Truths

Let The Heart Unfold

              Never in my life have I ever been grounded. But the one time my mother chose to do so, I was chained to the perimeter of my home for two months and counting. Luckily, Jeremy had signed me up for acting classes with the famous Sasha Grietsev -- each session for three hours -- four days a week: Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.

              Jeremy and I discussed potential television and movie auditions the last meeting we had. Though my acting skills would need to be polished over a course of years, he informed me that there would be no harm in auditioning early on in my acting career. After all, Sasha Grietsev was and still is a prestigious name in the acting business. As cold-as-steel as she was, the fifty-six year old woman had whipped me well into shape in such a short period of time.Without being narcissistic, one might say I am a very good actress.

              But in a world where good actresses come in thousands, "good" would not be enough to land me a role in any upcoming blockbusters. I would simply have to train more with Ms. Grietsev.

              To my dismay, it was a Wednesday.

              The day my mother had specifically assigned as Independent Study day. From nine in the morning to eight at night, I am expected to get a vast majority of my school-related work done. Anything I have failed to complete will be finished during my spare time, which happened to be any time I was not working with Jeremy, the crew in the studio, or Sasha Grietsev.

              Being one of the nation's many procrastinators, I pushed aside my calculus homework and flipped my notebook to a clean sheet of paper. So long as I appeared to be working, I could do whatever the hell I pleased... given my limitations.

              With a cluttered mind filled with mathematical equations and events from Dante's Inferno, I was definitely not inspired to write a new song. Rather, I decided to put my grammar skills to the test and do something I had not done since I was six years old.

              On the top left hand corner of the page, I wrote the most cliche way to begin a journal entry: Dear Diary. As cheesy and overly-emotional as writing a diary entry was, I proceeded for the next ten minutes to vent every useless hormonal thought I had in the back of my mind.

              Dear Diary,

              I'll cut to the chase here and skip discussing all of the things occurring in my life currently. There would simply be too many events to write about, and I have neither the patience nor finger strength to write about each and every one of them. Anything related to my family issues is also out of the question, and since I haven't seen my old friends in Northern California, I can't write about them either.

              So what am I going to write? Things that I would never tell another human being ever. In fact, once I write this pointless journal entry, I may just use this piece of paper as tinder to fuel the fireplace. 

              First and major subject I ought to discuss: romance. Imagine that I am rolling my eyes in dismay as I write that word, which I am doing exactly.

              For those who know me well, you may have heard me repeatedly say that I will join a convent when I am older. Trust me, I am still considering it. If I don't get married, at least I'm performing a different sacrament: Holy Orders. That one nun who visited my Catholic middle school back in the day was very convincing when it came down to recruiting potential sisters.

              At least, i don't think I will be getting married. Hell -- I crossed the word out, immediately noticing the contradictory theme my letter would have regarding nuns and curse words. I mean, heck. Heck, I've never even had a date before, let alone a relationship. I'm nearing what would be my high school graduation -- if I attended a normal high school -- without having experienced the most common and crucial kind of relationship that needs to be established as a teenager.