Haven't written a song in a while, but sometimes I can't keep them down.

I call this one "A Little Shelter."

All I see is darkness
Save for one bright light from you
All I see are rain clouds
But you're the sun that's breaking through
Thought I would be shipwrecked
But then I saw your shore
Thought my heart was frozen
But you warmed me to my core

Could you help me through the darkness
Could you guide me through this storm
'Cause I am cold and I am lonely
And fear without you I'll not see the morn
Could you spare a little shelter
In a warm welcoming place
For I've withered down to nothing
So I won't take up much space

Let me be your sunlight
Show you how you glow like gold
Let me take care of you
When you break down and grow old
Let me keep you sailing
Worry not about the shore
When I have no more to give you
I'll find a way to give you more

I could help you through the darkness
I could guide you through this storm
When you're cold and feeling lonely
And fear you will not see the morn
I can spare a little shelter
And you can fill my empty space
'Cause you're the only thing worth something
In this godforsaken place

What I choose to do is of no concern to you and your friends.

Where I lay my head may not be my home, but I will last on my own.
'Cause it's me and my life.
It's my life.


I interviewed today to be a photographer with Olan Mills.
Although it's closer to what I want to do than working at the Chamber, it made me realize how far off my course I've taken myself and it makes me wonder how many of us live wasted lives with real passion buried somewhere inside.

The interview went well, aside from my moments of hesitation at the questions, "Do you like children?" and "Do you like to drive?"
I lied, but I almost wish I hadn't.

I'd earn three dollars per hour less than I'm currently making, but mostly I worry about it being full time.
I was getting ready to take my mom's suggestion and turn one of my two new screenplay ideas into a novel first. She thinks that once I'm published, it might be easier to get a screenplay deal and she's right.
But when will I have time to write?

People never turn out the way you imagine they will.
Why should I be any different?

"I have one too."

"One What?"
"Sense of destiny."

Once again my desire cannot be quashed.
No matter how defeated I might feel, something always pulls me back.
There's always the same goal, but a new angle, a new plan of attack.

Last year I wrote to Jason Reitman about my scripts and he told me to figure out which one would be cheapest to make, produce it myself, and get my foot in the door that way.
I thought it was a stupid suggestion to be quite honest.
Not putting one of my babies in the hands of professionals seemed absurd.
But lately, I've been thinking about it, really seriously thinking about it.

Take "Good Grief" for example.
There are only a few locations.
Grief Counseling itself (any classroom), two houses, and a video store.
No explosions, no special effects.
It would be very cheap to make.
And if it actually turned out well, it'd be easier to sell "Singing Swans" and get that one made for me.

So why couldn't I do it?
I know a lot of capable people.
Why couldn't I crew up and do it?

I'd need someone to help me gather resources and promote it and someone to help with cinematography, but other than that, the idea doesn't seem all that overwhelming.

The one thing that worries me is the acting.
To be honest, I wrote this for Alison Lohman and Ryan Gosling.
I couldn't deal with bad actors.
But the more I think about it, the more I'd like to try this.

Am I nuts?

With my whole heart under your hammer...

I wasn't built for failure.
All of this unfulfilled love...
Love of work that will never mean anything to anyone but me.
It weighs me down.
It crushes my soul.

Missed the final round at yet another film festival.
I'm so easily discouraged.
My heart just sank.

I'm going to miss the deadline on the Blue Water Film Festival, but I'm not really upset about that, because I know I couldn't make a film to save my life.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
I don't know why I would feel such passion for something I'm not any good at.
Maybe I'm not a good writer.
Maybe my friends think they're doing me a favor by not telling me that everything I write is shit.
But I do love movies and I believe in their power more than most.

Within minutes a film can make you look at people you’ve never seen before, people who might not even exist, and see yourself and the people around you. You can get pulled into their world and see your own and in relating to them and understanding them, you walk away understanding more about yourself and more about life. I often hear "Ash, it’s just a movie" and sometimes it is, but when it’s meant to be a study of the human condition, when you can make people examine their lives when they otherwise wouldn’t, when they’re too scared to see the truth, that’s a beautiful thing. I'd hoped that in loving this so much and believing in it so much, I’d get to be a part of it. But it's becoming clear that's never going to happen.

I feel lost.
I can work at this job I hate and save up to move to LA or New York, but when I get there, people still aren't going to read my scripts (Hell, only one person here bothered to read my newest).
I can pay an agent, but I don't look like an actress and I won't find work.
I'm going to die wanting this.

It all just seems like such a waste.
I seem like such a waste.
There's this tightness in my chest that doesn't go away and I can feel myself breaking a little more with every passing moment.
It hurts to breathe.

What do you do when you're living with the illusion of purpose, but the world has no need of you?

I don't know how much longer I can be here.

Crazy-ass week.

July 4th
I felt great, for reasons which are probably silly to the average bear, but I felt really motivated. I couldn't sleep. I was bouncing off the walls.
I thought that now was the time for change.
I was gonna start working out every day, no slacking.
I think that all the time, but this time I really meant it.
I was going to stop drinking pop all together.
Having recently found out I'm allergic to coffee and cola, and having a strange obsession with the whiteness of my teeth (so I gave up tea too), my Mt. Dew intake had definitely increased.

July 5th
I wake with moderate to severe back pain.
I go to the bathroom and find that I'm urinating blood, a significant amount of blood.
And Aunt Rose isn't due for weeks.
I read about it online, knowing it's probably a kidney infection.
It says if you have a fever, go to the ER.
I did have a fever, but I didn't want to tell my parents.
Eventually I did and my mom took me to the hospital, which was packed because all the doctors' offices were closed.
We went to Physicians Health Care instead.
I peed in a cup.
By then it looked like say...grape juice.
The doctor told me I did in fact have a severe kidney infection and if I'm still peeing blood on Monday, which is my birthday, I probably have kidney stones.

I take some antibiotics, which I've taken before, which made me ralph.
I also got a nifty pill which numbs my bladder so I can't feel the pain, but I only have one left and it's only Thursday.

I still had to work and not being able to go to the bathroom as much as I need to or drink as much water as I'm supposed to be drinking was a bad thing.
I have the day off tomorrow and on Saturday's I'm there alone, so it should be better.

The upside is, caffeine causes my medicine not to work, so I gave it up completely.
Now I can really give up pop.

I'm still peeing blood, so we'll see what happens on Monday.

Not fun.

My dreams swept into the dustbin, and me along with them…

I got a job.

Lately I find myself crying over nothing and I can’t stop.
I know it’s just depression.
My mom suggested I take something for it.
At three different points in my life I’ve taken anti-depressants because of problems with anxiety.
Sure, I’m a naturally sullen person, but that didn’t change while I was on them.
Each time, I talked like a flapper on a duck’s ass…even more so than usual.
I couldn’t sleep.
And I experienced more suicidal thoughts.
I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down that road again.
And as taking pills won’t change where I am in my life, it’s not as if pain would go away by my taking them.

I know that losing Chloe is part of it.
Residual pain of feeling useless from not having a job is part of it.
But it is now accompanied by a new pain of feeling like a failure, a feeling that this will be my life, a feeling that I will live, die…and my name will be forgotten.
I can write while I work to be sure, but it’s the acting and singing part which causes me pain.
I want to perform.
I’ve always wanted to perform.
I want to write indie dramas which would make people examine the human condition…their own lives.
And I want to act in them.

But the older I get, the harder it’ll be for this to happen.
I’ll only be 23 next month and I feel like…that’s it.
It’s too late.

I have to keep this job because no one in my life believes in me and I would never ask that anyone else be forced to support me in my pursuits.
I don’t ask and no one answers.
And if I did, no one would answer.

I am lost.
Not in the way that so many others are lost…for I know where I want to go.
I’m lost because I can’t find how to get there.
I’m lost because this love is as important as any other and I live without it.
Shall I abide in this dull world which in its absence is no better than a sty?

Tell me something true...

The truth is a nasty cough syrup no one wants to have to taste.
But I thrive on its bitterness.
I take too much and it lives in me, shutting me down, little by little.
A noble death.

I knew a man who seemed to like me, who in fact, could not seem to leave me alone.
He disagreed with everything I said and not even passionately, as he had no reasons to support his disproval of my ideas, my likes, and my dislikes.
I loathed him.

I see now that in part, what I hate in him is what I hate in myself…a resilient stubbornness.
I am in pain today at the thought of hating myself more than usual.
But my stubbornness is different from his.
Mine is not free of passion.
Is it wrong to defend a belief to the death when you feel strongly about something, to try and make credible arguments until you’re blue in the face?
Is it wrong to not give up when you think something is truly important…even when there may be no hope of convincing your opponent?

I am not so closed-minded as to be immune to the convincing arguments of others.
Am I then just the right amount of stubborn or am I indeed closed-minded, but cannot see it?