Desperate, we will lift up our hands

So, I still hate money.
hate hate HATE.
I was discussing all my dreams last night with Luke. About how I want to go to Seattle Pacific or Davis, or even Columbia (in... wait for it... Abbotsford...ugh)
How I want to study Journalism and Literature and Theatre and Theology. That I don't want to let go of my dream to be a screenwriter or journalist, or how maybe I can one day gain enough influence to actually make a difference. Make people listen. Or maybe, God willing, even get the chance to get into Video Journalism.
As Luke was relating his dreams of traveling the world taking photos, I felt my heart breaking. I would love to go to school and learn and grow and travel. It'd be so awesome to zoom around the world with Luke, molding what I see into descriptive sentences and pairing them with his glossy photographs. It would be a dream come true. But deep down, I know that's all it is. A dream. I don't have the money or the means to get into Davis. I'm about 20 grand short. Probably more. People like me don't get into amazing schools like that. Don't travel the world, moving people with their words. They don't even stay grounded in their suffocatingly familiar province and do all that.
They sit behind a desk in a dreary office, building up their pension until they're 65 and can take a cruise to Alaska and then maybe buy a condo in a retirement village like Qualicum.
Huzzah.

My So-Called Disappointment

I think that if they knew the last episode of My So-Called Life was going to be the last one, then during that pivotal moment where Brian Krakow admits to writing the beautiful love letter to Angela, it just should have ended in them sharing an epic cinematic kiss.
I mean, come on, she kissed Jordan when she thought he;d written it. They made out in the hallway before homeroom.
It's just not fair.
My love for you is eternal, Brian Krakow.



Dear Angela,

I know in the past I've caused you pain, and I'm sorry. And I'll always be sorry til the day I die. And I hate this pen I'm holding, because I should be holding you. And I hate this paper under my hand because it isn't you. I even hate this letter because it's not the whole truth. Because the whole truth is so much more than a letter can even say. If you wanna hate me, go ahead. If you wanna burn this letter, do it. You could burn the whole world down. You could tell me to go to hell. I'd go. If you wanted me to. And I'd send you a letter from there.

Sincerely,

Jordan Catalano