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[12 May 2008|10:26pm] |
Writing. Its never actually been my forte. I’ve had plenty of things in my life, but not a single one of them has been the creative word bug. I did the horse thing, the surfing thing and now I’m into the movie thing. I’ve never had the pen to paper thing follow me around as a nasty (or not so nasty) habit. Which, when I think of it, is just a little bit sad. When I was younger, growing up in California and then Connecticut, I wrote all sorts of little journals. Filled the pages with little girl’s thoughts and dreams, scribbling pictures of flowers and prince charming, no doubt. When things got interesting though, I stopped writing. A major flaw on my part, I suppose. I’ve not even held onto those little girl’s ideas of decent prose, any who. If I’d kept on though, maybe I’d had held onto them all. Creating a neat little stack in some back corner, finding comfort in knowing they existed, in knowing that my memories were neatly cataloged. Then again, I’ve never been too nostalgic for my own memories or been too much of a cluster collector. So, that must say one thing or another about me, I guess, that I haven’t kept on with the whole idea.
What am I saying here anyways? I could promise you all that I’ve decided to keep on now, to write someone fulfilling, common and genuine about my life in the white little box from now on, but the truth is….I probably won’t. What’s that they say anyways? About history repeating itself? It’ll probably repeat itself here. The inevitable, it’s got to be accepted sometimes.
I’m twenty-five now. Its odd to say. Twenty-five. Its an odd number to be. Its almost like I should start thinking about being an adult. Start thinking about more important things. At twenty, you’re so very young and naïve. Twenty-one, well, some people don’t really remember that age. It’s the freedom of alcohol age. Twenty-two, twenty-three and twenty-four; go by relatively untapped by much effort or serious thought. But when I hit twenty five, it was one of those moments. Those, holy shit, I am aging moments. It made me think a bit about the progression or time, about growing up. Not that I am going to starting furrowing my brow into wrinkles and wearing pant suits or anything. I’ll always be a little too playful for those sorts of things.
Its been a good ride to twenty-five though and I don’t have much to complain about. Honestly, how could I? I’ve got the chance to be plenty of different people and work with some of the best. I’ve had some fun roles and I’ve had a few challenging ones. I loved them all. I’m thankful as I can be. At twenty-five, I’ve worked with Kevin Spacey three times. Kevin, freaking, Spacey. So, my resume is doing fine.
Here’s to hoping the next twenty-five are just as full of contentment.
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[12 May 2008|09:28pm] |
What happens when two snails fight?
They slug it out.
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