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disclaimer: this is the life and times of meredith r. mistletoe. i'm making a slight attempt to disguise my identity and hide things that i write about and pretend i don't feel things i do. but if you read this and i don't know you read it, then you read it at your own risk. and you should let me know you're reading it... especially because a lot of the time things need clarifying or aren't quite true anymore or etc etc etc.

note: potential employers: please do not judge me on my diaryland. that's lame.


2007.01.26 2:13 a.m.

So it seems that the depression has lifted. I can move again. But along with moving comes "feeling". I am not impressed. Not at all.

I called my mum up in hysterical tears and then she was worried and then I tried to explain to her that everything is fine. Which is it. It really really is. I know things are fine when I can weep uncontrollably. Except that with things being fine, it makes me realize that I have no idea when things will be great.

My weeping was obviously caused by Grey's Anatomy. TV always sets me off. Those two Amish girls and their parents, and George's dad dying, people not-breaking-up, etc. I just can't help it. (Although Jo said she was crying too. And my mum said she was crying a bit, and my mum's not a big crier, so I felt better.)

I can't go to the doctor on account of it makes me miss my mother. I can't stand the thought of being sick without her around to take care of me. Being in the ambulance/hospital those couple of times two summers ago were some of the absolute loneliest moments of my life.

There needs to be some sort of stability in my life. Some sort of constant.
In a way, Niki's kind of holding it together for me right now. She is good at being my family. And Chala. And the friends that I have. They are my constant.

I'm unsure of how long I can deal with this unsettled actor's life. Does that mean I don't want it enough?
I mean, I'm unsure of how long I can go not knowing if I'm going to die on the streets of starvation tomorrow. I could lead a very unsettled lifestyle if only I had money.
Or a family at least. Something to go home to? Something to work for?
I don't know what that means.

What I need is a pleasurable way of making money to support my art. A good day job. Something that I also enjoy (even if it isn't my main passion). And that pays very well.
It actually blows my mind that people make $30,000 a year. And that that's the low end of the middle-class scale. WHOA.

Naomi pointed out that most of the people we know who are becoming successful (in our age group) are people who still live at home and can devote all of their time to this. And take all the classes they want and get new pictures, etc.

I am a deservist. Deservists who are raised in poverty are very unlucky people. The world just can't make sense.
But I deserve this.. ... so.. I should have it.. ... why can't I have it?

Ack! I just realized who this Nyet to the Neins CD reminds me of. Early-ish Watchmen. Totally. A lot more punkrock, of course, but still.
I like this CD a lot.

Went to brunch with Sophia today. Feist and Howie were there. Feist is kind of intimidating. I feel like she would hate me. David (Aunties David, not David-bff-x100) was at his best: yelling at me about what an idiot I am, telling me that he's actually going to start playing shows for real, asking about my next zine, giving me teeny bits of gossip on my celebrity crushes, mocking me for not recognizing The Smiths, forgetting my coffee for around ten years, being secretly sweet.
Sophia was also entertaining. She's funny in a very specific way. A random dorky way.

I drank three or four cups of coffee and felt remarkably ill.

Then I met Naomi at the office. We did good. Not as good as yesterday, but good. The studio was free again, so we spent a lot of time in there. Even closed the door a bit so that we could sing. We want to join a choir. I should look into that. I love singing. So much. Especially if there were many other people singing to cover up how bad I am.
We did a bit of running and a bit of machines. I'm always surprised when I work up a sweat. It's like I've lost my indie-edge, you know?

Sorry, lately I'm pretty into making jokes about how "indie" I am. Or how "gangsta", or how "punkrock". Whatever suits.

All I want is sugar and even when I've just had some I want some more. Candy canes, candy, toast-and-honey, and then I had to make haystacks this evening.

It's really cold here. Which is odd. And kind of nice. My back window has ice-over nicely and my front window is perpetually fogged up. This means I can be naked without needing to draw the blinds.
The light always comes in so beautifully in the late afternoon and warms my bed and when I'm home it's near impossible to not have a nap. I have to look away.

And when night finally gets here I just don't feel like going to bed. My bed is cold and boring. I look up to find it five in the morning and my eyes still wide.

I wish to find something to sate me.

previously - and then

*oh random entry*

all the diarylands. - 2008.02.21
I move my head. - 2008.01.27
read the other one. - 2008.01.21
was Medium? - 2008-01-17
Or maybe I won't. - 2008.01.15

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