“It’s going to work, it works, no. . . ”

This is what I thought when I logged into tumblr more or less 10 minutes ago. I wanted to see gifs. Of course tumblr has many but I didn’t look at them once I logged in. I’ve never been a huge fan of tumblr for a few reasons. One, it’s addicting. Two, its’ format isn’t very professional looking, not that it needs to be, but I never felt it was too serious. Three, I don’t understand completely why hundreds of people follow others who do not create their own material. I understand the usefulness of collecting images (that’s why I have a pinterest) but not the ways of tumblr. When I used my tumblr (which still exists but is private and I am probably never going to touch it again) I heard that people occasionally got mad if you reblogged something without giving credit. Even though the person you reblogged the image or text from did not create it. Do you see why tumblr, a massive black hole of images, kept me away?

In any case, I revisited my tumblr tonight, a few minutes ago, and reread each entry. There were only 11 short pages. I mention school, a boyfriend, music I like, my friends, my mom, a review of a play I saw, little things. What stroke me first was the writing style. It’s quite different from my style now. I’ve heard my writing style is ‘conversational’ and I tend to agree and don’t think that’s changed much. Or maybe it’s the voice that’s different. It’s a voice that still has hope for things that now, down the line I know don’t turn out. It’s a voice of optimism, and if you don’t know me, my optimism is relentless. I’d take it to the grave so it’s a troublemaking factor.

I’m a little surprised at how personal it is. Only a few friends at school followed it. Maybe I didn’t think they’d read it. Maybe I didn’t care. I’d like to think I’m a little more reserved with those things now, but no. Look at this blog I can’t deny I’m okay with giving up personal things, taking the jewelry off my ears and from around my neck and offering every experience to persons unknown.

But that voice has dreams that will never be realized. I only just let go of some them in the past year. It’s unfortunate though I can’t feel any pang of regret. It’s all over with.  I’ve met people I wouldn’t want to give up just for some other path that would have had just as many wolves if not more.

What concerns me reading the blog, is what hasn’t changed. Especially the little things like the photos of actors I posted whom I still like to watch onscreen. The obscure songs by random artists that I will still listen to on youtube to this day. It makes me question what I’ve been doing with the last three years, because looking at the blog so much still hasn’t changed. I survived some tough and some dumb decisions. Is that all?

It crossed my mind to delete the blog but on there are mentions of dates that would help me flesh out a timeline of my life. You know, when I adore something or someone, be it music or a lover, I fall so that I forget how it began. How I ever found it out. That exact moment before the landslide.

You know what? Maybe that’s the voice I’m hearing when I read my tumblr. The insane voice of someone in love, in mutual craziness with someone else. Such hope. Another thing, I never thought about colleges before I had to. I think I really truly thought that I would be able to go somewhere new and far away and get my childhood dream of living on the east coast. How? How did I possibly ever have hope for that? I have no idea looking back. But . . . wow. I think I really had hope and that is unfathomable. So naive and oblivious. If I had been honest, and opened my eyes a bit earlier I would probably have realized how little hope there was.

I’m now at the stage of my life where I’m trying to keep the power with me, not let myself get screwed over. Sociology class helped teach me about that. Really truly. I don’t know how my next year is going to pan out, but let me tell you it may all end up being an exercise in some delayed gratification. Cheers to that. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow morning and get some coffee.



Fever Dreams

When I was a little kid whenever I was sick with a fever and went to sleep I had the same recurring dream. I was in a room, maybe it was as illuminated as a room is on a gray and cloudy day, all blue no sun. Not that there were any windows. This was boxlike. So I was in this space, not my body but my mind and soul looked in on it. There was infinity in that room- ever growing infinity that I was tasked to count and control but which I could not. It was visible at the same time it was an impression, so I think sometimes I saw black and gray fuzzy grains of matter all pushed to one side of the room in a slope and growing. But it was mostly an impression, a sick feeling of fear and vulnerability as these images flared in my mind.

On Sunday, I realized how my life is like being in that room now. I was at work when I realized. It was not a depressing or scary realization, not even a shocking one. Just, oh. This is how the mess of that infinity is in my life right now, it’s tangible, before my eyes, no fever dream. And it’s not my fault. Then I wonder, shouldn’t I have stopped it by now? Turned the infinity over making my life but mostly others lives (whose fault the mess is) better, happier? I might have been able to improve conditions but making that someone happier? No, it wouldn’t have worked. There is a mess I sort out most days, it is tangible, I hold it and pull it out and place it best I can to look nice, to look symmetrical. I throw it back uncaring when I have to. Well I always care. So it hurts a little to look at the mess and wonder just how long it would take to make it all better. To make these tangible things still and never thrown back, given the respect for their beauty and detail they deserve.

It was the next day at work I realized I try to create symmetry, I think. Or maybe the same day or the day after the next. I don’t remember.

Yes I take these tangible objects and try to create symmetry and out of everyone who tries, I am the best at it. Because it is the least I can do for all of us. Make the symmetry which is beautiful and fair and has a chance in the world. Gives us a chance in the world.

I’m saying this can all be explained through an example, but I can’t say over the internet, see? I will always wonder about the fever dream. Is that my afterlife? I don’t believe in hell, or heaven, but that would be my hell. Really to live forever is hell enough for me. I hope that death brings a wash of catharsis that makes my body light, light, light, and my soul happy and realized, understanding and free of the sick helplessness and endlessness of all the grains in that room. I will always wonder about the fever dream. But it’s okay if that infinite mess has permeated my life somehow, because now I can have an escape plan. That realization was a little late to the party.




I write that as the title because I feel as if I have no words left. No sounds or syllables left to form coherent words coming out of my mouth. (But typing on my comp.? I can do that. Always.) I bullshitted a paper this weekend (and today) and turned that in this afternoon after a long ordeal to get it printed. Last night I finished my first full-length screenplay, which is somewhat of an accomplishment I suppose, except it was for class and it’s absolutely terrible and not what I wanted to write. There were a few fun scenes to write though, and much I regret writing in there but my teacher already thinks I’m dark so I suppose it’s not so bad. I cannot let my mind float to some of the things she will read, mostly the bad dialogue not so much the fact a dildo made a cameo in it. (Although my mind screams, WHY SARA WHY) Wait can we talk about the fact Beyonce’s product “Pulse” is not a vibrator but a perfume. I really thought it was a vibrator for a second, an advertisement for it came on thesaurus.com while I was in the library but I didn’t want to click on the link there. I was disappointed it was only “eau de parfum” though, it would really make me happy to see a female celebrity endorse a vibrator or any celebrity a sex toy. (The Sex Positive Revolution is coming, my fellow feminists, get excited ’cause we are only on the crest of the wave.)

But anyways, words could barely come out of my mouth this late morning in my professor’s office. It wasn’t that I was nervous, it was just I wasn’t ready I suppose and there would have been no way to get myself ready and I was MENTALLY EXHAUSTED and still am but I’ve got to ride the wave in general and finish finals and KNOW THERE’S A BETTER TOMORROW. I really just want to hang out with friends right now. So I didn’t really “pitch” but it was pass/fail and I passed. Thank you professor. Last Thursday though I was SO SO SO ready to pitch, I was prepared, I had my pink pants on. I didn’t like what was going to come out of my mouth (MY STORY) but I was mentally ready to suck it up and forge ahead. Unfortunately, my professor was sick so I arrived there for a friend to tell me, ‘Alas, our last class is not to be!’ This morning I was just pulling at words out of thin air I don’t know why it was so hard it was like I was bullshitting an essay on the spot again, blah. I just FAILED. I am sorry my performance wasn’t better, but I guess that’s what sitting in front of a computer typing for four days straight does to you. Also my story veered from my pitch as I wrote it this weekend so it was difficult to reconcile those two. 

I have a final exam essay to turn in Thursday (same class as the 15 page paper yay) and although its take-home I’m not looking forward to it. I have three exams in a row on Saturday. My last final is on next Wednesday. Ayup. Let’s do this. 





The Day You Called Me Darling Was One of the Best of My Life

Dear ____,

I check your blog. I found it last week. It’s not a personal blog it’s for work yet your words are so familiar I can hear you talk.

When I look at it I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I can guess. I think maybe I’m looking for your humanity that shows you are a good person, a caring person, that doesn’t get wrapped up in their own desires and hurt other people and is a complete asshole-psycho. That shows maybe I brought all the hurt from you upon myself. That’s not true but it would be easier. I’m also (not guessing now) looking to see that you’re alright. ‘Cause bad things happened to you and you wouldn’t tell me you just wanted to use me to escape. ONCE, once, you called to let things off your chest one night. Some shit had happened. I missed that call. But even if I had answered things wouldn’t be different now. That was back when you seemed to care about me.

Even though you hurt me and lied to me and treated me horribly, well, I’m always gonna wish the best for you. That’s just how I am. I want everyone to be happy. And you had so much potential- look I don’t know what happened- but you’re really young, still, you’re really young. If I could just transmit that thought to you and its optimism and positivity I would, and it wouldn’t have to come from me. It’s hard, I know. It’s hard to feel young when you’ve had pressure for so many years to do amazing things. Especially when amazing things don’t happen. But that doesn’t change the fact that we are young and still have potential. You’ve had more success than me, anyway.

Thinking of you is weird now, so far away from it all, right? It’s not like I’m sad about it but I shouldn’t be thinking of you nevertheless. I feel like I shouldn’t be anyway. I didn’t really have closure I suppose, but you would never give that. Oh my god, you told me you would find a way to prove that you were serious about me! That you were sorry! You didn’t, why? Because you weren’t, simple. And you didn’t care about me. I wasn’t expecting anything by then of course. I did once or twice say why you really wanted me around and you laughed, denied it. Like no, that’s not why. And nothing after.

I’m probably thinking of you now because by now I thought I would have someone new to chase after, at least have someone else to be interested in. I thought maybe I could have a relationship by now, a wonderful one. Because it’s really hard. I don’t know why I’m writing this here. You won’t read this but still it’s nothing I need to tell you. I guess this letter is more for me than anything I’d really write to you so . . . yeah. I don’t have anyone and I wish I did. It’s hard. I  don’t care if you think I’m happy or not. A lot of the times I am. Maybe I’m not a good person, I don’t know, but I’m not worse than most other people. You would know though, I’d be the best girlfriend to someone. I’d be very loving and accepting and nonjudgmental. I never judged you and you still didn’t want to open up to me but maybe I’ll find someone that needs that love and allows themself to receive it.

I guess the story of our relationship doesn’t really assure me that I’ll ever find someone that loves me and doesn’t use me, it doesn’t assure me that I’m not sick in my mind, it doesn’t assure me that love can be nice and last. If anything I think I’ll know better next time when to let go. I’ll see warning signs. I know I’m worth more than how you treated me. I won’t kid myself. I’ll say bye and stick to it.

I don’t know if you ever care to check on me. I’m guessing no. Maybe I’m wrong and you’ll find this letter and anything else I write about you. I don’t know how’d you react, you always kept your feelings and thoughts foreign to me, yet you told Facebook you felt “jaded” on Valentine’s Day this year.

Look, this seems so silly now. Maybe you’re super happy with your life or just don’t give a care or erased me from your memory. Or maybe you’re brooding and crazy and have already attempted to talk to me through the text messages my phone won’t show me. Maybe what I should have written about is when you asked me to marry you  (through a text followed by apologies for the idea) and the day you called me darling, which was one of the best of my life. Or when your eyes changed color and your pupils dilated and I could visibly see you falling in love with me. When you asked me to be your girlfriend, and I had no choice but to be careful and tell you it wouldn’t work. The day  you held my hand and we kissed by a waterfall. The songs you sent me. But that was a short twilight and if all our moments were swirling together in a magician’s hat, odds are a dark one would be pulled out, crying and clinging to all the other dark ones.

Now all I can feel is a pull to feel like that again with someone better. To feel like I didn’t waste too much on you.

But I wish you the best. I always have and I always will.



Life on track? A track for your life . . .

A lot of times I wonder if I am doing the right thing with my life and I’ll be honest, often I feel the answer is No. Then how I wish for blissful ignorance or belief to save me. However this man in a fabulous black jacket came to talk to our class last week (I can’t remember his name off the top of my head unfortunately) and he said two things that gave me hope. He said that film is the most powerful medium there is and that it’s IMPORTANT work, that humans are storytelling creatures and we need stories and to be there to supply them is useful and important to humanity. I won’t go on with that, but it made me happy. Oh and the other thing he said was that NYC was just a good as a place to start out in as LA for filmmakers now. I can see myself in LA of course, but oh how I love NYC and the East Coast. I have ALWAYS wanted to live on the east coast and romanticized the hell out of it as a kid. Falling leaves that change color, so much history, beautiful, real, walk everywhere cities and perfect houses with porches and basements and lots of family. That might not make much sense towards the end there, but if you knew my family it would. 

In any case, I’m thinking of my future right now, as I usually am. I’ve heard it’s good to think of yourself as a separate entity, as a future self. Maybe it is and maybe it’s not, but that’s what I tend to do. I daydream so much I thought maybe I should just live there, in dreams. But that’s no way to get things done. 

Today I got a new computer and it is amazing and makes me happy and I know I will be using it to edit videos and write scripts and it will be quite lovely. I need to get a good camera now and everything will be wonderful, I will start filming things. I just wanted to write a bit more before I go to bed and now I realize I need to write down all the homework and finals I have left and start on them. It’s going to be a quote unquote “never ending hustle” that will end with the semester ending, but anyway. I work down to the wire, it’s stressful but I’m somewhat used to it. Not that it’s any easier. 

Well, Goodnight,