Jack Kerouac said:
“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple”
He better not be lying.
In four days I depart the Evergreen State. This road trip has moved from the conceptual phase to the reality phase – I am not very fond of reality, never have been. In fact, from the moment I first entered the education system and as recently as last week, my teachers consistently have commented:
“Fionna has a tendency toward daydreaming in class. She doesn’t take instruction well, and she is a chatterbox who likes to tell stories.”
I can’t say that I disagree.
As I have grown older and experienced more of the world I concede to reality only so far as survival demands. I choose to live in my rose-colored adaptation of reality. It is much more optimistic. That said, the past two days have been reality of the other kind, the documentary style, hard truth, tough love version of reality: Money, bills, responsibility, debates on what to pack and what not to pack… I need this reference book… do I really need a heavy coat? Should I take these black heels or those black heels… or, as JJ so eloquently put it:
“What the hell is all this s#*t?!?”
Making decisions with regard to real life, no matter how trivial, can send me into a tailspin. First I lose the power of speech and babble like a four-year old. I try to write, but find the spelling of simple words beyond my grasp. I pick things up and forget why, put things down and forget where. I want to cry.
In an attempt to avoid the complete demise of coherent thought, I dive into fantasy. I have the pictures in my mind; I know what I want to write; I even have most of it written… then reality butts in… I get stuck on sentence structure. How can I find the right words to best depict the picture. My inner dialogue sounds something like this:
“I need the woman to walk down the hall, ok – no problem…but I want to build tension throughout that walk… this is easier to write in a screenplay… I need dramatic scoring behind this… WALK DOWN THE HALL!!!! AAAAAAHHHH”
I ask Bailey what I should do. She ignores me and continues to sniff at the grass. Oh, and my friend called to report that she ‘googled’ me, and there I was.
That still sounds dirty to me.