Revolutionary Road follows Ash Wednesday

I am not April Wheeler. I refuse to die as April Wheeler. The fact that I sit here typing this must be testament to my ability to rise above the pettiness of imagined suburbian bliss. There must at least be something within me that realizes the lie in feigned conformity.
I must admit though that I am not as honest as I wish I could be with myself. There are times I find my thoughts wander to the safety of the nine to five existence again.
And I conform. We all do. Don't say that you've never salivated over a window display at Ikea. I have. But I believe I do it because I want to, not because I have to.
And yet I question myself.
Somebody spoke to me honestly and simply yesterday. And that opened my eyes to the hypocrisy within me. Here was someone who wasted no time sugarcoating what he had to say, yet was not cruel in dispensing the truth. He didn't give a rat's ass what people thought, as long as he knew that he was doing no harm and was being as good and decent a human being as his parents raised him to be. I envied him that.
And I thought I was pretty decent. And I thought that I was being honest with myself. And to others.
I always prided myself at being a really lousy liar. Now I think, I'm possibly a good liar without knowing it.
Now I think of another goal to set for myself. To try and be a little more honest with myself before it's too late. Yet another reminder of my mortality passed me by the other day. Nuns with the black crosses on their forehead signifying the passing of another Ash Wednesday.
This time last year I wrote about how the day reminded me of old roses. And churchyards I think it was. Poetic. Romantic. Whatever. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be the tough cynic again with that I'm about to say. I just want to say that poetry goes hand in hand with honesty. Don't go around showing everyone how tough you are by being the rebellious badass. Be the badass because that is the most honest way you know how to Be.
This year I think about how much clearer things become when I take the time to just fucking let go of all my issues and say things like they are. It isn't that hard to be honest with oneself. Or with others. It just takes a little practice.

About a boy

So here I am again. After a long absence due to the insanity of shooting schedules and celebrations, I'm back. But not because I really want to be.
I'm back because I have to bitch and moan. And because my closest faggy friends, my girl friends and yes, even my platonic guy friends are of no help.
So its you and me blog. It's lets-let-out-all-our-pent-up-emotions time. Lets get it all out in the open without the painful possibility of someone giving you advice you may not as yet be ready to hear.
Yes, okay, this is about a boy. and believe me, I have absolutely NO IDEA how I got tangled up in this. And now, now I want to know why I'm, er, so, um, crap, confused. What is it about this kid that I can't quite figure out?
I thought I could pigeonhole him into your run of the mill player. But then he exhibits traits that say otherwise.
I thought maybe brainless actor/jock. But then he shows me he has a brain.
I thought maybe, chivalrous long-term dude (not necessarily for me, mind you) who was being the nice guy-next-door type saint because he didn't want to be the jerk to any girl. But then he goes on flirt mode with the lobby gals soon as one turns around.
Hans says that it could be possible that I have finally met a guy who is fairly normal, decent and NOT a jerk (problem is my exposure to jerks has left me with absolutely no working knowledge of how to treat possible nice guys on a normal level).
Another friend insists that the guy IS a player and that I should start running in the opposite direction. Like now. And fast.
But punyetah, no matter how cool and detached I insist I still am, come end of day, I admit to looking forward to that goodbye hug and beso.
I sometimes think, fate, in all her wisdom and twisted sense of humor, has sent me this person to well, keep me on my toes here, lest I become lazy on my last term.
My reality based one-foot-constantly-on-the-ground side is telling me that this confusion can and will be over in a matter of weeks (hello, past experience here at this funny farm!). It could be over next week. I should thus stay cool and apathetic to all manner of charms being thrown my way. That way, when end comes, I can properly deny, laugh, mourn over, cackle and shake my head over this little episode with a guy who was, truth be told, an absolute puzzlement.
But this stupid little fluffy voice (yes fellow cynics, I have one inside me too sometimes) says I should just smile and enjoy the attention.
After all, it isn't everyday someone inspires you enough to kick the nicotine habit. It isn't everyday a guy carries all your things, walks you to your door not expecting anything more than a thank you and a hug goodbye. It isn't everyday you get a smile so warm and without guile.
It isn't everyday you wish you belonged to someone you could, in another life, have maybe really been great with.