Unwelcome, some of the time

Been doing a shoot for some film grad students, which has been unexpectedly fun, if tiring. I think it's more enjoyable because they're more easygoing than the get-it-over'n-done-with corporate and TV people, less harebrained and full of themselves than undergrad students, and actually give a damn about how their actors are faring...especially at 4am when the shoot is still a few hours from wrapping. I swear, I've never been offered a foot massage before on set. Repeatedly.

But an effect of shooting a short film about tenuous relationship identities and doing the 'right' thing (or the perception of doing it) in multiple-dimensional relationships is forcibly reminding me of the endings and near-endings that have stained and maimed me over the years.

I didn't need to be reminded of the pain of parting.

I didn't need to be reminded of the all-encompassing desire to yank someone back to me when they are already running in the opposite direction.

I didn't need to be reminded of the fucking illogical desire for a poisonous man, the kind that only kindles self-hatred by the end of things.

Nor the ugliness of self-discovery.

Nor the repulsion of making out with someone you don't really want. [No offense to anyone, but even the most gorgeous male alive would repulse me if I weren't attracted to him and had to make out with him. But professionalism will always be priority.]

Nor the sick feeling in the pit of the stomach when going through with something you know, on a deeper level, should not be.

Nor the feeling of utter solitude while next to someone.

Or maybe I needed to, and just didn't want to.

Ultimately we're all better for knowing and considering all of the above, and each stab will scab over to remind us of the painful lessons learnt, and what it is to live and love. Provided one is open to learning, of course. I will say that while it's unpleasant to revisit the numerous hurts, I don't regret them, nor the memory of them. It's these that shape us, like it or not. I probably owe whatever maturity I have to each scar I took (and learned not to pick at).

Every time something once-wonderful ends, it's natural to think it a soul-grating waste of time, forgetting, of course, what the once-wonderful parts of it did for your soul while it lasted. I disagree - I think it can all worth be it. And that's what keeps me going. Hoping the next one will be worth the ride too. The bumpy, thumpy, gut-wrenching ride. There has to be someone worth it. I know I am.

Sondheim probably said it best.

"Somebody hold me too close
Somebody hurt me too deep
Somebody sit in my chair, and ruin my sleep
And make me aware of being alive"
~Being Alive~