Tonight was fun. I went to the film festival with my sister, and we saw a great little movie called Best Worst Movie… it was pretty hilarious. And now I have to watch “the worst movie ever made,” which is the movie BWM is devoted to, Troll 2. Good, good stuff.
However, something weird happened to me when I left the theater to drive home. I got all sad and I couldn’t really pinpoint the reason. I spent the drive home listening to music, crying and trying to figure out what was bothering me.
Here’s what I think it could be:
* Sometimes, I feel lonely. I remember all the failed relationships and think about how I seriously don’t have any interest in actually dating. I wonder when I will feel like allowing another person into my life. If ever. What if I never get out of this phase? Because it’s not like I am in a hurry or anything, that’s for sure. I just wonder about myself, sometimes. And how it might be when I am old and completely alone.
* I am jealous of my friends in solid, healthy relationships. And most of all, I am feeling a weird sense of mortality when I remember that “oh yeah, I have no kids, and I am nowhere close to being able to have them” when I see, read about or talk to my friends who have kids. I’m confused by this, though, because I’m still not convinced or sure that yes, I do want to be a parent. I feel too selfish and immature in a lot of ways to see myself as anyone’s mother. But… come on. People do it every day. And people do it well everyday. It’s easy to focus on the negative cases, the messes, the improper parenting and poorly-raised brats we all see every day… but when I stop and look at people doing it right, I feel the strangest, deepest pang of sadness. I don’t completely understand this feeling, yet. I don’t know what to do with it. I just know something isn’t feeling quite right anymore. Part of me truly yearns to raise a child into adulthood. I know I could do it right. And I know I could easily love an adopted child, a child someone else didn’t want. In fact, that’s what I have a calling to do. BUT WOW. How the hell do I do that?! You know how much money you need to adopt? Or how strict the home studies are, and how people with a history of depression are often screened out early on in the process? I know it has to be strict, because these are children’s lives here, and you don’t want just anyone to adopt them… but sometimes it does seem impossible for people like me. Why it should be so difficult for someone like me to adopt a child, and yet any bonehead with a working set of fallopian tubes can have a kid out of wedlock? Ahhh, hell. Whatever. You’ve heard me bitch about this kind of thing before. No sense talking about it any further tonight.
* My friend Jason is one of the founders of this film festival. This is the 10th year it’s been in existence. It began as a small little thing downtown, with a handful of volunteers. I volunteered for the second and third years, introducing films and directing festival-goers to different theaters. And now, it’s kind of a major event. Every year it draws big crowds, the movies are better all the time (last year, 500 Days of Summer premiered there, or at least, played there, for example). I’m really so very proud of Jason and amazed at how successful this thing has become. I’m very happy for him, and definitely enjoy going every year… S0 why do I feel worse about myself when I go to this event? What’s the deal?
* Here’s the deal: I am reminded once more that I have not done anything worth noting yet. All the things I could be doing, to use my once-strong writing skills, I’m not doing them. WHY? Seriously, I’m not really sure why, anymore. I think about how this festival has been going on for 10 years, and I remember that first year and how, back then, I had such plans and ideas about what I was going to do. I was going to play some kick-ass parts on stage yet; I was going to direct shows, and do more sound design. And most of all, I was going to (say it with me now, you’ve heard this tune on repeat now for-fuckin’-ever) write and be published. Did I do it? Nope. I got so damn sidetracked that I don’t really even know where the tracks are anymore. I was in crappy relationships, buying houses and condos, moving pretty much every other year or more, facing the whole endometriosis thing, struggling my way out of depression and crappy, go-nowhere jobs… YEAH, suffice to say, the last 10 years haven’t been anything worth remembering, really. Kind of a wasted decade. Which is what has me sad, I think: I feel old, I feel unaccomplished, I feel stunted. I regret losing a decade to pretty-much-nothing, I really do. I thought I was a little better than that, more intelligent and resilient.
I think I’m tired of all the BLINKING, BLINDING, IN-MY-FACE REMINDERS of my own inadequency. It’s getting to me now, it really is. I have connections to some pretty successful people, and there are opportunities to go down a more fulfilling, successful path that would make me feel better about how I am living my life. Yet, at the same time, I think I get intimidated and sad instead of charged-up by being near these people, directly and even indirectly.
I have officially had enough of this. I’m going to talk to someone, because if I lose any more of my life to NOTHINGNESS, I’m only going to feel worse with every single day that goes by. I thought I could work my way out of this, by journaling and even talking with friends and family, but nights like tonight remind me that I’m actually more fragile about this shit than I can really handle. I like to think I’m smart and capable enough to work through it, toughen up and kick my own ass into shape, but… yeah. Maybe not so much. Time to get reinforcements.
And also, maybe reframe my thinking regarding this house. It’s a distraction from doing what’s really important. I think about the house too much, spend too much money and time on it. I can’t lie: I do wish I hadn’t bought it. Big time buyer’s remorse. I got sucked into thinking I needed a house, that a house was the smartest way to spend my money, but… it’s also a leg iron, keeping me tied RIGHT HERE, where I am. It’s too easy to shift my thinking to ‘what color should I paint this room’ and NOT deal with the hard work of writing myself out of a tough chapter of my book. Or writing the damn 30 Rock spec script. If I could go back one year, I’d be looking at places to rent, instead of buy.
Oh, well. Woulda coulda shoulda, right? Right.