Hey You

It's a little funny when it dawns on you that you're drifting purposelessly through life. That you're not really good at anything in particular. That there isn't a job that you can excel at because of your own nature. That you haven't done anything in your life that you can be proud of, or point to something and say "you know, that's mine. I did it and IT'S GOOD."

For instance, I just heard from the producer I've been working with that my writing sucks. She won't let me write an episode by myself because she's afraid I'll mess it up. This isn't new... she's been that way for a while now. Whenever I've showed her something that I've written without her help, she'll scrunch up her nose as if I were dipped in shit. Or she'll praise the others' work and disparage mine, at which point we'll chuck what I've written and start over (leading her to write most of it by herself). So, basically, she has me there as a typist... at times, I've felt she's been awfully close to yell at me to just "shut up and type". And it's not her fault... it's definitely all mine. I'm the one who isn't delivering what she needs. That's always been the story of my life. I'm probably too thick-headed to understand it or, perhaps, just plain dumb.

My problem is that I've held on to writing knowing that it was probably my sole asset. I've sincerely believed that it was the only good thing I could do and that if, at some point, I were to finally become a writer, I'd be saved. If there was anything in this world that I have claimed as mine, as my only talent, it was that... writing.

So, just like Cindy (the anal-retentive lesbian I worked with at Dreamworks) once remarked, "you're bound to go floundering through life." I hated her for saying that, but now I guess she was right. I don't mean to sound like I feel sorry for myself, but sometimes I feel like a waste, with no real sense as to why I should keep trucking along. I'm sure somebody else would've probably led a better and more useful life than I have in my place. I think I've always been an idiot, the laughingstock of everyone around me, "parsley" (just the way Michelle Pfeiffer, in a scene from "The Fabulous Baker Boys", referred to "Feelings" as a song that could be discarded from her musical show without the audience noticing its absence... hence, I'm "parsley").

But, hey, I gotta keep living, right? As much as I like "The Hours", I'm not about to throw myself out the window and spill my brains on the street. I guess it's all about finding myself. Gotta work on that, even if it keeps on hurting the way it does now.