Everything can be free.
Tonight was quite possibly a turning point in my life.
I was at school from 11:30 a.m.-9 p.m. working on the paper and working with the staff. At this point I'm not even sure if I'm writing coherent sentences because my mind is close to shutting off for the night. I'll get to the point before I start conjuring up fantasies in my sleep-deprived delusion.
I did what I did last Friday. I ran by looking my best and getting ready to take on the day full force. Everything started out normal, just like anything else. It's strange, though, because as it got later, everything seemed to come together just like the paper itself. This 12 page hell of an assignment could've very well been the death of us, I think. While my life was busy trying to make it the death of me, I found I didn't have the time for it. That definitely meant I didn't have the time to stop for it. It's strange how just meaning to do a little work can branch out into friendships and a greater purpose in life. It somehow restored me even under all the stress and strain. Now I have other things to look forward to and live for. It's one of those things that can't be taken from me, therefore, it has become the only thing I really need.
I remember there being a moment where my depression was sinking into my skin until I finally got the courage to ask for a smoke. Not that I'm saying smoking solves my problems or that I'm a smoker at all. In fact, it's almost the contrary. As I stood outside with John and Crisitian talking about everything we've seen and noticed in our travels and adventures, I felt like I could very well go off somewhere solely on the wind that was blowing between us. Maybe not physically, but my emotions did become very stable and lucid as they explored their better sides. So my emotions came down with a puff and a good talking to. It's almost unbelievable and seemingly anti-climactic, but it has become the start of something beautiful. I'm not sure how or exactly what, but it's there.
Later on, I went out on a limb and actually talked to people about my life. Yes, I feel that secure! I never talk about my life worth a shit, especially with people I barely know. But hell, it feels like I've known them all forever. So as all that was happening undercover in my head, I went out for a big adventure with a few great people. Cleo, Suzy, Miles and I went out in search of a play program since one of our photographers didn't get the name of anyone in their picture. We got to the Campus Theatre and it closed five minutes before we arrived. So what did we do? Like the journalists we are, we improvised! Upon discovering the Marsee Auditorium was also closed, we improvised again! Miles discovered a back way and Cleo discovered an unlocked door.
Of course we went in, you twits!
So we carefully shut the door and began digging into the boxes stacked under the stairs, looked behind curtains, ran to the other side while no one was walking passed the big glass door and whispered ever so slightly to figure out our little dilema. We searched all over downstairs. Nothing.
So Cleo, Suzy and I ditched Miles, who seemingly disappeared, to go upstairs to look for a program. We were on Cloud 9 at this point and I was even talking about a collaboration piece with all the Spring 2008 staff discussing their strange stories and adventures when trying to produce and write for the paper...when STOP! A woman in an office upstairs sees us. Using our persuasive journalistic power (Ha, I love being a ham sometimes, especially today) I guess we appealed to her because she just laughed it off. Ironically, as we were talking to her, we heard Miles downstairs saying: "Umm...guys...we have to leave. Like...now." He got busted by a security gaurd. No, he wasn't in trouble since we were all in it together. The whole thing was really lucky as the woman happened to have a key to a room filled with programs. Not to seem as though any of us are superior to anyone else...but honestly, what other profession can produce such wild and hilarious stories and experiences? Journalists have it made. In fact, the feeling of actually being daring enough to do what we did and get our story done made us want to leave everything last-minute all the time. Of course, we'd never do that. We do have a natural disdain for deadlines and time restriction. We're journalits, dammit!
Sooner than I knew it, it was 7 p.m. and my mom was wondering about me and the pages were going into tedium because of all the minor corrections that had to be compltely perfected. But it was nice. Everything was being pulled tighter as last-minute pressure grew...but we laughed it off. We just laughed. We helped each other by laughing and we laughed as we helped each other. And apparently my commentary for this edition was great. It basically said "hey, world! Grow a pair!" Well...according to John, anyway. I've come to realize that when you're working in something you love to do, you can't even feel yourself emotionally growing because it's just so natural. When you really see it is when you make those slight pauses to interact with what's around you. What seems to have impacted me most is the people...the people I interview, the people I hear about and the people I so lovingly work with. Especially the latter. They have become one of the few things I need even when I thought I had nothing.
The last event of the evening was a break Suzy, John and I took. Although we seemed to be making fun of people and making jokes about everything, we were really living. Living is when you just say "Let's go out and just do whatever it is we want to do." I'm not saying drink yourself to death, terrorize a neighborhood or run a counterfeit scam or anything, I'm talking the kind of sweet pleasure you get from just relaxing. You know, our generation really does work too hard and some work so hard that they don't get those tiny moments to see how much they've grown. What did we talk about? Of all things, it was family. We said things I don't think any of us would have dared to in a "normal" conversation. It's the power of interest and trust. Sometimes being in a room working ourselves down until we practically have rug burn can cause distaste. It happens all the time. Actually, it happens more often than not. But as much as I try to explain it, we're just not like that. We're different, but we work the same.
So a few of us talked about the Kama Sutra and reading it in public. Some of us tried to come up with a witty headline. Some of us went on a side trip for the sake of the story. Some of us did killer impressions. Some of us play fought--even if it did get a little rough. Some of us opened up.
Were us bastards even working at all?
Surprisingly we were. This is what life is for us.
Somewhere buried deep in our piles of work and deadlines and other messes is our center.
Everything has its grating technicalities, but not everything has its beauty.
We've got it all.
Everything.
As for my love, I gained so much meaning from working on the paper that I actually didn't think of him much. I think I can learn to live like this. I think I can learn how to live at all, too. I can do it right. Just because I miss him doesn't mean I have to miss in every sense. Journalists are a strong breed. There's a lot running against us. There's a lot of power we can't have. But as the sun sets on us, we have what we need.
I love Anthony with everything I've got, but if he can be insecure enough to make himself believe he's not in love, it's too risky even for the newspaper staff. Distraction? No. It could partly be it. But just because we work so hard we forget we're hungry or tired doesn't mean it's just a faulty antidote to what ails us.
Life is made through what we hold and create.
We create with passion.
I'm deeply sorry to my love if one day he should see that I have crossed into another part of me devoid of him, but he's not all gone. He's not a total loss. That's right, he's not. But dammit if I'm human and dammit if I have to find something for this heart to have for itself.
He may think I'm crazy and he may think he can change everyone's mind, but it certainly isn't my fault he doesn't know how to handle himself. I can show him just as well as I showed myself.
I'm gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment