bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

if i want to live here forever

June 21st, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

I mean do I?

Here is where I’m from. Winston-Salem, NC. The penis building especially makes in an extremely hospitable place to live.

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Technically – at this point in mon vie – I can do whatever I want. I have no kids, hub, property – I do, though, have two bikes, sort of part of a cat, a growing collection of plays and books that are spilling off of my cheap ass leaning tower of pisa that is my cheap ass bookshelf and onto my floor, excessive amounts of soft shirts and dresses, a few nice dishes, a futon (thanks bud), A Stellar Garlic Knife, a mac book, a nice pair of pearl earrings, and retarded amounts of debt.

These are the things that I have.

I could sort of take these things anywhere. Do I want to live here forever? Do I want to wake up mid life and only have these things, and not have gone anywhere?

WHAT DO I WANT TO DO?!

Why can’t I just be one of those people who just does whatever they want – hops planes places – eats big dinners and doesn’t get fat – or is any body really like that? Or is that just tv. Movies I’ve seen. Hmmmm. Well, that’s what I want. And I want to think that if I try hard enough – I can have it. Get grants, travel, write good movies, sell one, make ass loads of money, pay my loans, afford the life of walking around and writing and going places I’ve never been. But that is so self-centered, in a way. How can I take what I do and put it outside myself? Involve the whole world? Not be so stuck in my bedroom.

Actually, I don’t spend that much time there. I really don’t.

I saw an apartment yesterday – Greenpoint – just 850. Listed as a studio. I knew there must be something wrong with it – it was cute as shit – this cute girl, also Rebecca, had made the space cute and her own. But it was the size of a bedroom – with a tiny kitchen – no stove – meaning I could not make banana bread – meaning life would not be worth living.

But really – I could probably survive in a place like that – but I have convinced myself that i need to have a place where I can entertain. Have friends over for dinner and not make them eat pasta on my bed.

But If I want a place like that – If I really want it – a place to myself where I serve people pasta – I don’t know if it can be here. So where, then? I seem to really like urban environments – but they all seem to be as expensive as here. Boston, Chicago, DC. The same. Maybe a little bit more space, though, perhaps. Philly is supposed to still be cheap – and starting to have a pretty sweet lil indie theater scene. Or then – WHERE IS MY TUSCAN BUNGALOW?! Something like that. Something in the middle of nowhere. But I would have no friends in any of these places to have over for dinner – most of the people I love (MOST, mind you – ) are here.

It really is fear that keeps us from making any huge life change. I fear that if I moved somewhere else – I wouldn’t like it. I would miss nyc. A lot. I would know no one – I would have nothing to do. But see – maybe – it would be GREAT – and the best choice I ever made.

Who’s to say I wouldn’t be happy for a bit living in WS close to my parents – there are things to do there – I could take little trips to the moutains, beach, space out – AFFORD TO LIVE. But what would I do for work? Nothing? Anything?

This I know – I DO NOT WANT A CAR. CARS ARE STUPID. Driving is annoying. You gotta like, stop and get gas, which is stupid. ANd like – put oil in it and stuff. Stupid.

Just thoughts.

In Summary, I have two bikes, my bookcase sucks, I miss my Mom, I want to travel, I want to be happy, I want to write, and cars – yes – are stupid.

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