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What I Learned From Losing My Phone

After a two week social hiatus I decided it would be a good idea to go out. You know, do young people things and meet some new "friends". Lately I've been holing myself up and trying to avoid alcohol and people. For some reason, the two are inexplicably linked. I decided I was going to go up to the local gay bar and see one of the RuPaul queens who was performing there. Seemed like a good choice. After all was said and done I definitely had a bit too much to drink. We all have those moments where we succumb to our own chaos and end up creating a bit of a mess. I think I left my phone on the bar, or dropped it when I was getting into my Uber. The funny thing is that I remember calling the Uber, and my phone was in my hand and then...like magic, it just wasn't. The next morning I woke up and I felt like I was dying. My limbs were akimbo and it was clear I had slept in my party dress. Of course, the first thing I needed to do was get in the shower and steam out all of the toxins. This was an integral part of my morning routine in college when I would pull this sort of behavior four nights a week, as young people do.

The Value Of Working At Your Craft

Everyone is just lusting over a continuous string of things they can’t have, but in that moment of desire think they can. When you spend too much time alone it can become one of those introspective nightmares where you replay everything in your head. Anxiety reaches its peak and you reach for the vices. Whatever you can get your hands on, if you’re a flawed person. Which most likely you are. I know I am. That’s something though, accepting your flaws. Some people deny that sort of thing and hold up this mirror to reality instead of looking directly at it. They live in the constant reality of thinking they’re on the wrong side of the road. Instead of having that split second when you’re tired and you think you’re on the wrong side and you panic, but only for that split second. That’s a laugh. I think that I haven’t lived long enough to be able to call myself a writer. I think to really be a writer you have to have some miles on you. I’ve seen some things, lived in a lot of places and encountered some insanity in my time but not enough to really call myself something professional. Even though there are some people way younger than me making way more money and more connections than I am at this very moment but what difference does it make? Where do you go when you’re sick of all the viral posts on Facebook? To your own page, that's where. We all enter this world the same way, and we sure as hell leave it the same too. I heard once that writing doesn’t mean shit if its stuck in your head, technically writing consists of your thoughts coming on to a page, making a cohesive thread between the abstract neurons that fire silently when you’re “thinking” and the physical printing of ink to murdered slab of tree. In the nights where your back starts to hurt because you’ve been laying down for too long something pulls you up. For me, It’s the words. Whether they be in the form of a song or a poem, a sentence or a novel they have to come out. It’s like a shorted out wire in my brain that switches on in times of complete desperation, madness, happiness or love. Once you find something that trips that faulty wire, you have to explore it, or at least answer the door when it comes knocking.

Maybe I'm Not Tyler Durden, Maybe I've Been The Narrator All Along

We all have those movies that hit us where it hurts. Maybe your issues surround your family, or relationships. You probably end up watching things like "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "The Godfather" or "The Notebook" over and over again until your eyes dry up and fall out of your head. When we look backwards and forwards at the things that bother us most, the things that haunt us when were' just nodding off to sleep we can see them in our favorite things. My issue? Never being enough, choosing the wrong profession, never living up to my potential. All of these themes are explored from a distinctly masculine perspective in the 1999 David Fincher film "Fight Club", which follows the renaissance of a hapless corporate drone without a name. I've read countless film criticism about this film, I've studied it for school projects and delivered monologues from it for acting exercises. I know it like the back of my hand, and somehow each time I watch it I get something new and different. That's the mark of a good film.

Bio
The good ship sails on: Musician, Artist, Writer, Poet, Actress Follow me on Twitter: @TessStevens My Music: www.soundcloud.com/TessStevens Vingle.net/TessStevens
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