2005-11-18 @ 12:25 p.m.
So when I woke up this morning, I looked out my window and the snow was gently fluttering down onto the huge tree outside my window. It looked pretty like it always does the first time it really snows, because the tree is kind of raggedy looking and the snow fills in all the nooks and crannies. And then I started thinking how much I felt like Edward Scissorhands. Alone. Looking out of his window at the snow fluttering down. Of course, I realize my need for a manicure probably isn't quite as pressing as his, but there he was, lying in bed...alone, silently wondering why he's living all alone in a big huge place overlooking the Village, missing his Dad, and yearning for some kind of companionship, because after all, he's not really such a bad sort. He just feels a little awkward because of those large razor sharp contraptions that were temporarily strapped to his wrists, before his father died. And what are you going to do when big razor sharp contraptions are strapped to your wrists, and a delicate operation needs to be performed in order for you to be considered normal.
Nothing. Or in my case...just exist. I don't have large razor sharp contraptions strapped to my wrist, but I have always certainly felt Edward's pain, especially when he was brought down into the Village to meet people for the first time. Fortunately, he had a nice sponsor family who did everything in their power to make him feel as normal as he possibly could, but then when he went out into the community, he was treated both as an oddity, which prompted teenage kids to treat him meanly and then as someone kind of cool because he could create beautiful hand trimmed bushes that were works of art. And that's sort of how I feel.
When I didn't have a voice for 8 years, and I would attempt to speak, people would either squink their face up and act annoyed liked I was doing this on purpose or they would just pretend like I wasn't there and then after I got better, like Edward, I would dazzle them with my other long lost skill, laughter, which rather amusingly had to do with my ability to speak. But like Edward, just trimming a hedge into the shape of a Grecian urn or in my case making a person laugh, didn't necessarily make someone my friend. They might admire my skill and want to be near me for a couple of minutes because I could do something they couldn't do, but utlimately, after the novelty wore off, they would usually just wander off to be with their real friends and I would be left juggling balls and being Henny Youngman in an empty room. And let me tell you what a satisfying experience that is.
But Edward was lucky (and of course, he's Johnny Depp, and that certainly helps level the playing field just a bit). He found a person who understood him. He found a person who was able to overlook his one major flaw. He was able to find someone who loved him for who HE was. And he was willing to take a chance with his heart, even with all those dangerous sharp instruments flailing about, and maybe put a delicate piece of himself out to either be run over by a fleet of tractor trailers or to be gently and lovingly picked up and held with care by someone who thought he was groovy even though he had garden shears for hands.
I'm just afraid to do that. I keep falling for the wrong guy. I keep looking at the wrong men (read: married). And I don't have a kind host family with Diane Weist looking after my interest. I only have myself and so far, I've made like the world's worst choices.
I guess, all of this has come up, because in my art class Wednesday night, Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy was hosting and was in charge of the music. He usually has pretty cool taste in music but for some reason, he put on about 15 minutes of "The Boss" as in Bruce S's music. That was Married Guy's absolute god. He listened to him constantly. He could play his music on the guitar. He could sing his songs. He even THOUGHT he was him, performing Bruce a'la Married Guy for me. At the time if was kind of cute, but now everytime I hear anything by Bruce S. I go into a cold sweat. So after listening to this for about 15 minutes, I finally went over to Charlemagne and asked him to shut it off please. At first he was being a smart ass and said he was going to play it the rest of the night, but I then told him I was going to start crying and explained why and I guess he realized I was serious. He offered to hug me, but I didn't want him to do that in the middle of the class in front of everyone. And than rather strangely, he said something about The S0PRAN0s, which was also a biggie for Married Guy. How weird is that?
Unfortunately, I was so shaken from listening to The Boss for 15 fricken minutes that I could no longer draw. I drew 3 drawings and scribbled them all out. What a waste of paper. And I was standing next to our nationally known professional artist guy who I like to try and impress and instead I wrote "Fuck This" across the top of one of my drawings. Yay me!
So I guess what I'm saying is, I guess you never really over the last person, until you find the NEXT person, no matter how strong you think you are. And I had the strangest horoscope yesterday. It said: It's time to talk about whatever has been keeping you awake at night and away from the one you love. You've tried to handle it alone, and that obviously hasn't worked. It's time to either tell them about it, or find some help.
I guess I just don't know what to do, except maybe call in a really good screenwriter to write me a happy ending.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty