from?

Me: Charlotte.

JT: And how far away is that?

Me: Two hours.

JT: I'm really sorry we couldn't come to Charlotte.

Then he proceeds to tell the rest of the band.

Chad (bassist): I am gonna punch them. That is so stupid.

Then Gavin (drummer) proceeds to make out evening even more than just talking to the band.

Gavin: So did you guys buy your tickets online?

Me: Yeah.

Gavin: Well, we're gonna do something for you. I'm gonna give you some posters.

Even though we protested, but he gave us each a poster. And they signed my shirt. JT with a sad vampire smiley.

Kudos to Paper Route being some of the nicest people and hands down the nicest band I have ever met. 

I guess I haven't been writing,  because, well - I feel uninspired and shitty. I graduated from high school and I'm pretty anxious and scared about college, and the new load I'll have to shoulder come August. Which seems awfully close. 


Also, I'm so low right now. Truthfully, I want to be a musician and an artist. It seems so achingly hard. I would rather marvel over someone else's writing than create my own. I'd rather cry with joy to beautiful music than actually settle in for hours at the piano. And all this makes me think of the opportunities I am missing and wasting. 


I'd rather moan about the boy who left than actually revel in the fact that I am surrounded by beautiful souls that I haven't met. Honestly, how marvelous is that? There are people who walk by us each day who are self-contained universes. Who struggle and rejoice as much as we do. Who are we to bemoan one person leaving when we are surrounded by millions of heartbreakingly gorgeous galaxies of wonder that are contained by people we have yet to meet? 


However, remembering all the reasons for being joyous and unruffled are so hard to keep present in my oddity riddled brain. And it remains that I cannot change anything but myself. And if I change myself, I can change so much. I can affect the millions of universes around me, just by smiling. Or laughing. Or letting someone know that it gets better. That they are infinitely loved and truly valued. 

^

Love, love, love, love, and love. 

^

The thing was: It wasn't enough.

I think I tried to be enough. 

And I think I tried to convince myself you were enough. 

But you weren't. 

Aren't. 

I miss you. 

I wish that was enough.

^

"You tried so hard to make people remember you for something that you were not. 

And if they so remember you, then something else will certainly get forgot. 

And life is for the living. 

I've heard tell that it is why we are young. "

 - "The Sickness Unto Death", Typhoon