Day 14- your earliest memory

I can't say enough kind and inspired words about my good friend, Jareen. In fact, right now as I sit here soaking in my nostalgia, I wish I had my high school yearbook so that I could read all of the crazy things she left me in there. Encrypted messages, or as encrypted as you can get with pen and paper in a bound book with everyone's faces and names in it...whatever. That's how we were-and are. Partners in crime.... a creative duo....bound to hysteria when together. I miss it all the time and I wish it was easy to find so far away from each other.

Truthfully, Jareen pushed me creatively more than anyone else, even myself, ever did. It's a natural chemistry that makes art-magic. Just sayin... & I admire her more than more people.

Anyway. I'm sort of addicted to her blog. It's got the journalist touch--with very similar themes as mine, but without the personalization and whining. In this regard, its somehow more objective and relateable to an outside reader.

Here is an example-something I can totally relate to (and write about on a regular basis, I'm sure.) Loneliness.

www.chalklineproductions.blogspot.com

But feelings of loneliness are a part of who we are, it is a state of being. It comes as you stare at the your ceiling while lying alone in your bed after a late night party. Or its when you had a terrible day at work and you realize you have nobody to share your misery with. Or its the moment you walk into a new job, fitness class or film set and you realize everyone there is already best friends. 
And as much as it hurts, it can be rewarding. There is a selfish comfort in closing off family, which is obligated to endure you, and shutting out best friends who took the unwritten oath to stand by you. I've found solace in retreating into my fortress of solitude, and taking time to reflect. But there are times where my state of reflection is polluted with an unshakeable fear of not being anything.
It's a twisted 'Donnie Darko' meets that floating plastic bag from 'American Beauty' ideology that somehow surfaces to the front of my consciousness, almost like it is stuck my forehead telling me in a condescending tone: "Do something." It's moments of loneliness that remind me of the goals I've set out for myself, and how I've deviated from them.
Then it transforms into a span of sporadically remembering the hopes I've written down on post-it notes.... And the fear of not ever being anything becomes so overwhelming that instead of writing that play I promised myself I would do on my off day I slink into my bed and pull the sheets over my face because contemplating my future failures is more productive than actually producing anything at all. 
Then after enduring those endless hours of solitude I find myself still sitting in a room that is now filled with afternoon twilight. With that time, I come to terms with my fear of never amounting to anything and disappearing into the abysmal Universe when I die. Then I remember the remnants of myself will not disappear entirely, but rather continue to live in another state of energy because I took eight grade science and this just makes me feel ever lonelier because who ever heard of a particle reconnecting with a high school friend?