Wasted Time

Posted on July 3, 2009

After a week of preparing, and thinking of plans and things to talk about, I found none of it important in what happened today. Or yesterday as the case may be, but still today as I haven’t gone to sleep yet. Yes, it is important that I know what I want to do, but I don’t need to research that, I need to research in order to do that, but not to know what that is. And I know what I like, so I didn’t need to research that, but the reasons why I like things is still a mystery, so research helps there too. What I am finding most important in “becoming Jennie” is that I’ve always been Jennie, I didn’t see any value in that. I needed to research that other people think I am valuable. Such an interesting concept, still totally undefined and beyond my grasp, but so close and easy to see.

Take books for instance. Borrougs writes a book and thinks, “Yeah, this is pretty good. I’m stoked on it. I’m pleased with my words and the way the fell into sentences, and I think that maybe other people will like it too.” Then he takes it to his buddy, Ginsberg, who reads it and exclaims “Yo, this shit is dooooope, you should try and find a publisher or lit agent. People are gonna dig this man.” Borroughs is stunned. He knew it was a pretty cool thing to have put together, and thought perhaps there would be a positive response, but his homeboy really seemed to like it, in fact more than he ever thought possible. So he decides to let a few more people read it just to make sure it isn’t some fluke accident, to make sure his homey isn’t a retard. After five more people read his words, all loving every detail, the Borroughs finally decides, “Maybe I should listen to Alan and take it to someone bigger. Maybe people outside the circle of friends I have (all of whom must like it out of friendly obligatory status) will like it too!” So he takes it to an agent and they say “Well, sir, I think we are on to something (even though we are going to have a little issue with all this drug usage and homosexuality).” And before this guy knows it, his books are on stands in Borders or Barnes and Noble, and it’s selling like fucking hotcakes. It has value. And originally it meant something to him, but the fact that it can mean something to so many increases the value exponentially. This is where I am right now, minus the drugs and only half the homosexuality, or as I like to call it, “half gay”. And it feels nice.

Funny but nice.

My world had become so small, and I really thought my future was determined, decided, devoted to the career path I had chosen. I didn’t have the courage to dream anymore, I didn’t have the confidence to achieve the deep slumber required to dream, and I was too fucked up when I went to bed to even realize I was sleeping. Now that I’m not fucked up, actually have 86 days today from my last day fucked up, I’ve started to dream not only when I sleep, but also when awake. I feel as though I’m in a constant dream-like state where anything is possible if I can imagine it. As though I’m standing upon a precipice over looking life ready to spread my wings and fly, and the surrounding crowd, friends like Duncan and E-Deezy are quietly whispering “You can fly, you just have to jump.” There is no longer a single person in that crowd saying “Yo, this shit is crazy, lets just walk back down the hill and chill.” The crowd says jump.

And jump I will.

Into writing, fingers strong, regardless of whether or not I achieve success. Into school, even though it will be challenging and exhausting. Into art, even if something I create looks like a piece of shit. Into life headfirst, unafraid of what may or may not happen. I am hereby committing myself to live, to live freely and without worry of the future, because no person’s future is guaranteed, and if I move forward in fear of failure, I will never move at all.

So my first step is to read. Read everything I can get in my grubby little hands. I will devour the written word like Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked, and those words will sink into my vocabulary and help me to express my own thoughts. I will paint, religiously, every day, no more of this “just didn’t have time today” bullshit. I have no job. Why wouldn’t I have time??? I will take this screenwriting class as serious as I would a class at UCLA, absorb every possible thing I can from the lectures and not be afraid to share my projects. I will pay bills as they come in, so there is nothing hanging over my head. I will show up earlier than expected, and stay later than necessary, because these are the actions that build character. I am hereby committing to being alive, and living every moment that I am given.

Because I don’t know when my time is up, and I can’t waste a second.