Welcome To My Bed

Forward motion.

I am filling out job applications and preparing to work again at my current but unspectacular job. Editing my book in the evenings and journaling when I have time. Sometimes I wonder if I am better suited to life than school. I guess I'll know that when classes start up again at the end of the month. I'm thinking of dropping things, but the two classes I could possibly drop are both ones I desperately want to take. Maybe once I make it to spring semester I'll realize one or both of them are unnecessary. Or maybe I won't get into screenwriting after all. The professor still hasn't emailed me back. At any rate, currently I am looking to take five classes and somehow carry two jobs. Possibly only one job. There will be no time for the poetry shenanigans of last semester.

Slam has drifted off into the distance as something I was once good at that no longer excites me. Spoken word was taking over my life, and though I still love readings, I can't see myself competing for bragging rights anymore. It makes me feel like a whore. And also, I smoke too much on the ride to and from Boston.

Another job means more money for my summertime relocation, which I ideally don't want to struggle with. If I can make at least half of the money I'll need for rent for the three months I plan on spending in LA, then it will be easy to get a part time job and spend a good deal of my time writing and/or in the sun. To be fully independent, or at least as independent as is possible when living with two roommates, is something I've been wanting since September. I want to have enough money by the end of May to be confident that I won't fail, but also confident enough to convince the people paying for this life I have now in Western Massachusetts that I can handle a little time off from their help.

I've been giving myself more breathing room lately. I'm officially moving in with James in ten days, and as we get more used to the idea, we're settling down in general. Spending any time apart at all just makes me appreciate falling asleep next to him even more. So much of what is mine sits in a storage closet down the hall, waiting for when I'll have new keys to our new place, where things will be how we want them and I won't feel like such an intruder.

Prose is filtering back into my life, and I had almost forgotten the love I have for a good novel. Rereading Dave Eggers and doing a rewrite of the beginnings of my novel, James says I write like film noir and he wants to adapt the finished product into a screenplay. If only. I have a feeling I'll be able to finish it once I get to LA. Something is missing from my knowledge of the world, and though I've seen the Pacific Ocean before, somehow San Francisco doesn't fit into the story the way another city would.

Some things really only have one way of being accomplished. Here's to finding that one way.