4/24/00 (cont'd)
So I was different. That much we know for certain. I had no friends, my family was wacked, where else was I to go? It really didn't take me long to realize that I could escape. And I did. I used words. And plot sequences. And typewriters and sometimes my own voice. I made up stories and books and plays and sometimes I'd become my own characters. I'd hole up in my room, or in the woods behind my house, and I'd just act out scenes from the lives of people I would rather have been. Pretty wacked. And pretty sad for me to realize now the significance of that early bite by the acting bug, when all these years I just thought I was a creative genius. I wasn't a genius--I was trying to survive. God, that's sick.
And I never stopped using that. Part of why I love to sing is because when you're on stage, singing a song, you can completely empty your heart and soul and every ounce of pain and misery you've ever felt--and people love you for it. They don't want to hear you piss and moan about your life, but they'll pay big bucks to hear you sing about it. What does that say about us, anyway?
But I kept playing those characters...when I got older, the characters changed, and I focused on one. She was the shit, man. She was like this total enigma. Men fell head over heels in love with her, and she put out, but you couldn't touch her head. She had this inner torment thing going on that was dark and mysterious and made you crazy, but she'd never let you inside of that. She was the tortured, romantic soul that every man wanted so badly to possess, but never could, and her pain would eventually wear them out and drive them away, although never completely. How much of that, I now have to wonder, was a character, and how much of it was real? I didn't even ever really want to be with men, but it seemed...safer. I never felt compelled to open up to them entirely (always just enough to maintain that edge, you know?). Going for another woman--other than my "first true love"--meant going through that whole bullshit mess again, opening myself up completely and then being ripped to shreds. No thanks.
Wow. I'm nuts. Interesting how all the pieces eventually start to come together, everything has a link.
"Haven't you paid for your mistakes?"
I just got back from lunch and had a voice mail from Megan. Yesterday she decided that, since her parents have a trampoline, she, too, must have one. I explained to her that trampolines kill grass (and people) and are an eyesore and left it at that, figuring she'd forget about it. WRONG! According to her message, she's located one on e-bay for $100. I should have just had a child. At least with kids, you've always got that "because I said so" leverage.
So much for my dreams of a backyard oasis. At least, until she buys the trampoline, breaks a few major bones, and grows bored with it...
Next Entry