Monday, October 13, 2008

too much

Last week I was full of glory and praise for myself because I wrote. Now, my own brilliance has gotten in my way. My first writings lamented about writing with purpose, then turned into stories that just had to get out of my head, and now I have returned to not knowing what to write as what purpose will it serve. I have an epic story inside me to tell, and I cannot be lead astray by writing frivolously. So, try to write with purpose, a goal in mind. The show must be complete by the time this class is over. What on earth will I write? As you can see from previous days, small bits of wonder poured out of me as I tried too hard, and now I have nothing. I have nothing, nothing, nothing. No talent, no inspiration, no idea of where/how to get there. I have taken class after class of how to write a one person show. Countless classes and exercise to jog your memory, to help you feel I suppose, because why else would you have to write about them? My memories are few and far between. I can't remember my first day of school, my first hair cut, kindergarten, most of elementary school. My memories are tied to music. Ok, I shouldn't say memories, because I can't really remember the whole thing, but the feeling of what it was, the hurt, the pain, the humiliation. My memories are filled with wild stories that can only be written about, you know those teeny bopper romances, where the girl is popular and blond, she was prom queen, student body president and valedictorian and always got the guy.
Wait, that is me, well almost. I wasn't blond. The guy wasn't always the quarterback, but for some odd reason I still wonder about, they fell madly and deeply for teenage me. I never really tried to impress I was just me. Crazy 'ol me. But somewhere along the way I've lost this person. She was fearless, she was fun, she was a goofball and didn't give a rats ass about anyone or anything. No was not an option. Where did she go? Why did she conform? Why did she give up?
I have become a cliche, which I have avoided and attempted to elude. I'm a grown up and I have no idea what I want to be. I just want to be fabulous, to be remembered, to be immortalized for my lifelong accomplishments. I want people to think of me now, what they did when I was younger. No one ever doubted I was destined for greatness, heck I didn't even doubt it. I knew I was fucking awesome and nothing could touch me and now I am trying to live up to my own dreams for myself, which by the way I actually have no idea what it is. I want people from my small town America to bask in my greatness and regret the way the passed me over.