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Working it Out : 12.24.03 @ 1:35 am

Everything works out in the end.

Everyone keeps on telling me this. And they�re correct, it does. Everything works out in the end. It may not be how we wanted, or what we were expecting, but it does. Life just happens that way.
I can�t believe in fate, in a predestined purpose, because it goes against everything else I believe in, but I can�t help but think that everything we do shapes an end that will work out, eventually. We just have to keep on going, keep on making decisions, and we�ll get there eventually.

* So I�m not going to Bennington. I took a gamble, lost, and I�m not going. I can make do with that.
However, along this path to comfort regarding the little letter I�m writing to Bennington saying that I regretfully can not be a member of their class of 2008 due to financial reasons... Along this path I�ve been a bit of a whining, crying, bitching - well, bitch. I�ve ranted to multiple friends, I�ve torn apart Ryan for being rather insensitive without really realizing it, and left a rather nasty note on Ryan friend�s diary. See, Ryan�s really proud of Kirstin�s accomplishment and has gone out of his way to make sure I know all the lovely details while I write this lovely letter to Bennington. Rather insensitive and pointless seeing under normal circumstances I wouldn�t give a rat�s ass.
What really gets me is Kirstin has her education all covered. The college and the government are paying 70% of it, and what they aren�t, her father�s covering. Except for $1,000 and books and such. Which means what, she�s going to have to pay $4,000 and some change for a near ivy league education? Hun, you don�t even have to take out a loan for that, you can cover that with a part time job.
But oh no, poor little girl might have to live with her father for one semester. Her father wants to not pay child support, which makes sense after all. If he�s paying all that money so she can go to this amazing school for practically nothing.
I feel your pain, really. It must be so hard for you to have everything handed to you.

* I�m thinking about pulling together a portfolio of my work and applying to the Corcoran School of Art.
It's not RIT, but maybe if I improve and make an even better portfolio, I can transfer.
I want to do work like this.
I want to eventually produce such photographs that really and truly move people. Make them feel, make them stop and think.
I want travel, to see the world for all its cruel ironic glory.
And capture it all on film.

* You know, that seemed like a good time to end. When I write, I always get this nagging feeling when it's time to wrap things up, or when I've said something that sounds like a good ending point.
But I have more things to say! I could go back and edit it, but this is a journal, a diary, a stream of consciousness. You can't edit that.

I had an amazing dream last night. It was long and detailed and one of the most real dreams I had ever had. And it was weird, because in it I was in love with a man. Which, while not entirely improbable, is still kind of weird because, well, I'm just very gay and very much enamored of women.
(hmm. curves.)
I was in love with this man, but everything was against us. Everything. Society. Circumstances. Laws. And we were together in the beginning, and then he left me alone for a season, to go off and do things... and everything fell apart. The fight against us really began and the rest of the dream was spent trying to get back to him - and I didn't, until the very end. He had aged, but for some reason I hadn't. We're finally together and then someone steps out of the bush and shoots him...
And I wake up. I'm crying and it feels like my heart stopped. It was so real. Normally I know when dreams are dreams and I toy with them. I enjoy them as a release - like reading a novel.
But this was different. It was just so... amazing.

So it's almost two now. I suppose I should go back to sleep and chase after that dream, hiding in the depths of my mind.

Quote: (doesn't fit in the field)
"It takes a lot of imagination to be a good photographer. You need less imagination to be a painter because you can invent things. But in photography everything is so ordinary; it takes a lot of looking before you learn to see the extraordinary." -David Bailey

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