Things i have learned in my 26 years...

1. You always get what you want in life; but you never get them at the right time.

2. Good friends are what save your life; and the lack of them could stop your heart.

3. Hot baths in terrible times make everything momentarily okay.

4. Love is never what you thought it would be; and in the moment you rarely know that's what it was.

5. Disappointment happens all the time and that's okay; as long as it doesn't always come from the same place.

6.Finding your passion in life is a falsehood children are taught to seek; (it incorrectly assumes there is one); finding things that make you feel passionate however, is a life or death must.

7. Emotions are the strongest push and pull in the direction your life takes; they can often pull in different directions at the same time; finding an outlet to channel them into will keep you sane.

8. Crazy is a word deemed socially unacceptable; but it is something to strive for.

9. Honesty is both under and overrated; but it is usually the best way to lie.

10. People can and will leave and die; it is important not to let the pain blind and distract you from the new coming in.

11. Nag Champa is a relaxing scent regardless of whether or not you smoke weed.

12. Questioning anything and everything, is proof that you can still think. Covet this.

13. Grammer isn't real, it is a bunch of rules that old men created; similar to those teachers who told you to color inside the lines.

14. Questioning your Faith is more common than not; it is a bond that most of us share

15. When it comes down to rational reasoning vs. deciding to love; always choose to blindly love; and if everything goes to hell, well then heart break leads to art.

16. When everything goes wrong as it occasionally will... never forget to breathe.

17. Plant Rosemary....i don't know why this works but it does.
18. Don't be afraid to revisit the past, but never settle for what you've outgrown.
19. Fight the good fight, just don't chase it down a rabbit hole.
20. When you want to give up and you're angry at the world...feel what you feel, but turn your phone OFF!

ow

ow..... cause sometimes that just says it all

because i'm here...and i might as well try

I sometimes think I approach a blank page with less respect than it deserves. I sit with my fingertips gently resting on letters that have yet to form words, even in my mind. In other words.... I approach with nothing to say. In a perfect world within this moment the blank page on which i sit would muster up the disdain to manifest an arm right out of it's blankness and slap the pen right out of my hand because it was affronted by my apathy and my ego to prove said apathy. As if I believe that my careless thoughts deserve to be permanent. But there is so much pressure on me to write. Granted most of it is self inflicted but it's solid pressure none the less. I'm haunted by the voice in my head that says "if you were a writer than you would write... duh" (and yes my internal voice says duh ....all the time) But it's not that simple.... i have all these brilliant thoughts during the day that plague me in the moment with such intensity that I'm convinced , right there, that i could write a novel that spirals deeply off this one thought.... and then my mind reels for another thirty seconds in the fantasy of it all.I envision myself at book signings, on Oprah (before she quit to own a channel) , and even catching flack in the news for my disparaging comments on Stephanie Meyers supposed talent. But when this daydream bubble is popped by the sounds of the outside world around me, the worst thing happens... the moment passes... and a few minutes later i can't even recall the thought.

I used to carry a composition book around with me everywhere i went, along with a fine tip R.S.V.P pen (because it's the only pen that feels good in your hand for anything over a page and a half.... seriously ... less cramping). I don't remember when i stopped doing that religiously but it saved many a thought at the time. Writing used to be something i loved intimately (it still is) but it used to be something that relieved pressure... That composition book i carried everywhere was full of secrets, and moments, and thoughts about moments that i would never have the courage to say aloud but a select few would get to read... I used to love watching the face of someone as they read a passage. Watching their eyes roll like a tennis match back and forth across a page that i wrote words on. I would study their faces for the slightest expression with so much anticipation rushing through my body like adrenaline as i waited for some sign that they were enjoying my words. It was an incredible feeling to know that a simple composition book held so much power... i swear the weight of it in my purse actually made me stand up straighter. Writing used to feel free and there was a time when i realized that those college ruled dead trees knew more about me than anyone in the world. That is what writing was for me, and still is deep inside me.

But as i grew up it seemed to become something a bit violated. Instead of inside jokes and private thoughts, it became something subjected to unsolicited judgement. It's funny how people feel they have the right to criticize what they themselves don't have the balls to even attempt. As though they could possibly understand what the feel of a new pen gliding across a textured piece of paper can do for the soul. I used to get excited to write nothing just for the feel of it. In fact some of my high school diaries are filled with what look like standards.... just pages of "i like my new pen" written over and over again. I love the physical movements of writing as much as the words it creates. Pardon my tangent, but it seems as though now i am writing for an outcome. I write to finish, i rush towards completion while eagerly handing drafts to people to scrutinize at their leisure. I get blocked and stuck while re writing the beginning of a script for the 9th time because it doesn't make sense to me anymore. I spend more time worrying about the "notes" I'll get and then analyze my hatred of going back to adjust the story based on one persons "professional" opinion. It becomes a race fostered only by my dying motivation i often claim is "writers block".

Maybe I write less lately because i am protecting what is the marrow of my being. Maybe i don't approach a blank page with too little respect, but rather too much and i will not let it be violated anymore.

Maybe i should just go back to carrying my secrets around in a simple composition book and allow the feel of my trusty R.S.V.P pen in my hand to remove the stress from my life.

Dear what was once a blank computer page,

thank you for your time!

P.S to anyone who reads this... i am not ready to re read this just yet so please excuse whatever typo's, missing words, and terrible grammar is in there. It is the consequence of stream of consciousness.

bleeding to write!

Do you ever find yourself alone at a bar on a Monday night...pause and take a look at the people around you filling their faces with pitchers of beer, assorted cheap whiskey's, and fake meandering eyes and realize you are most likely the only one in there capable of deep thought. Yeah.

But then i think to myself "well why the fuck are you in here Courtney? are you basking in your own hypocrisy?"

And to that i think the answer is no. I think i've just been too far from the blank page and my insides are raging to be dispelled into some semblance of written word...

I've had a lot go wrong lately, and to match that I've had a lot go right; however my focus has been blurred between the two leaving me me in my all to familiar state of angst. I am so confused over my self worth all the time. It's stupid.... it's backwards... it's infantile.... but it's all the time. Angst, angst , angst... It's that knot in my stomach that repeatedly pokes at me in an annoying tone going "why hasn't he called? what did you do wrong? why are you reading into things? maybe he's just busy.... but if he were really into you he would have made time to call"

WELL FUCK THAT VOICE!

and this leave of absence i mistakenly took from words is over ... i'm home and will continue to force my thoughts on a nearly vacant blog.

again with the yeah! I would snap repeatedly like the sorority girls did in college.... but this is written....and you can't hear me.... and so that would be stupid.... but in theory....yeah

gnight

4 letter word

Tonight made me want to poke myself in the eye....

The end

Blog number 7 (my favorite number)

well,

this has probably been one of the busiest months I've ever had...but i have to say it is kinda nice to know that your days are full of things to do, places to go, and people to see. Even if does occasionally get exhausting. As of late i have been sifting through a whirl wind of ideas. I have been dreaming every night which is not a normal occurrence for me.... According to google this is due to improper sleep patterns and a deficiency of R.E.M. sleep. (surprise surprise) Either way, they have been oddly bizarre dreams with a sort of Dr. Seuss feel. But what trips me out the most about them; is that i remember them vividly upon awakening. Weird! Right? The last time this happened i was in the middle of writing my novel.... I am beginning to wonder if there is a link between creativity outlets and freaky dreams.

Other than that i have somewhere somehow found my motivation to grind things out again... I think writing comes in waves.... where sometimes you can't bring yourself to even face a blank page and other times you are considering chopping down a tree because you have run out of every centimeter of blank paper within a mile radius. I am currently in the latter... I am shocked by this... because my creative motivation is usually linked to the weather. (and this is not my time of year). I write the best in fall when there is that strange tinge of electricity in the air that makes everything seem more alive than it ever was before. I wrote most of my novel wrapped in a blanket sitting on the roof of the lighting booth at the hollywood bowl in the middle of fall. But alas....here i am in spring... waking up early.... and excitedly taking myself to griffith park to sit in the grass with the wild wind and write. I suppose when it comes to life...you just have to go with it. And so i will.

My personal life has been rather comical lately but i haven't the time to crack that egg right now. In a nut shell i would say... work is ridiculous (i couldn't make this stuff up if i were tripping on acid with a dictionary in my lap), my family has gotten so close lately, and in every other part of my life i would say "when it rains it pours" and god knows i love the rain.

till next time kitties,

courtney

creepy creepy creepy!!!!

okay,

so do you ever have those nights where everything just feels slightly off....askew, or out of wack.....like the crazy train got derailed and all it's occupants were released into your general vicinity....well that was my night..... excuse me for a second while i deal with the willies.

It began with a drink after work with a friend of mine who had some "work" related issues... so to speak. That progressed to getting changed into evening attire and out of work clothes.We then headed out to continue our chat in a more mellow environment over a few beers. This did not go as planned. As it turns out "mellow" was term for "creepy old guys"....because every man over the age of forty seemed to "have a go" at us.... we were assaulted by "drunk eyes" (you know those glassy, vacant looks thrown at you from across the bar topped off with a crooked smile from a face resting on a hand so as not to lose balance?) yeah those. .. They are the kind of old men that offer a round of drinks as means of a conversation starter.... This approach always fails.... suffice it to say our attempt at a serious conversation got lost in the air trafficking we were forced to direct to get these people to "LEAVE US ALONE" but alas. After the sixth one was shooed away we ended up in a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it all and decided to call it a night.

If only it could have ended there.....

No sooner had we reached the outside than a thugged out ... "dude" asks for $.75 to catch the bus.... which as a good samaritan i gave him.... Then came these priceless words that every girl loves to hear directed at neither my friend nor I but more towards the space between us,

"Hey miha, you pregnant?"

To this several responses came to mind

1. "don't pinche call me miha"

2. "I want my $.75 back

3. "yes....8 months.... and it's yours"

None of these however, were actually spoken....

I then rode home to the soft sounds of Lady Gaga's "bad romance" wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower....crawl under my blankets, finish the book i'm reading, and forget this night ever happened..... all of which will be accomplished with the exception of the last part...

to quote Kurt Vonnegut " So it goes"

goodnight

xoxo

courtney....

(now off to phase one....hot shower)