Friday, December 19, 2008

Good at goodbye

2008 has numbed me from farewells. My life has been in semester/summer clusters, each ending with major separations.

This one is pretty significant, though. It marks the end of 7 semesters, 2 summers, 1 college career, countless friends and a lot of confidence to accompany all the platitudes I picked up along the way.

I sense my friends are holding onto this more than I, even as both parties realize the length of time before another reunion. I am dulled to it; I cannot say goodbye to all these people, physically or emotionally. I would prefer to pack my things and drive away, not looking back.

I won't look back, and I may not come back. It's not my intention. I move forward.

So, because I am good at goodbyes, or perhaps immune to them, I am not losing sleep or shedding (m)any tears. The only sadness is that the loan collectors will be nipping my ankles soon. Friends can be found anywhere, never replacing old friends. I have more to learn, but elsewhere. All of you do as well.

Lawrence, you were so good to this one. Thank you kindly, from all of me, and goodbye.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Sigh of relief

Phew. Wiping that sweat off the brow. Found an internship for next semester, so it's back to the bay. Paid full-time, free housing, free photoshop, screenwriting, editing classes, free rec facility, and best of all... an open door into the movie production process. Say hello to the Toy Story 3 story department intern. Oy oy!

Monday, December 1, 2008

The hurt of writing

One of the biggest disappointments in writing is discovering that an idea very similar to yours has been made into a film—more painful is when it's a successful film. I've had this scare a number of times and I've only developed a few stories, but I continually get anxious while watching films, hoping that my ideas remain original. I just got the scare reading a synopsis of Frozen River, but after watching the trailer, I feel much better. Only minor similarities!

Truthfully, they are my ideas whether somebody else has had them or not, but explaining that to anyone who reads the material brings an uphill battle, and in the professional world, would equate a dead screenplay. Here's hoping that never happens. I'm sure it has to many writers. What heartbreak.

Welcome to Kansas. It's shaped like a box because we live our lives as if we were in one!

These last two weeks are going to be sloooooooooow and painful. Excruciating. I am still awaiting word from AmazingAnimationStudioInEastBay about next semester, but regardless of their decision, I am so ready to bounce.

Now, I hope noone close to me takes this the wrong way, but I want to disappear. Rather, moving somewhere new means I can virtually erase my past and become a new person. Example: I haven't had a drink in two months, and it's tiring explaining that to friends who have seen me do more than a few beer bongs in a short period of time. Soon, I will be the friend who goes out and just gets water, but still has fun. No more "why won't you drink just one more time!?" or "You're wasting your senior year (pouty sorority girl face)!!!"

Leaving familiar faces and transient friendships certainly feels like a rehash of high school senior year, and although I'm no longer friends with 90% of those kids, I'm willing to accept that before leaving this go-round. Everything seems futile when new adventures await. Nothing is permanent in my life, and Kansas has a very short fuse that's burning quickly. I'm ready to work so hard, not just on the job, but to expand my boundaries, to explore every creative avenue I encounter, to challenge myself physically, mentally, creatively, emotionally. I am so ready for an endurance test.

But I'm stuck in freezing Kansas!