"Adaptation" and Love

I sit in this cushy chair in an empty house. This is the first time I've ever stayed at home by myself. It's strange. When I come home, people are supposed to be here. Evidence of them is here, but they themselves are not. I am tempted to turn on the tv, play some music, do anything to distract me from the truth that I am alone.

I know why single people get pets and lonely people get married.

I just watched "Adaptation," and I don't know what to make of it. I enjoy Charlie Kaufman's films, because I can feel how much effort he put into them. Kaufman seems to find a story and include the ugliness of life, if to tell that things happen, people do things that aren't respectable, but they are still people. He writes about life, even though his films are so fantastic and impossible, and the audience looks past the unbelievable to discover the truths that he knows of, and writes about.

So much was said during the film. There were so many points he made, that I can't begin to remember them all. Is it better to have so many things to say that matter, or only one?

I have just learned that I can hear my thoughts. That has never happened before.

I'm growing my hair out, possibly because I have never been allowed before. That's what I feel is going to be my reason for doing many things in the future. It's as if my parents trained me, yet are still poking me to do this, poking me to do that. If they would only stop poking me, they might see that I will probably stay loyal to the upbringing I was given. But they just keep jabbing their fingers into my side until I wake up each morning feeling slightly nauseated. I only wake up feeling that way at home, around them. When my mind knows that they are far away, that I have room to chose if I want to take a step, and not be judged by them, then I can sleep easy and wake refreshed.

"Adaptation" taught me something. Donald, Charlie's brother (who doesn't really exist), is the goofball, the extrovert, the care-free one. Charlie tells Donald that in high school, he watched as Donald flirted with a girl he was in love with, but was then made fun of when he walked away. Charlie doesn't think that Donald knows, but he does, and Charlie is dumbfounded. How could you have known that she doesn't like you, yet still be in love with her, asks Charlie. Because, Donald says, "I loved [her], Charles. It was mine, that love. I owned it. Even [she] didn't have the right to take it away. I can love whoever I want."

I can love whoever I want. Can I love someone without them loving me back? Doesn't that make me live in a world that doesn't exist? I guess one would have to ask, why, then, do you love them? Do you love them for who they are? Do you love them because they love you? Do you love them because you enjoy loving them?

I believe the only right way to love someone is to love them for who they are. Love them for who they are, but not just who they are at the moment; love someone for the person inside that never fades away.

This means that I can love Andy, even though we haven't spoken in several weeks. I can love her while she makes new friends, creates a new life, and becomes less like the girl I knew in high school. As much as that saddens me, I can still love her, because I know the girl that squints her eyes and shows her teeth when she laughs. I know the girl that will do things because she feels like it, even though it might not be socially acceptable, or for that matter legal. I know the girl with many shortcomings, because she isn't perfect. She is always right, except when she isn't, and then it's not a big deal. I know the girl that I fear I don't know anymore, but that's okay, because I will always know who she truly is. And that's who I love.

I can love Jake, because I know that he truly cares about other people, and that's never going to change; I can love Amanda because I know that her ebullient spirit is used to make others feel special; I can love Drew because I know that he loves people, plain and simple. I can love people for who they are, and I suspect I can do this because I'm finally finding out who I am myself.

Ahh, I feel empty of anything deep, but it's a good kind of empty. It's like I had something corrosive, something unpleasant inside me, and now I've gotten it out, and I feel healthy. One should routinely sit down in an empty house and pour out the deep thoughts he/she is thinking. Because if something stays inside to long, one ceases to grow, ceases to learn, and that's when life begins to cease. This pouring out of thoughts is the pruning of the life I've been given. I have just learned that I can hear my thoughts-I feel as though I am living because of it.