http://movieclips.com/AEsN-breakfast-at-tiffanys-movie-the-mean-reds/
Its 11pm. One hell of a day. my cheeks are stained with little white veins where tears have traveled and with them taken bits of makeup leaving behind almost mocking trails. My throat is sore, thumping with a pulse from “talking it out” with girlfriends, lovers, family members, even my pudgy chihuahua. My eyes though, my eyes are the worst. The computer screen feels like staring into the sun and my eye sockets feel like they are about to collapse.
This is the only time I feel creative.
I wish sometimes this were not the case. I wish that when I found myself wrapped in loving arms at 11pm that I would be inspired to gently pull out a notepad or even my phone and scribble down little glittery pieces of love,light and sweetness. I just cant.
When I was a little girl I was lonely a lot. An only child with employed parents with social lives was not the american dream its painted to be.
Most of my childhood was spent occupying my time with intricate games or crafts that made me feel less alone. One winter I made an entire village of people made out of popsicle sticks. They all had names and distinctive outfits. There were Mommies and Daddies and little popsicle sticks cut in half to be children.Every family had a number and last name scribbled on their backs with sharpies, you know...just in case anyone ever got lost. Everyone had a place. Even wacky aunt Mildred with orange felt hair and a zebra gum wrapper dress...what a crazy bitch she was!
When the weather was nice I would go hunting outside my Fathers apartment. Armed with a Ranger Rick magnifying glass and a net used to catch butterflies I would scour the manicured bushes and stone paths searching for pill bugs or “rolly pole-y s”. Catching the bugs was easy, at the very hint of a threat the grey caterpillar like creatures would fold up their bodies into a perfectly round hard shelled ball and just sit there, sometimes seconds, sometimes minutes. Easy to catch I would collect enough into my net until I was satisfied and lay them out on the sun heated concrete. I would sit and watch them unfold one by one. Watch them cautiously learn to trust, get their baring about them and run for the nearest soil. Pretty soon I smartened up enough to bring an old shoebox out with me and hold them all hostage there. As their tiny bodies unraveled, scared, unsure, untrusting they would panic looking for a way to escape.
These days I felt so powerful. I myself being a little pill bug, frightened, untrusting and terrified of someone hurting me. Once I opened up my hard shell to expose my soft underbelly it was usually met with immediate regret and then more aloneness. It felt nice not to be so alone on these hot summer days. The rolly poleys and I.
Sometimes on nights like these. When I feel the twinge of panic in my heart as I realize for the first time in the day while everyones asleep how alone I really am I wish on whatever is close (usually my stuff unicorn) that I could be transformed into that creative, optimistic girl that made the world her playground so that she would never feel that she was facing this planet alone. Until that day comes again, I will fold myself up into my perfectly round hard shell and bid you goodnight.
