Jan. 4th, 2004

sidewalksparkle: (call up the spirit)
I finished editing a short story I wrote a long time ago yesterday, and just now I printed the eight-and-a-half pages. I think it's a sad story, but I printed it on pink paper. This is probably only funny to me.


I don't think anybody but me will ever read the story. I still have such a problem with sharing my writing. I'm getting better about letting other people read poems, but it isn't easy. Mrs. H is helping me figure out what I should submit to the Scholastic Young Writers competition, and there are a couple of pieces I haven't even given her to look over yet. I should probably do that, since I have to mail everything off before the 10th. It's not that Mrs. H is a particularly judgemental person or that my more personal writing contains things that make me look like a horrible human being or anything like that. Handing over a piece of paper with something that was important to me once just makes me feel shy--what if that piece of importance gets lost in the shuffle and loses its meaning, and when I try to regain it I realize it wasn't ever very important at all? I know that's silly, but I can't help but feel a bit panicky about it all.


This weekend has been great. I've allowed myself to be a total couch/computer potato. I downloaded more "Weekend Update" episodes from SNL and sat there laughing to myself for quite awhile. I even endured last night's SNL re-run with Kelly Ripa being an annoying host (I hadn't seen the episode before). Total escapism. And there was Outkast! (The best part about having a polaroid camera is being literally able shake it like a polaroid picture.) And Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon, my favorites (obviously, though the musical guest "Jimmy Buffet" was dumb), and Maya Rudolph as Leilani Burke, Pet Psychic.


One night a couple weeks ago I had very long and complicated dream. Part of it included an enormous storm rolling in and waist-deep water in a huge field. I was with my family and a lot of other people I know, but I remembered I had an an internship with Saturday Night Live, so I ran through the watery field to where the cast was (since they were conveniently wading around in this huge field too) and Tina Fey said she wanted me to appear between sketches dressed as a drenched-wet old woman in a wooden chair, mumbling prayers in Spanish. I didn't understand why this would be funny, but I said "Okay!" really eagerly and then a huge concession stand appeared out of nowhere and everybody jumped over the counter like scrambling action figures. I was suddenly in my bedroom, packing a sleepover bag because dude, I was going to the city to make my debut as a mumbling old lady from Spain on Saturday Night Live! It was a great dream, even though it began with me trying to finish a website on the first day of school and remembering I hadn't bought Thanksgiving gifts for people who wanted them. (What?)


It's true--my dreams reveal me as the desperate loser I actually am. In real life, had I the one-in-a-million chance to be the same old lady, I would probably go for it if Tina Fey said I should.

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sidewalksparkle

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