Sunday night and I'm whomped. Beat. Tired. It's past midnight and I'm drinking the last beer in the fridge. Here's a look back at the week that was...
I remember once telling my friend Cindi that just when you think you can't dig any lower, there's still more dirt to go. I'll use that in the case of psychobabble -if I discover one more thing about myself I think I'm going to hang it up. Shit. So I've figured out the major malfunction, the disconnect if you will, that I have. It's not necessarily emotional baggage as it is emotional trust issues in regards to being intellectual. To clarify: trusting people after being hurt. I did some research and most emotional trust issues come from the fact that the person with these issues had been molested as a child or teenager and these issues just come to current light.
That's not my story. My parents never did such a thing.
What my story is about is not fitting in with others due to being smarter, or having to learn differently, or having high-functioning autism (as I've been told I possibly have). Whereas others who would be my age would be emotionally mature I'm... not there. I wish I was. It sure as hell would've save me a lot of grief and time understanding this instead of running around asking “What's the problem with me?” People can marvel at the fact I know movies, music, and a lot of other things but when it comes to connecting with someone, or understanding feelings, or playing stupid people games I'm out in left field. Which sucks. So this has became part of a laundry list of things I'm working on within the next year. A friend of mine calls it the “Me Plan.” Fair enough. To quoth the Cindi, “Baby steps...” It never feels or seems any easier...
And this “emotional trust” maturity has to extend to something else. I got out my digital camera (not the greatest, mind you) and flipped through the myriad of pics still on it. It holds everything from when I took pics of snow when I first bought it to Fright Night Film Fest, LIFF, Derby City Film Fest and most recently my pic with Roger Corman. Sandwiched in-between all these are pics I took at the BBC on Shelbyville, ones of me and Jennifer. I've known the pics were on there but have held back on deleting them. There are also pics of “Psycho” (person, not the movie) that I'll gladly get rid of. But I've been holding on to hers. The general consensus is for me to get rid of them. Delete them. On one hand I don't want to because they're good pics and it's a time when for a moment, she smiled. She was honestly happy. I have nothing filling that void and remembering making someone happy makes me feel better about being me. Then again everything went sour, went to shit, and nothing to fill the void (see: emotional trust issues). But I'm going to have to get rid of them. Why do I feel so bad about that considering everything else?
I'm finally back to feeling like “me” again. Remembering the things that made me happy and that others liked about me. Maybe I've said this before. I dunno. I've got to buckle down and deal with finances, setting up a webpage, etc. There be a long road ahead... More on that as I can provide the info.
Strapped for cash the majority of this weekend was spent talking. And talking. And talking. I've blown through at least $60 (food, gas) and I have $20 to last me until Thursday. Great. Not having coffee as much is gonna be rough... But yeah, I've been talking. Neighbors. Friends. Acquaintances. Romans. Countrymen (wait...) It's been suggested, or rather advised, that I speak with a counselor about stuff. The only problemo with this is the dollars. I don't want to really pay but I need to deal with the issues. “Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues and you know it don't come easy.” Astute, Ringo.
Saturday night I sat up at the coffeeshop and witnessed an interesting cavalcade of characters all indigenous to the area. I sat at a table on the outskirts of a group that ran along the three back walls of the place. In the center was the Miss Leading Lady, an attractive blond chick with long hair, thin body and nice legs sporting black high heel pumps. To her (and my) left Mr. Hipper Than Thou – gray shirt, blue jeans with factory-made holes with patches (to make it seem like you could see through the holes in the jeans), gelled and spiked hair wearing a yellow “LiveStrong” wristband and sporting an iPhone on which he was playing some video. To his left, as we proceed counter-clockwise, shorter blond chick of an average build with a purple short-sleeved shirt. To her left another guy wearing a black shirt. Next to him Mr. Reserved; thoughtful, somewhat happy guy with a nice, not too brand-name shirt over another shirt. Moving on Mr. Good Ole Boy sat taking up space in the chair as if he owned it. Large build, ponch stomach, and big hands wearing a navy blue polo shirt and baseball hat. To his left another guy; thin build, black hair, wearing a brown shirt with a creative design on it. Sitting at the table opposite him (I'm guessing) is his wife in a large sea-green dress; she's looks about due. At some point she does the waddle-shuffle over to Miss Leading Lady to watch the guy's iPhone. All have state-of-the-culture cellphones and are waiting for instructions as to what bar they were going out to and where. The acoustics and overhead sound killed what I could understand of their native drawl.
Spent two hours today scouting photography locations with Sabrina. She's the daughter of a couple I've known for as long as she's been alive. She wants me to take Senior Pics of her which is fine; I'm up to the challenge. To paraphrase her, “You've got to do better than the crappy photographers here.” She likes my style because it's different and I'm willing to shoot outside, even spending a whole day to do so. We traveled to the train tracks around Clifton and Frankfort Ave. then downtown to the Kentucky Center of the Arts, the Galt House, the Muhammad Ali Center, Louisville Slugger, Frazier Museum, and finally over to 21c where I showed her around and bought her a soda. I took her up to the parking garage roof and she wants to shoot there, too. Everything done within 2 hours with major amounts of walking around (didn't stay at any one place longer than a few minutes). All-in-all a good day. Now it's just a matter of getting the camera and spending a whole day to do it.
Wow. This was a friggin' tome. Killed the beer. Time for bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment