In 1995, when my dreams were in ashes...
Jun. 16th, 2001 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coyotegoth...I was working as a janitor, and life was- well, pretty shitty. I was owing my father more money month by month; I had left my best friends in the world on less-than-amicable terms; nothing close to a relationship on the horizon... you get the idea. So, this being a introspective kind of an essay, and me wanting to give value for your entertainment dollar, I'll tell ya about it, exposition-wise.
I grew up in northern New York, the younger of two children; it didn't take me very long to figure out that my parents' marriage was, shall we say, strained. They argued; she drank; he remonstrated; she left. I don't mind that she left-it was the only possible solution to the situation as it stood- but... I wish I'd been there for less of it, ya know? Sarah was smart; she had afterschool activities, boyfriends, friends whose parents knew the deal... you know how it is.
I wasn't quite as lucky- too weird for the popular kids, and the "fringe" kids I might've actually had something in common with unnerved me. I tended to my own; I even remember my mom telling me once that she was worried I was autistic- I'd stare out the window for an hour at a time, and struggle if she tried to hug me. College was a new world for me- film school, surrounded by like-minded weirdos- but when I graduated, I was still achingly short on real- world experience- career wise and personal alike.
I got an apartment with a friend of mine; after a few pathetic attempts at job hunting, I went on the road for a year with the House Crew of the Big Apple Circus. That was... interesting... at first (read: kinda like Platoon without the guns), but after a few excruciating months, I was in shape; I had friends on the crew; I had money saved; life was good. I returned to NYC with the goal of... well... with no clear goal; film making hadn't worked out, and I hadn't had the common sense to get a job- related skill like, say, computer work. I wound up drifting into freelance proofreading, which was okay, but unsteady- and my circus money didn't last all that long. Soooo...
CUT TO: Your humble narrator scrubbing floors and mopping toilets for a living, looking down 7th Avenue at the World Trade Center, where I'd been working for $18 an hour not all that long before. In a fit of passion worthy of Scarlett O' Hara, I swear I'll be back there... and I make it happen. New resume; LOTS of interviews; more work- a simple enough equation. I get engaged, and then dis-engaged; I mend fences with my erstwhile friends (one of whom is vacuuming as I type this); I get a solid, staff position that pays for the comp I'm typing on, the Van Morrison CD I'm listening to, and the standard array of materialistic goodies. I even get benefits that pay for some extraordinarily successful back surgery (and thanks again, Dr. M!)- financially and personally, I've never been in better shape...
...and- yes- I'm unhappy. Part of it, of course, is the lack of a loved one in my life; I've had some fascinating near misses since the engagement, although nothing more than that; and yeah, I am getting tired of having no one other than Lynn- dedicated lesbian that she is- to compare notes with at the end of the day. Still... that's only part of the problem. I guess... my life has always been lacking in excitement- in purpose. The days are becoming a blur- as though I'm falling into a rut; a far too well- padded routine. I haven't been uncomfortable enough- as when I was janitoring- to change things... yadda yadda. Film school was the closest thing I've ever had to a clear goal; once I realized that being the next Orson Welles might not be in the cards, that paled, too. I don't know... having brought you down memory lane with me, I now leave Our Hero as he sits in front of his computer, and attempts to get in touch with the higher forces, and try Get His Life Together. Stay tuned...
I grew up in northern New York, the younger of two children; it didn't take me very long to figure out that my parents' marriage was, shall we say, strained. They argued; she drank; he remonstrated; she left. I don't mind that she left-it was the only possible solution to the situation as it stood- but... I wish I'd been there for less of it, ya know? Sarah was smart; she had afterschool activities, boyfriends, friends whose parents knew the deal... you know how it is.
I wasn't quite as lucky- too weird for the popular kids, and the "fringe" kids I might've actually had something in common with unnerved me. I tended to my own; I even remember my mom telling me once that she was worried I was autistic- I'd stare out the window for an hour at a time, and struggle if she tried to hug me. College was a new world for me- film school, surrounded by like-minded weirdos- but when I graduated, I was still achingly short on real- world experience- career wise and personal alike.
I got an apartment with a friend of mine; after a few pathetic attempts at job hunting, I went on the road for a year with the House Crew of the Big Apple Circus. That was... interesting... at first (read: kinda like Platoon without the guns), but after a few excruciating months, I was in shape; I had friends on the crew; I had money saved; life was good. I returned to NYC with the goal of... well... with no clear goal; film making hadn't worked out, and I hadn't had the common sense to get a job- related skill like, say, computer work. I wound up drifting into freelance proofreading, which was okay, but unsteady- and my circus money didn't last all that long. Soooo...
CUT TO: Your humble narrator scrubbing floors and mopping toilets for a living, looking down 7th Avenue at the World Trade Center, where I'd been working for $18 an hour not all that long before. In a fit of passion worthy of Scarlett O' Hara, I swear I'll be back there... and I make it happen. New resume; LOTS of interviews; more work- a simple enough equation. I get engaged, and then dis-engaged; I mend fences with my erstwhile friends (one of whom is vacuuming as I type this); I get a solid, staff position that pays for the comp I'm typing on, the Van Morrison CD I'm listening to, and the standard array of materialistic goodies. I even get benefits that pay for some extraordinarily successful back surgery (and thanks again, Dr. M!)- financially and personally, I've never been in better shape...
...and- yes- I'm unhappy. Part of it, of course, is the lack of a loved one in my life; I've had some fascinating near misses since the engagement, although nothing more than that; and yeah, I am getting tired of having no one other than Lynn- dedicated lesbian that she is- to compare notes with at the end of the day. Still... that's only part of the problem. I guess... my life has always been lacking in excitement- in purpose. The days are becoming a blur- as though I'm falling into a rut; a far too well- padded routine. I haven't been uncomfortable enough- as when I was janitoring- to change things... yadda yadda. Film school was the closest thing I've ever had to a clear goal; once I realized that being the next Orson Welles might not be in the cards, that paled, too. I don't know... having brought you down memory lane with me, I now leave Our Hero as he sits in front of his computer, and attempts to get in touch with the higher forces, and try Get His Life Together. Stay tuned...
