write, graduate, write

I sliced my right pinky finger up really bad with a papercut the other day, and it's taking a long time to heal. Never knew papercuts could do so much damage. I was walking out of self defense class, and I reached in to grab my ringing cell phone when a handout for aerosol self-defense sprays scared the hell out of me. The reaction was quick, it felt like a black hole formed in my stomach taking my breath, all light, all good away. It bled so quickly! I was almost transfixed by it.

Ever since I got the cut, it's been really hard to write longhand. The band-aid hinders me from naturally forming my hand's writing stance which takes a semi-fist post when I'm really into what I'm writing, which is all the time. I knew then that if even one small thing like a papercut could bug me, could you imagine if my hand got cut off? I don't want to, but I considered it for a second: it would be so hard for me to write even begin to write. I could learn to write with my left, but it wouldn't be the same. I could type, but even then I feel my voice would be different. It's interesting to me that I do so much writing with my hand rather than my head.

There was a Cinema alumni panel yesterday that I didn't go to. Figured it would be equal parts helpful and depressing. Like the year before, and the year before that. All the advice was the same, and none of it applied to me. Anyway, Cat got a job, and she's telling me how everything's run at the studios where she works. That's been helpful. I will come to LA ready. I want the experience to shape me just as Paris made me who I am now. What am I supposed to become? To do? I'll figure this out in time. \

By the way, I found my graduation dress:
I think it's cute and old-timey. It's coming in the mail. If I don't like it, I'll have to look some more.