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01:44 am
1/16/07

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eskima
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This weekend was a wash.

I've gotten into bad habits, habits that I've always despised, that I've criticized in others, that helped kill my father and here I am engaging, ignoring and slowly ruining myself.

I can still feel the cigarettes I smoked last night. All day today I'd take in a breath and there they'd be. All I could think of when I was smoking them was Dad... sitting on a porch in the darkness, completely ignoring the people on the other side of the glass in the light. The height of anti-social chic, really.

The drinking... oh jeez. I've become this obnoxious poster-child for pop vices. Laughing so loud I annoy, lolling and chasing and scaring away all the nice, semi-sober people that were just trying to enjoy a night out.
I was a mess.
I think I still am, simply because I'm still not quite right about a lot of things.

Work is disastifying. Or maybe I'm just disastisfying in it... whatever that means. I remember the good old days when I used to make sense, especially to me. Now I don't even know what going on anymore. I'm on auto-pilot into some life that's not mine, that I never wanted and I still don't.

I always wanted, but never really knew it, that I wanted that sorbet-Los Angeles dream. A life of dress up and sweet tasting things and smiles and sleeping late. And it's okay if your Dad dies because he speaks to you in the wind and he promised you he'd never leave and he doesn't lie. It's okay your living with your Mom because you're not quite grown up yet and she's teaching you how to balance your checkbook. It's okay if you're still single because the God's honest truth is you don't know what you want and you you like looking and dreaming rather than facing the failure of reality... at least for the moment... and you much prefer going to the movies alone in your flip-flops and you with ten dollar coke so big you need two hands to hold it, like a bowling ball.

And then somehow I'm here in Bud Lite and Camels and four hours of beery sleep and sweaty sheets, bruised fingers, constant complaining, lying , guilt and never smiling.

"Meaghan, do you realize that you hardly ever laugh anymore?"

I want my life back. No more pretending.

I am still broken up about Dad. I have not dealt ith it at all and I miss him. I am not a psycho, stalker girl. I don't have to do anything or nothing and I don't have to get sloshed and stupid to be acceptable. I am just fine as I am and I will not apologize for it.

I am going to make a hot fudge sundae, watch 'Hard Candy' and look at European fashion magazines. I'm going to wear my gingham and tie my 'fro in pigtails and sleep in late tomorrow. I'm going to tool around in my pajamas and I am going to smile again.
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03:48 am
1/15/06

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eskima
Johanna Dunwoody Biography
About the Character
Name: Johanna Dunwoody
Age: 23
Personality: Speaks French and can read a fair amount of latin and a little Greek. She has horrid posture and her eye sight is almost non existent in the dark. She can't sew straight, she can draw fairly well, she chews on her bottom lip when she's nervous and laughs loudly. She likes books, pencils, rainstorms, candle wax, winter, dusk, myths, German, the sea, beer, strawberries and being barefoot. She dislikes high heeled shoes, wearing glasses, ink pens, berets, wine, loud noises, cats, dust, patriarchal men, being underestimated, being bothered, thieves.

Apearance: Johanna has yellow hair, like her mother. She's usually on her own and just braids it, though it gets messed up rather quickly and there's always a few stray bits that frizz about her ears. She has grey eyes and a small nose, her father's smooth jawline and a long neck, though she cranes it forward often to read. She's 5'10 and stoops her shoulders, keeping her hands either clasped in front of her or holding the piles of books and papers she's usually carrying. She dresses simply in the calf-length dresses and cloche hats of the age though she often wears men's saddle oxfords instead of women's heels.

History: Johanna's mother died in childbirth and the girl was raised by her father and his spinster sister, both professors at a private school in upstate New York. She applied for a scholarship to Oxford when she was seventeen and was granted entry, under the unfortunate typo that her name was 'Johanne Dunwoody'. The professors in England allowed her to stay for a semester as a teacher's aid, but she proved quite gifted in the ancient studies department. She stayed on as the personal assistant to the head of the department, Dr. McDougal. The two traveled to Greece several times on archaeological digs as well as Rome, Venice, Pompeii, Sussex and Dover. Her father's death brought her back to the states and found her without an inheritance. She worked at the public library for a spell until she caught wind of a research job at Paramount Pictures. She interviewed and was hired as a script supervisor for their historical and 'specialty' films, especially Carl Denham's. Now she finds herself, an academic in a movie maker's world, packed and ready to follow Carl on his next mission, and to make sure he keeps historically accurate.
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03:41 am
1/15/06

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eskima
Jack Driscoll Biography

Yes, I know these journals are IC journal posts, but I think I might need my bio right where I can look at it easily. Besides, I' rather have something on my journal pages at the moment that to keep staring at lovely, blank space. So there. :P

About the Character
Name: Jack Driscol
Age: 27
Personality: Excellent writer for both stage and screen. He often hides behind his words and trust language more than actions, especially at crucial moments. He's a bit of an elitist and tends to trust old, familiar faces and places more than new experiences and the like. He has a kind heart and will do what's right. He likes writing, theatre, autumn, beer, his mother's pound cake and mint tea, Manhattan, ferries, the sound of typewriter keys and his fedora. He dislikes slush, sneezing, large dogs, dawn, wool sweaters, salmon, new shoes, crowds, hustlers, deadlines, and cigars. He does have a weak spot for blondes...
Apearance: Adrien Brody. So there.
History: Born in New York, he attended NYU and majored in creative writing. We wrote his first produced piece while he was still at University and was immediately taken up by Weston Publishing House as a hot new writer. He's stayed at Weston ever since, writing piece after piece. All of his plays feature poorer characters, tramps, vagabonds, beggars and such and are rich in banter.

And wow... that's short and a little sad. These entries better'd be good, eh?
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