It’s hard to focus on walking straight when walking down Hollywood Boulevard. Lights, crowds, and screaming, or at least what feels like screaming. Anguish upon laughter upon cries of happiness and dreams come true, amplified to the nth degree. Noise. Noise. Noise.
It’s also so very, very hot.
I’ve run myself ragged, bringing myself here.
“You need to put yourself out there, to the public,” I said to myself. “You’ll never truly know how to act unless you drag yourself out of your room and force yourself into the herd.” I might have imagined that last part.
Now, at the busiest street in Los Angeles, it seems that I have forgotten what I was going to do in the first place. I did not bring my camera or a book to read while sitting in the shade. There is no productivity to be found in this moment. Am I meant to just start conversations with any of the strangers here? There’s no way I can do that. Most of them are not my age and they do not seem to be the kind sort of people. The rest are just tourists, foreign tourists at that.
I could attend an attraction, like the wax museum, but tickets for that can disrupt anyone’s stable income. Not to mention that the only thing creepier than a wax museum is a guy spending time alone in a wax museum. No one normal would think taking a selfie with Marilyn Monroe is an activity worth seeking out.
Maybe I could do some homework at one of the cafes. But then I would need to buy something and suffer through exchanges with needling waitresses, when I would rather be left alone. I also forgot to bring my laptop, so that idea is already caput.
I have truly abandoned myself here, getting pushed around by tides of local wannabes. They say that the only one who can overcome my shyness, my introverted tendencies, is myself, but through constant trial and error, it is proven that I am the least equipped to overcome anything.
It’s also so very, very hot.
I’ve run myself ragged, bringing myself here.
“You need to put yourself out there, to the public,” I said to myself. “You’ll never truly know how to act unless you drag yourself out of your room and force yourself into the herd.” I might have imagined that last part.
Now, at the busiest street in Los Angeles, it seems that I have forgotten what I was going to do in the first place. I did not bring my camera or a book to read while sitting in the shade. There is no productivity to be found in this moment. Am I meant to just start conversations with any of the strangers here? There’s no way I can do that. Most of them are not my age and they do not seem to be the kind sort of people. The rest are just tourists, foreign tourists at that.
I could attend an attraction, like the wax museum, but tickets for that can disrupt anyone’s stable income. Not to mention that the only thing creepier than a wax museum is a guy spending time alone in a wax museum. No one normal would think taking a selfie with Marilyn Monroe is an activity worth seeking out.
Maybe I could do some homework at one of the cafes. But then I would need to buy something and suffer through exchanges with needling waitresses, when I would rather be left alone. I also forgot to bring my laptop, so that idea is already caput.
I have truly abandoned myself here, getting pushed around by tides of local wannabes. They say that the only one who can overcome my shyness, my introverted tendencies, is myself, but through constant trial and error, it is proven that I am the least equipped to overcome anything.
It was a trial walking to the train station and riding it all the way to here, and the error was forcing myself outside in the first place. It’s like throwing myself out to the sharks, and it seems I am stuck.
No matter how uncomfortable I am, or how much I want to return home, I will remain on Hollywood Boulevard for the entire day, walking back and forth until sunset and bedtime. I am already tired of it all.
The worst part?
It’s only been ten minutes since I’ve arrived.
Days spent outside are so very, very long.
Maybe I should buy a souvenir. Like a fake award to reward myself for at least trying.
It will shine a false gold, arms folded into itself, just standing up for being itself.
No matter how uncomfortable I am, or how much I want to return home, I will remain on Hollywood Boulevard for the entire day, walking back and forth until sunset and bedtime. I am already tired of it all.
The worst part?
It’s only been ten minutes since I’ve arrived.
Days spent outside are so very, very long.
Maybe I should buy a souvenir. Like a fake award to reward myself for at least trying.
It will shine a false gold, arms folded into itself, just standing up for being itself.
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