Sunday, December 03, 2006

Rest In Peace

It’s funny how the last time you see someone becomes etched into your memory. I can remember the last time I saw my uncle before he died. I can remember the last time I saw my Grandmother. I can remember these simple days when I had no idea that I would never see that person again. Knowing what I know now I would have said so many things to these people. .I would tell them that I loved them, that I was sorry that things turned out the way they did. I would remember exactly what they looked like and the way they talked. I would remember what they were wearing and how they wore their hair. You don’t think to yourself this is the last time I’ll ever see this person. You don’t think, “I better say a really great goodbye because It’s the last time I’ll talk to so and so.” You don’t stop and think about how much your going to miss their presence no matter how small. Believe me, when you get that dreaded call in which some unsympathetic relative who you’ve never met tells you that someone you loved, someone who was in your blood died, you will wish that you could talk to that person one last time. There is no such thing as closer. You will always think about things you could have done or said. You will always remember how that person died alone or in pain. In truth, closer is a lie we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better. We don’t want to think about this deceased person after they are buried. After the funeral, we want to forget. So we perform some warped burial service in which no emotion is shown so that we can wipe the dirt off of our hands and say, “so that’s that.” Closer is a joke, a sad excuse for what closer should be. The writers of 6 Feet Under were smart people. They get what closer really is. Closer is screaming and crying until you pass out. Yes…that is closer.

Still Looking For Some Closer-Viola

Friday, December 01, 2006

The Bright Side: So Bright It's Blinding

The bright side? Well, I was completely left out of the play, I have a crush on a gay guy, my mother is moving into an apartment owned by my dad and his girlfriend…really, must I go on. There is no bright side. The bright side has gone cloudy and I forgot my umbrella. Yes, that’s correct my friends. I have given up. Apparently there is someone up there who really, really hates me and is going out of his/her way to make my life a living hell in which I will gain nothing, have nothing, and, due to the play audition results, be nothing. I am officially just a smart girl. That’s it. When someone describes me….I am smart. No and, no but. Just smart. Smart and the only competent person in my lab group because apparently no one other then me knows how to use a scale. I give and give and give and what do I get back? A call sheet without my name on it. You want to know the really sad part: I actually planned the rest of my year around these stupid, frigging play practices that I can’t take part of because, apparently, I suck. So yes, I have given up on the bright side and my bet is that if you had a crush on a gay guy you would too. Yes, you would be suffering from a seething rage that is so intense you want to stalk right in and beat the living crap out of the producers of your high school’s idiotic and poorly casted production of West Side Story because deep down you really thought you had a chance of being casted, even if only for ensemble. So yes I have officially moved over to the dark side because at least over there, they have cake.

Card Carrying Member of the Dark Side- Viola