Everything is Copy. I don't remember who said that, but I do remember my mom saying it all the time and telling me who said it. A lot of people probably said it. It makes a lot of sense.
I walk a fine line between revealing too much and revealing too little. I occasionally forget that my blog is not my diary. It feeds my narcissism while I practice my writing skills, for what, I don't know. Or maybe I do know.
I paid a visit to a favorite bar of mine when I was in Dahlonega, GA a month ago. I sat at the bar and ordered a glass of wine and some Crack Dip. Trust me. It earned the name. Then I watched and listened. Everyone's (least) favorite street festival had just come to an end, and the tourists were slowly seeping out of the local haunts. Neighbors were huddled together in corners drinking in celebration of the coming calm. And I was deciding to quit my job.
I had arrived in North Georgia the day before, but I skipped town to avoid the festival. Instead, I drove a little further north to Raybun County to visit some good friends in a magical escape the madness cabin. I was an exhausted mess, trying to see so many people that I cared about in so little time, checking my email from work to see if I needed to look forward to any "meetings" when I got back from vacation.
I worked in that kind of environment. You know the kind. The job that you always feel like you're going to lose. Everyone is constantly talking in hushed tones about new policies being rolled out or the fact that the management was now referring to us as "subordinates" and getting fired as "being terminated." They actually used the term "termination" in regards to getting fired. I saw the movie Terminator, and I saw it's incredibly terrifying/awesome sequel (I kind of stopped there because nothing tops T1000). I know what "termination" implies.
My friends in the cabin offered me some anti-anxiety medication, and I slept like a baby. At breakfast the next morning, when I told them I had to head back that day, they were adamant. I was going to have to quit so that I could stay longer. I was also going to have to quit so that I could live longer. I figured that out...or have figured that out.
At one point, in regards to my former position, I thought, "what if I get fired before I can see my psychiatrist about getting on regular Xanax or some form of tranquilizer so that I can handle my job," which ultimately lead to the conclusion, "then I won't be working there, and I won't need a tranquilizer."
So there I was, having made the decision not to go back, the night before I was supposed to be back, sitting at this bar where I used to live. I had a few conversations with some locals that I knew, but was never very close with, one with whom I taught. He was a little drunk in celebration of the thousands of tourists exiting his very small town square after laying claim to her streets for a weekend. We talked about trying to be an artist, compromises you make, the things you never compromise, and the weight that goes with every choice you make, and before he left, he hugged me and said in my ear, "don't stop writing."
There it was. The answer to the next question. The answer that's been following me around since I learned the alphabet. The answer that I knew sitting in the back of Mrs. McCart's class writing poetry about stars and drawing pictures of my flute while she talked about Billy Bud and how to diagram sentences. The answer that I've finally figured out after a number of guys have told me, "you send me these insanely long texts with lots of words."
I have done many things and I have many things left to do. I've been to Paris, Berlin, and Rome, lived in Texas, London, and Dahlonega, Georgia. I've taught Theatre, English, and writing. I try to make people proud, try to make myself proud, fall in love, run from love, fall out of love, drown in fear, get fired, online date, make decisions about my life based on sex, delete my online dating accounts, drink wine, ride my bike, go to the gym, grow vegetables, take medication for anxiety and depression, take risks, cook, quit jobs, play with my dog, make a fool of myself, perform, make sales, make music, try to write comedy, try to write.
Everything. All of it. Is copy.