Hello Blog readers, facebookers, strangers, relatives, friends, twitter peeps, and anyone else reading this. This is not a life in the middle blog post, but I've been working on some writing. This is a potential screen play, or book. (I know it's not in screenplay form or even has any dialogue yet, hear me out) Anyways, this is just something I came up with that I want to work with and maybe if it's good enough and gets a positive reaction I'll publish it some day and you can be like watching the Oscars and couple years from now, and hear "And the award for best screenplay goes to.... Brianna Johnston" and then you can be like hey! I read that the night she came up with it in her blog....it's also really late and I'm really tired so I have these thoughts...anyways, I welcome feedback! enjoy!
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I want to make it perfectly clear that I’m not an emo, thick eye liner wearing, suicidal themed poem writing, starbucks drinking, Lorde blasting in my hatchback subaru type of lonely. I have too many siblings and grew up in a far too thick of a cloud of joyful, lovable, loud, hectic, mess of chaos to be that kind of lonely and depressed. It’s more like, I’m lonely because I don’t go out enough, or meet enough different people kind of lonely. Does that make sense? I love life stories. I want to talk to people and trade stories, and make people smile and find out what makes them happy. Have you ever asked someone what makes them happy? I work at KFC whose signature utensil is a spork. These two little kids came up to me the other day asking for a fork. So I handed them a spork and they looked at me with the most genuine happiness and excitement. It’s a spoon plus a fork...That IS pretty damn cool but us adults are so wrapped up and busy and tense that we don’t bat an eyelash at it. I will always remember hearing “WOAHH! it’s a spork!” and their laughter and the odd product. You can’t get that shit at Wal Mart, and if you can’t find it at Wal Mart, then that’s a pretty rare and special thing. Even if it’s as simple as a spork. So get excited about the sporks of life.
I want to talk to people that talk honestly, directly from their brain. You were expecting me to say heart, weren’t you? Well I have a secret. It’s not even a secret, in fact every knows it, but not everyone thinks about it. The truth is, you can’t speak from your heart. Your heart only pumps blood. It’s a vital organ, don’t get me wrong. But your train of thoughts is a trip that starts from your brain, and finishes at your lips. And there are no round trip tickets for this train so once it’s out, there is no taking it back. Honesty. Real words that come straight from your thoughts. I like people’s thoughts. Feeling lonely (But that special kind of lonely remember), and wanting to talk to people and share stories, it was probably best that I get a single dorm room for my sophomore year of college. Sarcasm. I was forced into picking the runt of the litter of dorm buildings at the University. I had a room on the top floor. My living space was not the peacock of the zoo. It was like the curly headed ginger in gym class with his shirt tucked into his shorts with his tighty whitey tag hanging out hosting his initials written in permanent marker. Picked last for playground basketball. But hey that kid has all eyes on him when dodgeball starts. Silver Development. (Spoiler: that kids grows up to be a stunt double in the matrix movies). The light in the room flickered upon turning on until about 3 mississippi, the walls were peeling, the old wooden bookshelf in the corner had probably seen murders. The musty smelling old desk with “Rogers ‘76” etched into the drawer was most likely the home of a brand new Beatles vinyl back in the day. I moved in and unpacked by myself. I first hooked up my TV and rushed to turn anything on to ease the thickening silence. I turn on my booty call of TV channels, Game Show Network. There is always something good on that channel. An adorable Newlywed Game, and intense Deal or No Deal, and laugh generating Family Feud. It’s never dull. Except at 4 AM when the infomercials come on but ONE time I was almost persuaded to get that genie bra.
I continued unpacking, doing everything in my power to remain positive. This year was definitely going to be an academic building year. I hadn’t vibrated my vocal cords in almost 24 hours. I felt like I was in a dystopia where there are no words said aloud. Just faces, emotions, and your own thoughts. Wait...That’s probably what being deaf is like..and I realize, that’s not a dystopia at all, that’s just a bad card in your whole hand you were dealt for life. I have it pretty good. I might hate being alone with my thoughts, but I can hear the rain on the window which reminds me that I have a window which means I have somewhere to live and stay warm and dry. I can hear birds chirping which reminds me that happiness exists all over. I can hear myself breathing which reminds me that I was given the gift of life which is only a one in 40 million chance as it is, so that’s pretty fucking cool. Let me revert to my home life for a bit. I have six siblings. Two of which adoptees from China. Early in life, they had the ‘draw 4’ card of UNO placed in front of them. My sister had heart defects and was abandoned by her birth parents. Being female in China is hard. That’s an understatement. She lived in an orphanage as just another face in the crowd in the playroom. Just enough food, a blanket and pillow which were the same color as the blanket covering the kid to the left and to the right. Nothing that made her an individual. Today, she’s one of the smartest kids I know. Gets a high and a rush through walking onto a lit up stage ready to perform a musical. I see an overwhelming sense of belonging on her face when she dives into a pool, muscles prepared for a race which to kids that age, might as well be the gold medal race at the Olympics. My little brother was abandoned carrying the burden of a cleft palate, cleft lip combo. Again, lived his crucial developmental years as a victim to lack of individuality. Today, he has one of the most positive attitudes I’ve ever known. He spreads a smile at almost everything. He sings in the shower, the car, while he’s using the toilet and also preparing for a musical despite speech restrictions. He’s come a long way, but still has a speech impediment and he knows it, and he’s self conscious about it. However, he’s not letting that stop him, or even slow him down. He still plans on full heartedly getting on that stage in front of a hundred people to sing, and dance to bring smiles to the faces of small town people. He will never know how much of an inspiration that is to me. Do you see what I’m saying with all of this? There kids were given black and white paint to make something on their canvas of life, and they found a way to paint rainbows and beautiful pictures in spite of what they were given.
