Travel Journal #18

I caught my reflection in the mirror this morning. As my mostly naked figure flashed by, I thought-Man I have a great body. And then I thought-Wow. I actually like myself for once. Even after a month of pastries and wine, jet lag, and self-indulgence, I can like myself. I wonder why I haven't for so long. If it's just that I let other people influence my opinion too much and too often.

An hour later I started to cry. I have no idea why. Something sad just struck me. Out of nowhere. And then it was gone.

Although I am sad at leaving such a beautiful place behind, I am filled with hope that I can make the rest of my life just as beautiful. Because I have seen it. I have felt it. It must be there. It is a life filled with musical song and dance numbers, moonlit strolls on the beach, demure blushing, and quiet. It seems there can be nothing else. All else has been left behind-in a past that can stay where it should. Hello Future.

Travel Journal #17

Things I LOVE about France:
The Meditteranean
Art
The Metro
Architecture
French Pride
The TGV
Markets
Small Streets
The Countryside
Security Dogs
Lax Schedules
Small Cars and Spaces
Euros

Things I DON'T love about France:
The lack of ice
Constant thirst
Tourists
Lax Schedules
The airport

Travel Journal #16

Back in the US. I feel sad now that Paris is so far behind me. There was something quiet and familiar about it. Perhaps I was Parisian in a past life.

I feel like I am floating into a void. Blackness lies before me; I cannot anticipate what will happen soon. My life has been interrupted, and I'm not quite sure I want it to resume. I much prefer the dream life-the life of inspiration rather than aspiration. In Paris anything was possible because there were no goals, no ambitions, no expectations. Now I have to live up to something. Live up to something others expect, and something different that I expect. See what I'm really made of. See if I can really live like the independent I imagine myself to be. See if I can actually cut the ties that bind. I feel them tightening their hold on me even now as I sit alone writing this- 1000 miles from anyone I know. I want to be strong, I want to be as I was in Paris. Content.

Stranger

I'm standing here at a foreign computer in France, halfway across the world. It is beautiful here, I am suffering from unbelievable exhaustion, but I am full of stories that will stay with me forever. I have a new batch every day. And I know I am going to need them soon. To keep me company. I can feel that same old loneliness descending down on me like the gentle fog that rolls in from the Mediterranean.

He has forgotten me. Forgotten me in every way possible. The touch of my body, the sound of my voice, even my presence. I am completely absent. Gone and long fogotten. I feel like I have been holding him back from himself all this time. I should have known. I would get out and he would move on.

I wonder about my predictions. My hopes are replaced by fears. I must go back, but I can't go back to the way things were. They are forever gone, forever changed. Just like he wanted.

Goodbye. I will wander as a stranger in a strange land from this point on.

Travel Journal #15

I feel like I am forgetting so many things. I am also remembering things. The glib comments, the jealousy, the near constant melancholy. Is it possible that I haven't changed at all? That I have learned nothing?

I thought I was making progress. The closer I come to the end, the more I feel myself swinging back like a boomerang. And I desperately want to keep that from happening. How is the question. I still haven't found the answer. Except hovering here and treading water indefinitely, which is impossible.

Perhaps I got myself into something that truly has no exit. The pandora's box of a broken heart. The constancy of something incapable of regeneration.

Travel Journal #14

This is the homestretch. Frustration and exhaustion are running high. Making plans to move on. Hoping to move forward. Make progress. There is inspiration in many films I see. Kernels of ideas that feel fresh and beautiful. I am pushed to fulfill some unknown destiny to do or create or imagine something I cannot quite grasp yet. But I feel like I am getting closer as I open myself to new avenues of thought. I feel that if I ever find a way to unlock that mysterious reservoir , the ideas will spill out as fast as I can translate them. They are just waiting for me to find the right key. Like the pacing tiger at the zoo. But then, I am the tiger too. Waiting for the moment, watching those watching me. Is it possible to free and be freed at the same time? To fill and empty the vessel at once?

Travel Journal #13

Came down with a bit of something. Cold: stuffiness, sore throat, and so on. I also seem to have come down with an odd form of homesickness. I want the comfort of my bed and familiar surroundings, the regular food I like, the drinks, the products. But I don't have any desire to go home. I'm thinking I could be happy if I never went back. So I'm trying frantically to figure out how to take these feelings with me and maintain the normalcy of what kind of person I am here.

Here I am someone that people enjoy and laugh with. someone who can keep things hidden and bring out good things in others. Someone who smiles easily. And laughs. Somehow that person is not at home, but has been waiting for me here. And I don't want to lose her again. Not after going so far and looking for so long.

Travel Journal #12

There are always so many struggles. Struggles against my body, my mind, work, people, money. It is neverending. There is the flirty guy at work. It has been a long time since anyone flirted with me. Or even paid attention long enough for it to even be approaching flirting.

I love attention. I love to flirt. But for some reason, his obvious insincereity really bothers me. Because I really do want someone to want me. And I struggle against the memories of someone so far away and how I crave attention from him and can't get it. How I wait like a hopeful dog, waiting for some scrap to come my way. And I see it handed out around me and getting none myself. I feel bitterness brewing inside me. I don't want to feel this way. To crave something so shallow, so disingenuous, so tawdry. But my heart has become derelict; begging on the streets of Cannes.

Travel Journal #11

Everything seemed like it was flowing today. Traffic. Alcohol. Rain. My own body. Constant streams of matter and objects going from one place to another. Not letting anything stop it. I've found myself trying to stop words from flowing from my mouth and failing. I go for long periods holding it all in and then it all comes spilling out at the end of the day. I can't stop it; or even slow it down.

But I am getting organized now. Getting acclimated. Learning where to go and what to read and who to ask. Met a wonderful woman from NYU today. Her name was Lisa too. I was sad when she had to go schmooze with big people. I've actually met a few people who even listen to me and don't treat me like a piece of furniture. sometimes, they even come back to talk to me. That's always nice. And so it flows. From here to there, not knowing the exact path--only the destination.

Travel Journal #10

Today was all about surprises. I had the surprise of having a ticket for and 11:30 screening handed to me at 11. So I went. Regardless of anything else, kismet was on my side.

I got to work. They sent me to a private party. Where I was allowed to mingle. And the view was amazing.

I got another ticket to another film I really wanted to see, after I thought I didn't get one. A truly wonderful surprise in a day full of surprises. I like these kinds of surprises. They make life interesting and fun. I can only hope to have many more the the next week.

the other surprise is how much fun I'm having without the constraints of the every day holding me down. I can do almost anything without guilt or consequences and I absolutely love it. I don't ever want it to stop. I want my life to continue to be full of surprises of all kinds.

Travel Journal #9

Today I attended a party (invite only) on a private beach (Emir Kusturica was playing guitar in the band). I guess it shows how old I really am when I am not interested in schmoozing and am still disappointed that I missed an 8 o'clock screening of some obscure French film.

that I am disappointed that I have only seen one decent film since I've been here. I am not excited by the people and the personalities. I laughed when I saw some actress trip on the red carpet. I couldn't help it. I just really want to see the films. I'm not that greedy. Most of the ones I want to see aren't anything anyone has ever heard of. Right now, at this moment, I hate this place. Everything takes twice as long as it should, and every person is half as interesting. Watching the glassy waves lick the shore is more interesting. I'm really hoping the rest of the days (9 left) are better than today.

Travel Journal #8

Things are up and running. I must admit, it is disheartening to see how much of film is cellphones and meetings. How little people care about the art itself.

It's almost like being a slave on the auction block; being poked and prodded and just praying to be sold to a good master. Nothing matters except the sale. How sad. Someone asked me today if my films were good. What a dumb question. Why would you ask that?

I have to say that work will always be work. I will always wish I were somewhere else. I don't like being captive. One of the most wonderful things about being here is the sense of incredible freedom I have found. this is why I move around all the time. To regain Freedom. Pull up the anchor and set sail. Why am I like this? Why can I not find freedom within myself? It is such a simple idea, but so complicated. I'm looking for the freedom that is in my, not around me.

p.s. roommates suck.

Depending

France is amazing. So far, I haven't had anything terrible happen, and seeing as how I don't speak the language, that's saying something. I don't even miss home. Suddenly I have freedom to actually enjoy myself without worrying about what is around the next corner. What hurtful things someone is going to say next. I got an e-mail from him today. He was complaining mildly about my absence. I wanted to reply that I knew he'd be sorry when I left, and he'll be even sorrier when I'm gone for good, but I couldn't do it. Somehow hurting back isn't very rewarding.

I know I have to go back sometime, and right now I really don't want to. But I know things will be different when I do go back. I'm just not sure how. I guess I'm being reminded of how independent I really am right now. I don't depend on anyone. I don't need anyone. I just want someone to share things with and care for who will care about me. Is that really so hard?

Travel Journal #7

I am so sick of hearing about Star Wars. Who really gives a shit? I am also tired of listening to people figure out how to "get connected" or hear how they already are. Whatever happened to film for its own sake? To telling a story just because you feel compelled? To not caring about the money and the stars and the connections and the hype? All that stuff is just bullshit.

It's like one big pissing contest, with no one who's really worth their salt. Talk is cheap. Just shut up and make your fucking movie. And stop looking at me as if I just grew an extra head. Leave me alone. Don't ask me any questions. Don't give me advice. I'll figure it out on my own. And I don't care what people think. Because most of them aren't thinking for themselves anyway. George Lucas and fucking Star Wars are doing all the thinking for them.

Travel Journal #6

One full day of sitting in a room. Lots of walking. Lots of talking. It amazes me how long people can talk without ever saying anything.

The guy from Adobe held up his software as some sort of grab bad prize. Even though it's something I'd love to have, it irritated me. I don't know why.

I actually preferred the HiDef guy with the truck. He looked and sounded like he had just walked out of a Mike Leigh film. I wish I could cast him in something.

tomorrow is the last day before the festival starts. I'm anxious to get to watching films. I'm tired of talking about it. And hearing people posturing. I almost feel inferior when I say I'm just here because I love film. So many of these other people are here to seel something. I hate salespeople, no matter what their product is.

Tomorrow gets down to business. I'm hoping for the best. For things to be fun. And simple.

Travelling

I am halfway around the world, and I feel as if I have finally escaped many of my everyday problems. It's wonderful. I feel dizzy and shaky from the jetlag and nonstop days, but I'm hoping it will subside as I settle into this time zone. I am still amazed that the Americans I am meeting tend to be the snotty film jerks that they are often reputed to be. There are a few fun people,though. I think this might be the first vacation I have ever been on where I have actually read and kept a journal and written postcards. I see how I have changed in the past year. How I enjoy a quiet moment to myself as I walk along the boardwalk; or how I prefer reading to a party on the beach. I have become anti-social. Or maybe I'm getting old. But I am definitely different. I wonder if it was he who changed me. I have a feeling he did. It's funny, I don't "miss" him, but I definitely wish he were here. Wish I could share all these things with him as they happen, since there is a decent chance I never will at all.

I could live here forever. I love the pace, I love the market, I love the compact towns, the busses, the trains, the motorbikes, the walking. I love the water and the boats and the cafes with finicky hours. I even love the bizarre showers that everyone else is complaining about. Maybe I'll even be able to speak the language at some point before I leave. Regardless, this is some travelling. Inside and out.

Travel Journal #5

Exhaustion. Jet lag. Excitement. I have to keep reminding myself that this is real. Keep trying to find nice people to talk to. some people just seem unreachable; above it all. I don't care.

With every step I take, I see how easy it would be to stay for good; live among them. I like their laid back lifestyle. It suits me.

I love the sea. It stretches out in vivid green, aqua, and ultramarine; straight out of a painting. The water rocks the boat playfully. The shore tilts back and forth. There is no suf here, merely a glassy surface harboring dense forests of velvety algae and craggy rocks that resemble mini-mountain ranges. It is easy to see why this place is so revered.

My French is still awful, but I'm betting braver. I try to stick close to our French speaking mentor.

Today was V day. It's shameful we don't recognize it in the US. A French band played our anthem today and I felt embarrassed. Americans are so good at forgetting.

Travel Journal #4

I finally got here. I am exhausted, but satisfied. I've met some interesting people, as well as some not so interesting people. I had dinner with some other women at a restaurant called "The African Queen". How fitting. I had 4 cheese ravioli and a wine from Provence. Also fitting.

I cam home to my roommates, who I am probably senior to by almost ten years. They have automatically exluded and ignored me. I'm not upset. I heard them talking out on the balcony over their decadent sophomoric cigarettes about lost love, broken relationships and the like. They talk about two and three year relationships and I can't help but be intrigued and fascinated. They are so far ahead of me and ten years younger. How do they do it? I don't see how they are more attractive or smarter or more interesting, yet somehow they are able to speak of love as if they really know something about it. Meanwhile, all I know about is 90 days and a broken heart. About being unwanted, undesireable, unlovable. Not exactly what I had hoped to learn in school. Perhaps I am not "grown up" yet. Or perhaps I am already old. I know I feel dead already.

Travel Journal #3

Ten hours is a diabolically long time to be confined. I deplaned, then promptly got lost in DeGaulle airport. The signs make no sense to me, even though they are purely symbols. This place is crammed with people going in every direction; no matter where I am, I feel like I am in the way.

I love the flight info boards, the way they tick and clack as the numbers and letters flip over. This place is strange; the entire airport looks like it was actually a UFO at some point. The way it bulges and swells and swirls in metal and concrete. It's like being inside a kaleidoscope.

It is 5am in California. My eyes are burning, but I am determined to stay awake. My friends are all asleep. I wish I could call them, but I don't know how. It's not that important anyway.

I'm sitting in the middle of the terminal, straining to listen to people's conversations. The various languages click like a woodpecker; but sing-songish too. Soothing like the clicking boards. I'm trying to gauge if my French is getting better. I don't think it is. I can only pick out d'accord and voila and bonjour so far. Hello. Ok. There. Click. Click. Click.

Travel Journal #2

Secong leg of the trip. I am somewhere over Vermont. Everyone around me is asleep. I probably will be soon.

It has been interesting watching people. Emma and Bill from the previous flight; quirky and naive. An airport restaurant that serves Dom Perignon, but only gives out plastic silverware. It must be strange to wait tables at an airport.

My newest game is trying to figure out who is American and who is French. The French seem to have an odd cynical joviality, while the Americans just looked pissed and bewildered. My French is awful. I'm just as bad as the rest of them, except I'm not talking.

I opened my card to escape the interminable abominable movie. I almost cried. Again. I am clearly bewildered, but not just because of my language. I can't even communicate in my own. It will be late morning when I land. I'd better study up.

Travel Journal #1

At the Airport

I'm sitting here waiting to fly to Houston. Sitting here with 100 other people going about their business, talking on their phones. I left mine at home. I feel disconnected; discombobulated. There is something strange about this trip. It is foreign, for so many reasons. I almost cried on the way to the airport. I don't know why. It just seemed sad; like the end of something. Like I'll never get this back; be back in this place.

I stayed up late last night; getting organized and re-organized. I still feel like I'm forgetting something. And I feel empty. Unreal. Invisible. I want a re-fill. I want to wake up. Why am I the youngest person in the terminal? Why did they pull all the over 70 people aside for the in-depth security check? Is AARP the new terrorist organization? There is confusion everywhere. Around me. Inside me. A cubist jungle of ideas, jargon, and overheard conversations with the wife, the kid, the boss, the lover, the friend. I am silent. I don't want to participate. I want to fly.

My Chance

Tomorrow I fly away to another land. Leave this one behind. Or at least try to. Try not to think about my poor computer under my bed that isn't working. Try not to think about my schoolmates watching each other's films and then talking smack about them when they get home. Try not to think about him sitting on the beach watching the young girls flit about.

I want to become absorbed. I want to be changed. I want to be something different than what I am now, but I'm not sure how I want to be different. I just want it to happen. I think about the hours I will be at twenty thousand feet and I wonder how I will be spending my time. If I will be able to curl up with one of my many books, if I'll doze of to the white noise of jet engines, if I'll be marvelling at how dark the ocean is at night, or if I'll be chatting away in some banal conversation with some mildly tolerable stranger. I wonder if I'll be missing this moment that I sit here typing this. Or the moment two hours ago when he bought me a rice krispy bar because I didn't want pizza.

Really, I'm just hoping for a nice cocktail and good in-flight entertainment. I think the Nin book will be the best entertainment I'll be able to find. Which is just fine.

This is my escape. The question is, will I make a serious run for it, or will I be like that animal that gets outside the fence and just looks back at you in confusion? I want to do more than hop the fence. I want to get so far away that the cops with their dogs and their helicopters and their roadblocks and wanted posters will never find me. I want to be unrecognizeable. To me and to everyone else. I want to grow a new life. This is my chance. Hope that I will make the most of it.

Inadequacy

I'm starting to suffer from foreign language schizophrenia. I've studied that damn phrasebook so long I'm starting to have random phrases running through my head, only I don't know what half of them mean. What time is it? is the only one that I seem to really remember.

P.S. This trip is going to rock. Because I rock. At least in the language department.

I lag in most of the other departments.

He met me for a visit to the beach today. It was pleasant enough, as long as I was oblivious to pretty much everything. Which can be difficult. He didn't notice my new suit. I must admit, I was disappointed. I was hoping he'd say it looked great on me or something, just to let me know he's paying at least a little bit of attention, but he didn't. Sigh.

I was actually enjoying the silly conversation, and the subsequent fade into nothingness as we laid like the seals on the sand. Basking. I sat up first. I could feel the sweat all over me, and the wind blowing it dry. Sand falling from my hair and knees. He sat up. He slowly rubbed the sand off his knees and shins. I wondered why he was doing it so slowly. And then I saw that he was staring at the two young hot chicks about thirty feet away and suddenly I was sorry. Sorry I had ever come here with him. My good time was suddenly gone and replaced with yet another reminder of why I will never be good enough for him. Because I can't look like them. They roll over and grab a book or their cell phone and he is entranced. I can't compete with that.

I wonder why I do this to myself. It seems to happen pretty much all the time. I want to spend time with him so badly because I (think I) enjoy it, and then I get there and he'll say something or not say something or stare at someone or ignore me and it makes me sorry to be there. It makes me wonder why I keep thinking that this time will be different and I won't be disappointed. Because I always am.

Inevitably, the tears came on the ride home. I hate driving and crying. But there's no stopping it. Along with the infestuous feeling of eternal inadequacy. That I will never, and have never, been good enough. When really that's all I ever wanted.

When I Get Back

I've slipped back down to the place I started. I am not happy anymore. I'm fighting the urge to stay in bed all day and not doing a very good job of it. I'm leaving the country Friday. I've been thinking it would probably be best if I never came back. I keep getting the overwhelming feeling that I will not be missed when I am gone. And that when I come back, I will be severely disappointed. Because nothing will have changed in the month I was away. I don't think it's too much to want to be missed. To have someone think about you when you aren't there and wish you were. I'm sure I will miss here when I am away, even though I don't want to.

This trip contains so many feelings for me; they are a mish-mash of good and bad. Fear, expectation, excitement, trepidation. There is no telling what is going to happen. I have a similar feeling as I had when I moved across the country; like something big is going to happen but there's no telling what it is. I keep thinking that if I'd known then what I know now, I'd have done things much differently. But isn't that always the way of it? What will I do differently about France next time? It is impossible to tell.

One thing I've sort of wished lately is that I could get some before I go. I am going to be there for a month, after all. But then I remember, oh yeah, I haven't gotten any in much longer than a month, so what difference does it make? It's not like I need something to tide me over. Because there won't be any when I get back, either. And then I remember that I am repulsive to the opposite sex and it all becomes clear. I might as well stop thinking about it, because I'm not going to be getting any for the rest of my pathetic life. Convent anyone? How depressing. I'm more celebate than a Catholic priest.

Anyway, I digress.

I'm hoping things will be better than I could've ever expected. I'm afraid they'll be worse than I ever imagined. Especially when I get back.

All I Have

Of course it had to end. And how fitting that it would be a Monday. Monday now seems to be the day that it feels like the world is crashing down; that there is a panic attack waiting to pounce as soon as I round the corner. Monday is the day that I have to fend off tears at ten o'clock at night and almost always fail. And today should have been a good day. My film showed in class (to mixed reviews), I saw another film that actually depressed me even more, and then my film showed again to people who matter and people who were just there (to better reviews). And then back to the longing of feeling like I want to be worth something and I've fallen short once again. The umpteenth time and it still hits my chest with a hollow thud. That feeling like it should be and will be raining for the rest of my life.

I realized tonight on the way home that I've actually had a pretty good life. I've done lots of things. I've done crazy things, smart things, fun things, adventurous things, and normal things. But sometimes it feels like it's all for nothing because there has never been anyone to share it with. And now I'm trudging around with this broken heart that makes everything seem so much bleaker than it might look otherwise. I feel like my life is slowing down, but it really isn't. It just seems like it because my heart's not really in it anymore. I just do it. Because if it weren't for this stuff, all I would have is a broken heart. But so often it seems like that's all I have anyway.

Good Mood

I was in a good mood today. I don't know how it found its way to me, but it did. And now I can feel it starting to slip away, like smoke through my fingers. And with every second that slips by with it, I see the week unfolding before me in a series of melancholy classes and downcast looks. And I see myself hoping that I will find the good mood waiting for me in France. Because I don't want to be depressed during the vacation of a lifetime. I have a lifetime to be depressed; one would think I could be in a good mood for a solid month abroad. Who knows?

Countdown

Oddly enough, I feel better today. My trip is starting to feel like it's actually going to happen, what with last minute preparations and the like. It feels strange. I'm trying to get all my prelim movies watched before I go. It's a lot more difficult than one might think. It's easier to watch an entire film when I have a buddy or I'm in a theater. By myself is harder. But I'm trying. I have about 4 I really want to see before I go. I have 5 days. It will be close.

Questions and Answers

He said she asked him out. Then she asked his age. He told her the wrong answer.

I remember back to when I asked the same question. And not because I needed to make a judgement. It was just because I wanted to know. And there really was no right or wrong answer. In the end, the wrong answer was me. I never knew.

I thought I was smart enough. I thought I was good enough. I was wrong. I was nothing. If only I had been smart enough to ask the right questions. Age never mattered. But something else did. Too bad I didn't find the truth before it found me. That whole thing about the truth setting you free is a lie. Ever since I found it, I have been shackled to a monster that I cannot quite describe. But it is frightening nonetheless.

Lesson: Don't bother with the questions. As they say, shoot first, ask questions later. Because the answers are never going to get you anywhere. Only the shooting.