Sunday, March 28, 2004
Where was I at 24?
I've tried to think of ways to write this in a very un-15-year-old fashion, and my scientific research hasn't yielded any. See, I'm not lonely. I've just come to the point where I've realized that it'd be extraordinarily nice to share all of this with someone. I want to be in love. And I don't care if he's a farmer or a door-to-door knife salesman or a media mogul, so long as he enchants me and I enchant him. And as many things as I could write about what enchantment might require and entail, the word can speak for itself.And, above all else, I want new adventures. I know, in the past, my adventures have been of the self-created "Watch Heather Go!" variety. Not that I'm finished with starring in my sitcom where the opening credits feature shots of me cliff-diving and popping my head into trendy New York shops. Nor do I want some weak subplot where I find a man who fulfills my every desire only to have him leave after he falls in love with his editor/band manager/publicist and moves to London where he can live happily ever after with his adVERtisments and GARages. Nor do I want the show to entirely shift gears, where the audience will then become hopelessly cynical as they watch the bright, shining twenty-something throw away her life of promise to move to the suburbs where she can carpool to the Children's Reading Hour at the public library. I want the show to continue, as previously planned, dictated, and written in the stars, but I want there to be another show, preferably on a different night (so as not to confuse viewers or haters of metaphor) where Heather gets to be in love. Real, challenging, fearless love. The kind of love that people wish there was a different word for because "love" sounds a bit too tired and trite.
Of course, the show would get cancelled, because as the creative director I'd be insistent on episodes consisting of nothing but couch-cuddling-conversations about college sports and teaching, not to be overshadowed by episodes shot entirely in the Walmart aisles as the happy couple shops for DVDs and mangoes. But it'd be an instant cult classic, and once we got the axe after ten glorious episodes, our small legion of fans would be hungry for the entire season to come out on DVD.
The happy part is that I'm not alone, at least not in some cosmically significant way. And when all the "Will I ever...?" questions pile up too high in my head, there's at least one number I can call to find some bitchy-single-girl solace.
Heather at 9:17 PM
