Anastasia Shy

1. do something on blog
2. returns
3. do not dwell on employment issue

(5) You Can’t Take It With You

I had the pleasure of watching this last night. It was especially peculiar because I had a customer at the end of the work day who would have fit right in with the Sycamore bunch. What a great movie! It’s certainly a dated (it was from 1938 for Pete’s sake) and yet the message is totally relevant (maybe even more) today.

The great speech:
Grandpa Martin Vanderhoff: You’re an idiot, Mr. Kirby.
Anthony P. Kirby: What?
Grandpa Martin Vanderhoff: A stupid idiot.
Anthony P. Kirby: You can’t talk to me like that.
Grandpa Martin Vanderhoff: Oh, yes I can. Scum, are we? What makes you think you’re such a superior human being? Your money? If you do, you’re a dull-witted fool, Mr. Kirby. And a poor one at that. You’re poorer than any of these people you call scum, because I’ll guarantee at least they’ve got some friends. While you with your jungle and your long claws, as you call ‘em, you’ll wind up your miserable existence without anything you can call friend. You may be a high mogul to yourself, Mr. Kirby, but to me you’re a failure – failure as a man, failure as a human being, even a failure as a father. When your time comes, I doubt if a single tear will be shed over you. The world will probably cry, “Good riddance.” That’s a nice prospect, Mr. Kirby. I hope you’ll enjoy it. I hope you’ll get some comfort out of all this coin you’ve been sweating over then!

i spent a great amount of my life running.
i have referred to so many places (off-handedly) as “home” and yet so few ever were—so few safe—and off i’d go again, anxious, sometimes desperate to find the sanctuary i really lost years before.

i have been driven by self-preservation, sometimes genuine opportunity, and most often by my impulsive, cyclothymic nature. the last is a very recent discovery and one that is forcing me to change my behavior (this is good).

i am not sure how i will “recapture.” i am thinking photos tho, some of these places are gone. what bothers me most is that sometimes people stole pieces of my spirit—people i will never see again. i wish i could find them and rip it right out of them, taking it back and leave them to bleed to death, if need be.
but i guess this is the best opportunity i’ve got to go hunting for the ghosts of myself.

i’ve always been about the tabula rasa: but you never completely erase your memory do you? and lately little fragments, some good, mostly bad, have been seeping in, like flashbacks and disrupting me something terrible. so i’m adopting this goal thinking maybe if i stop ignoring them, and take ownership, they will stop damaging me.