|
the_dreaded_caitiff
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: caitlin
Birthday: 2/25/1990
Gender: Female
Interests: hmm well we've got the various forms of literary and performing arts (which includes the magnificent sound unlimited and writing), scotland, watching desperately as my brain deteriorates into grape jelly, mocking ridiculously ridiculous songs...and the all holy classic rock.
Occupation: Other
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  scottish pride23
Member Since:
9/17/2004
|
|
| It's the only bit of fiction I've written in I don't know how long, so I thought I might as well post it somewhere..
Thanks to Mr. Helle's English class by the way.
“It’s back,” she breathed, feeling
the cloud of dread rise above her once more, insurmountable, impenetrable. She
took two deep breaths and pulled herself out of her reverie, allowing her eyes
to open, her retinas angrily forced to adjust to the flickering lights. “Where
am I?” she thought as she was jostled roughly in her small, plastic seat. The
bus. She could remember getting on now and choosing her seat. Selecting the
right spot on which she would travel fifteen stops to her first floor, low rent
apartment was a tricky business, and today it seemed she had made the wrong
decision. The bearded man to her right let out a hoarse cough, and she edged to
the left, covering her mouth as she did so. She studied him out of the corner
of her eye, and within a few moments felt quite sure that there was something
wrong with him. He was jaundiced, or soon to become jaundiced. She prided
herself in being able to recognize such conditions, but acknowledged that she
had worked for it. The many medical books stowed in her bookshelves attested to
the fact that she was well learned in her craft. With her new found post-diagnosis
knowledge, she clamped her hand ever tighter to her mouth and tried to limit
the breathing through her nose so that as little oxygen as possible was
entering her lungs. She had been careless, allowing herself to drift off while
a carrier of a contagious disease had seated himself right next to her. Reason
told her she might as well be dead already, but she felt it was worth a fight.
This was her dread – the air, the
diseases floating around in it unceasingly, ready to ensnare her cells, take
her body, end her life. Everything was infectious – tuberculosis, cancer, HIV,
schizophrenia – and it all was airborne. The more she breathed, the more likely
it was that she’d catch one. Quite frankly, she was surprised she had made it
this long. She caught a flu once and felt sure she would die. She was still
unable to recall how it was that she had pulled through.
This illness had only made her more
susceptible to catching something worse, something that was sure to be fatal.
She was a walking target, a Petri dish simply waiting to grow a set of colorful
bacteria, to be studied by specialists, to be kept alive only by a monitor as
doctors hung their heads, marveling at her ability to stay alive for as long as
she had. Perhaps that would make her worth something, something more than the
small woman who worked nine hours a day in a cubicle trying to convince
helpless people that life insurance with her company was the way to go (even
though she believed it was already a lost cause). She, of course, kept a cloth
over the receiver of the phone in case any diseases traveled through the
telephone wires and into her mouth.
It was her dream, she mused one
night, to work from eight at night until five in the morning. No one would be
at her office, and less would be on the roads. She could get her work done –
maybe transfer to the filing and records department so she wouldn’t make those
tedious calls – and work undisturbed, uncontaminated. Then again, if her
cubicle wall fell on top of her while she was there alone – which it was
undeniably sure to – no one would be there to reclaim the body. Either way, she
couldn’t muster up the courage to ask her boss.
But she was by no means invisible.
Her coworkers knew her. She was Mary, or Susan, or maybe it was Beth – some
generic name. She always looked tired, and she never attended the company
parties. Some said the boss only kept her on because the job was all she had,
but no one really knew. So perhaps she was, for all intensive purposes,
invisible.
| | |
| I don't think I've said this for a while, but I miss the two best friends I've ever had.
To be elaborated upon once I finish studying for this stupid Spanish final.
//Edit. Commence elaboration.
I am so tired of seeing my brother the way he is, and I'm getting tired of talking about it. Don't ask me questions about him. I'll tell you if I want to. It's difficult to explain how hard it is to relay the terrible facts that have become the reality of my entire family as if they're inconsequencial details, because they're not. Every day they threatent to tear my household apart, and while I have faith in the steadfast nature of my parent's relationship, I don't like to see the stress it puts them through.
And regardless of how many times I profress that I really don't care anymore, every time I drive out to Alpine and see him, tear threaten to leave the safety of my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I can't stand to see him look at me with the same desperate, frustrated expression in his eyes, and somehow the knowledge that he listens to me more than my parents hurts most, as if his trust in me is the last remnant of that golden friendship we had a year or more ago. It's easy to forget about when I want to, but I think it's always playing in the back of mind, always gnawing at me. I miss my brother.
And last weekend, I had my first episode of, "Gosh I really wish my best friend was here" in a long time. It had been growing on me all night, and although I couldn't see what that nagging feeling was until about 10 at night, once it was clear I felt my temperment change immeadiately. An hour later I got in my car, preparing to drive home, and listened to a song that brought back some wonderful memories, and I experienced that sad, hopeful, extremely nostalgic feeling that used to surface every day. Years have passed (is it three now? I always lose count) since she left, and my life has adapted to the change, which is probably why I was so surprised to react this way to basically nothing. I guess I'll always miss her.
 | | |
| I wish there was a day at the end of summer reserved simply for all that school work and stuff you never did that would last as long as it needed to to get your work done. Obligations in summer seem so out of place, and with already having school, class stuff, sound, and work to think about, preparations for next year are really the last things on my mind. Maybe the fact that everything that's happened to me in the past few days [or weeks] has somehow become a Harry Potter reference is motivating this statement, but that doesn't change the fact that I want it to happen.
I saw another totally incredible artist on Friday - my third favorite, the adorable, extremely talented, British Jamie Cullum. He really was amazing his voice was even better live, which was something I honestly didn't expect from him. The fact that I met him as well only made that night doubly better. I hope to see him again soon, because my already very high esteem for him has just increased and he has now birthed a thirst in me that, as it so often is, is difficult to be quenched. No matter. I'll work it out somehow.
I'm changing even more. I tried something new the other night, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it - both the decision to try it in the first place and then the after effects. I have also become "the rock" of my family as my dad is having trouble managing the mounting stress and my mom keeps up the emotional marathon she's been running for the past year. Leadership turns out to be a much more difficult job than I could've ever imagined. I only hope situations like these can be avoided in the future, not only for the good of my group but so making these hurtful decisions can be avoided. I think one of my main flaws as a leader is that I don't like upsetting people. I know I need to get past that, I just wasn't expecting the learning to happen so soon.
I've got a lot to think about.
| | |
| The past month and a half has been a blur. Ten test sessions, trying to keep up with school, reaching my usual quota of drama, work, getting A.D., and two amazing performances in the past week that have diverted me from everything else that's been happening as the school year finally draws to a close. I've heard a lot of people remarking on how quickly this school year went, but I have to say that I don't feel the same way. September seems ages ago in many ways. I've grown a lot in the course of these ten months, both by choice and by being forced through circumstance. I'm less emotional (and less emotionally connected, which has its definite pros and cons), less shy, in some ways less motivated, more carefree, and a little less productive. But at the same time, I've learned how to have fun, something that I was only good at when it was facilitated completely by someone else. I've grown more into my own person, and although I still feel a little lost from time to time, I think it's entirely normal. Suffice it to say, I am very ready for this year to be over. So as far as the fun stuff goes, I saw Hairspray for the third time on Thursday, and it was so much fun. I remember thinking to myself as the cast bowed, beaming, that I could recall at that moment exactly why I wanted to be an actress. No, it didn't make me want to go back to that utterly impracticle dream, but it did evoke a feeling that I have been out of touch with for a while. Improv simply doesn't do for me what dtid di before, and that ocul dbe because of the people I'm doing it with (no offense to my team). The dynamic between the seven of us (including our alternate and Yvette) isn't half as strong as it's ever been, and it shows in our scenes. We haven't reached that point of being able to accurately anticipate the person's next move, and we won't be able to by the 29th. I think I am finally able to let go of improv, at least in CYT, forever. Last night I saw John Mayer live in concert, and let me tell you, that man can play one mean guitar, not to mention catchy songs and a steadily improving voice. Nothing about that concert went wrong. Every song sounded like a better version of the CD - none of those "well give him a break, it's live" allowances had to be made, because he was absolutely flawless. I'm tired of these, well, fake artists that sound pretty good in a recording but then get on a stage and can't sing their songs, play their instruments, or keep up the stamina to put out an enjoyable performance. John Mayer was like a vision from the past, from the rock and roll gods of the 60s and 70s that delivered mind-blowing performances, that caused riots because the fans were so wired. I'm not saying I want to be a part of a riot, I'm saying that this guy knows how to play. I wish more artists out there were like John Mayer, but I guess that's part of what makes him so amazing. I love simple pleasures like that, though. You know, like seeing your second favorite artist in concert and having your already sky high expectations be exceeded, or having a love of a truly wonderful musical be instilled, not necessarily by a great cast, but by the memory of what it was the first two times. Words can't explain how fun that night was - the second time I saw it up in L.A. It's one of those incredible memories that I'll never let go of, where nothing went wrong. 
I miss it too. | | |
| I feel truly strange at this moment, and as is customary for me, the reason is quite unfathomable. Last night, I was honored with the role of Assistant Director for Sound, a role that I have desired and worked for since my very first day in the group, but I find it difficult to feel the elation that I had expected to be radiating from my every word and movement. Instead, I worry. I worry about one of my good friends who, unlike me, didn’t get what she wanted. She’s a very strong person in many ways, and as I know her fairly well and am aware of the fact that we are the same person a large amount of the time, I fear that she is more disappointed than she’s letting on. I want very much for her to be happy. I worry about a friend who is having a rough time dealing with the fact that it’s almost time to let go to more than one of her friends for more than one reason. I want to be that spectacular model friend that I feel I should be for her in times like this, but instead I can only think of clichés and simple phrases that end up meaning nothing when all is said and done. I hope that she can be actually happy soon. It seems her moments of joy are too often short-lived. I worry that I will let Sound and Mrs. Ronacher down, that I will end up being a regretted decision, and I am not eager to assume the position because it will signify the departure of all the current seniors, including the present A.D., Heally, my role model in so many ways, and one of my good friends and favorite people to laugh with. I can only hope that I will do just as well as she did with the group, and that perhaps I can make as profound an impact on someone as she made on me. I worry about my family, about my mom who cries more and more each day, about my dad who has reached a breaking point of utter disappointment, confusion, and failure, and for my brother, who seems to have gotten himself into a mess that will be more tolling on himself and this family than anything he’s done thus far. And finally, I worry for myself, for my emotional well being. I have developed the talent of becoming emotionally numb to everything concerning my family problems. I don’t cry at night anymore, and I feel nothing but pity for my brother now, even though his situation demands much more intense feeling than that. It almost seems worse to feel nothing than to feel too much. | | |
|
