2004-04-02 @ 12:29 p.m.
|Do you ever laugh at the persona you've created on Diaryland? I do all the time. I sort of feel like an actor who has stepped into a role that was written in a general way, and then you start putting all sorts of nuances and colorings that aren't there in real life. Say like Mike Meyers stepping into the role of Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery. Probably on paper, it wasn't very funny, but once he got ahold of it, it become its own silly flight of fancy by the sheer power of its new owner.
(this, of course, is based on whether you like Austin Powers or any comedic creation or not. I happen to like a wide range of comedic types, every thing from the silly Austin to early Woody Allen to Noel Coward to Peter Boyle doing "Puttin' on the Ritz" in "Young Frankenstein". I even like the Three Stooges slapping each other silly.
But back to creating a persona on Diaryland. I'm actually not that much like the person I write about. It's more the person I would like to be, minus the neurosis.
It's true I'm an artist. I'm bipolar. I come from a dysfunctional family. I'm in love with a married man. I see a shrink. But the personality displayed.
Do I think every guy in the grocery store WANTS me? Hardly. Do I ever tell people when I'm angry at them, like I do, rather elaborately in print here...NEVER. Do I even talk to anyone outside of my mother, my shrink and married guy? Not really. Do I think I'm a hottie? Fuck, no.
In person, I come off as aloof, rather than shy. People think I'm snobby. I'm angry alot, but I don't really show it. Do I swear, like I do here? Never. Only in my car, and once in a while at my shrink's office.
And the naked thing...well, I do enjoy being naked (grin). I do that a little too much. I walk around the house naked. I sleep naked. I type Diaryland entries naked (thus my diary ring, which not very many people have joined. What a bunch of wusses!). Would I ever go to a nudist vacation spot? Not sure. Buy me a ticket, and we'll see. :-)
But I'm sure the Diaryland persona has elements of me. The more outgoing, fun loving person, I'd like to be. I do have a smashing sense of humor. And even though I don't talk alot, I will wait for a break in the conversation in a social situation and then drop a hilarious one liner and make everyone laugh, and everyone will be surprised that the quiet girl is so funny.
At one point when I was younger, I even thought I would like to pursue comedy as a career. I certainly had an ironic take on life. I could make people laugh. I liked the thought of getting love from an audience if I was going over well, but there was just that one sticky issue that I knew I would have to deal with: HAVING TO STAND IN FRONT OF PEOPLE TO DO IT. Gulp.
Forget that shit!
So I just wrote for newspapers, shyly handing in weekly newspaper columns, slaving away in total anonimimity (sort of like now, except I don't get paid...yay for progress).
I think, perhaps the only thing that doesn't come across in my writing, is the fact that I am a truly delicate person emotionally, and that I'm being bashed around by some really harsh situations, and the only way I get through them, is to either write about them, or draw about them, or just pull the covers over my head and seemingly wait for the end to come.
But I do have at least one or two people pulling for me. My shrink. Married Guy. And myself. I have an amazing reserve of strength and fortitude for some reason. Where did I get it from?
I think I had to survive a seemingly idyllic childhood, which was actually a fucking nightmare.
And I'm still waiting for the "Good Times". I really haven't had that many over the years, and they were mostly attached to the pleasure I derived from doing something creative, whether it was writing, or drawing or doing something backstage in a theatrical production.
I'm not sure if I was just because I was diverting myself from reality for a few minutes and it was good for that reason or whether those were actually my "Good Times". Maybe I just wasn't meant to have a family, a husband or children.
But I really wish somebody would tell me, so I wouldn't keep waiting.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty