How old are you? Millenia, sir.

I wish that actors lived in caves, emerged to act, and then went subterranean again, never revealing their names or actual identities. Or that they walked around in disguises most of the time (or acted in costume and make-up that made them look drastically different). Something where nobody knew who they really were. I guess this idea is the banishment of celebrities. I suppose I can’t really enforce this to the entire earth, but I thought of it today like, “If I were an actor, this is what I would do…” I would be a mysterious woman, invested in the study of life and its people, embodying that beauty in pieces (plays, films, whatever…), and preserving my art, my self, from the public eye. This is to say, “Hey, you, you who watches me… This art is about you, not me.” So I would shun fame.

~and unrelate~

My Counseling professor (Counseling is a course, I’m not being personally instructed in one hour weekly sessions)  makes the priority of his lessons self-reflection. I like that partially because I could use that in deciding what I do with my life next, and also because it makes it, well, an easier class… Last Wednesday, he commenced the class by asking us to imagine where we would be in 2013. I wondered what he thought looking at us as we all sat there with our eyes closed.

I first registered slight surprise that I would have a future. (see: slightly faulty serotonin receptors.) After moving past that, I started to imagine myself living in a flat in London with Waffle. Flannery lived nearby somewhere. In the morning, I worked at counseling practice, overall part-time. I would be out by the afternoon to grab lunch in Covent Garden with Flann and then go to band practice. Walking home from band practice, I’d pick up Indian for dinner and be greeted by a tail-thomping Waffle at my flat. I’d take him out for a walk in a park. Back home, darkness falling, I would work on writing and drawing up graphic novels. A few hours later, after a soak in the tub, Waffle and I would curl up and fall asleep in an enormously cooshy bed. The bed was a real luxury imagined in there, since I’ve mainly slept on rather monastic things throughout my life. I imagined more forward into that life, where Bible studies and gigs and ballet classes would reside. I could suddenly tack on a conclusion to this… But I just made some brownies from scratch for the first time ever, frosting included in the ‘from scratch’, so I want to leave. I guess I mentioned the imaginal exercise, because it joined in the tide of my restarting. I’m going to keep consciously imagining happy futures instead of settling into the faulty serotonin receptor wasteland. And it’s not that I ever lost optimism that the entire universe would work out okay… It’s specifically myself deemed purposeless in a world full of purpose… so in fighting, I want to imagine specific futures for myself.