The Hug Became A Cure. Not Only A Hug, But Medicine. Not Just Medical Treatment, But Healing. More Than

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝐼 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒.

-𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝐽𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑒

There is often too much to say and not enough time. Cliché. a complete fiasco. Truthfully... Why say anything at all?

My mental imagination is where I'd prefer spend each day. I would much rather be at ease with the knowledge that I can somewhat influence the depths of my thoughts.

Time therefore expires. This will happen. There it is. It will tick more quickly. Let it be.

—Blondie—

(Life Or Something Like It Solo)

She was frightened by the comedy genre. She wasn't particularly amusing—clumsy? She was, indeed. Angelina had no experience with romantic comedies. It didn't appear that "Playing By Heart" counted. In fact, whenever her filmography was brought up, the movie never seemed to come up. So perhaps Angelina wasn't the best at comedy. However, this chance presented itself. The project "Life or Something Like It" seems to be enjoyable. It was a character that embodied everything the actress detested about people. Her co-stars made the set beautiful, and the screenplay was excellent. It nearly felt like she was on vacation with her favorite folks. One of the best benefits, too? Now, for just a little a while she could be a blonde hair chick again.

On the far side of the set, her trailer was located. As she read her script, Angelina was reclined against her desk. Despite how much she enjoyed reading, she was never able to focus on scripts on her own. When the trailer door opened, she stretched out her arm and got hold of her tea cup, ready to sip. The director, Stephen, leaned his body partially against the doorway as he stood there. His thin lips were playing out that cunning little smile. Angelina was no longer a childish actress. She earned her spot in Hollywood, which has always made her nervous. Realizing that she was now regarded as one of the best actors in Hollywood. It looked like Stephen was going to capitalize on it.

“Angie...?” Stephens voice raised in pitch—Angelina stop to stare at him. “I need you to sing.”

Sing? He needed Angelina to sing? First it was the outpouring of support, getting the woman to star in this comedy. Even though, Angelina was still convinced she possessed not one funny bone in her body. Now, there was singing involved?

Angelina was ultimately ready to deliver the script to someone else if she had been acting in her right mind. And perhaps change her mind about playing the lead in the movie. She was not a singer. Stephen hadn't seen any of her recent movies, had he? She was able to swim, swing from ropes, fire weapons, and throw punches. However singing? Was he attempting to transform her into the Hollywood clown, or what? Angelina had to restrain herself from letting a barrage of expletives escape her mouth. She started to speak and gave a slight head shake.

“No... No, I can't sing.” She finally spoke, trying to gather her composure.

Stephen let out a squeal of laughter, “I’m not asking for Opera or a Madison Square Garden performance.” He paused with a slight tilt of his head. “Just some old school rock singing.”

Angelina still wasn't understanding where he was going with this. Now, standing from her chest she rested one hand on her hip. “Rock singing? What're we talking...?”

It was widely known that Angelina cherished music. She couldn't carry a simple tune, yet every time she went on vacation, she ended up in a record shop. When she was alone, Angelina would use music to lighten her home, possibly upsetting the peace outside due to her excitement when listening to specific songs. And that was okay; it was groovy and enjoyable. To do it on camera, though? Have it filmed, edited, and made a significant contribution to the movie? That idea made Angelina's heart shiver. She and Stephen exchanged a brief look. His weight changed from his left foot to his right. Angelina shook her head "no," biting the corner of her mouth.

“Trust me on this. This will be fun, you'll look amazing and it'll be amazing.” Stephen nodded on and off, as to add reassurance to his statement. As he made his way out the door of her trailer, he called out another “trust me” before closing the door.

𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎? 𝑮𝒐 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇? 𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒆.

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Sylvia touched Angelina's nose with the cosmetic brush. A week had passed since Stephen had asked Angelina to sing. And her response? She wasn't sure yet, but she was leaning strongly against saying yes. By choosing to film the other events instead of the singing scene, she was able to avoid it. The set was entertaining. Angelina found that the more she disliked her character, the more she liked the movie. However, Stephen was determined to shoot the singing sequence today after spotting her diversion strategy.

“It’s part of the film. Have fun with it.” Sylvia spoke, teasing Angelina's platinum blonde hair.

A glance at her reflection in the mirror was cast by the blue-eyed actress. Each day, two to four hours were needed for hair and makeup. Angelina occasionally had trouble identifying herself. Her dark hair was completely gone, the tattoos were covered up; she had changed significantly. However, she enjoyed something about the acting industry. Playing dress up and temporarily assuming another identity could be thrilling a way of escapism at times. Sylvia shifted to the side while talking, attempting to tame a few flyaways.

“Aren’t you always going on about taking risk?” Sylvia took a beat, grabbing the curling iron. “This is a risk. A fun risk.” Her heavy Russian accent made Angelina giggle a bit, whenever she said ‘risk.’

Taking risk? Yeah. Angelina was the number one German-American risk taker. Jumping into pools at award shows, kissing fans, bungee jumping while on LSD. So what the hell was so scary about shooting a 5-10 minute singing scene?

If Angelina's father were present, he would undoubtedly rant about how she shouldn't constantly be terrified. Additionally, he would probably provide a long-winded narrative about his time spent on sets and filming projects that he didn't particularly enjoy. If Angelina's mother had visited the set this week, she would have given her a big hug, sing her a tender song, and tell her to stretch her wings and fly. And that would all be beneficial. But there was just one problem: Angelina was getting in her own way.

“Warum bin ich so ein kleiner Angsthase?” Angelina mumbled as Sylvia finished up her hair.

Sylvia narrowed her squinty brown eyes at the pretty actress, “You forget I know German too.”

Amusingly, Angelina stood from the chair. “Ja? What did I just say then?”

The two women were to begin in a heated battle of Russian and German talk, before the five minute warning knock erupted on the trailer door. That was Angelina's cue to get out there.

Her attire of choice was appropriate for the setting. Her idea to add a hat to the costume was to make it appear more relaxed. Angelina followed the security onto the set while keeping one hand in her pocket. Along the walkway, extras, regular people, and paid fans lined up in an attempt to get a glimpse of the action. Stephen appeared to be deeply engaged in a discussion with his assistant director. Angelina pursed her pouty lips, mentally going over each word of the scene while she tried to control her heart rate so she wouldn't pass out before the filming even began.

Breaking from the conversation, Stephen approached her. “How ya feeling Blondie?”

“I feel like Marilyn Monroe!”

“Really?” Stephen asked excitedly.

“No. No. I—I was being sarcastic.” Angelina playfully rolled her eyes.

Stephen pulled Angelina aside, off to a mildly secluded area. Stephen Herek, was a fairly unknown director who wasn't the largest in Hollywood. But he worked hard at his craft. He respected the input and effort of his actors. With seriousness and sympathy in his gaze, he gently touched Angelina's shoulder.

“This entire movie is about living in the moment. It's about doing things, you'd probably never do. Your character is realizing that.” He stopped, his lips twitching with a smile as he continued. “You’re the raddest chick in Hollywood right now. Be that way, for this scene.”

This was the pep talk? Angelina could be considered the boldest woman in Hollywood. Of course she was— who else would get a tapped in tattoo tiger on her lower back and flaunt it, for all to see? No one. No one but her. A gleaming smile spread across her lips, and Angelina gave a thorough nod in agreement.

“Alright! Alright... Let's film this fucking thing!”

Maybe it was the character, the writing, Stephen's motivational speech, or maybe just the fact that Angelina was working on a movie that allowed her to have a little fun. Whatever it was, the scene was filmed in a single take. She enjoyed herself and rocked out in front of a large crowd. Angelina even succeeded in living out a rock star fantasy by being able to crowd surf! Production would take close to six months, delaying the release of the film. Still, she enjoyed herself. Angelina had truly begun to enjoy her career as an actor.

Daily Affirmation ♡

𝐷𝑒𝑛𝑛 𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑏𝑡 𝑆𝑐𝒉𝑜̈𝑛𝒉𝑒𝑖𝑡... 𝑢̈𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙.

Unkempt. morning relaxation I wake up in the sunrise with a new lease on life. That was borrowed language. Life is only temporary.

Life isn't just about big things; it's also about small things. “Life is fleeting...” Gestohlenes Zitat.

There is beauty within and around us, yet—what does the human mind focus on? the haze. the night. the gloom. However, grey has been painted as a distasteful color. It's extremely lovely. It's almost perfect; it's refreshing enough.

And when I write, I encounter little comprehension. No maps of my route exist, I am aware of this. My brain is spinning. Where have I come from? What should I do? Where should I start? Oh yes. Beautiful art exists. Art is beauty. I'll write this down in my journal. I'll take a picture of it and draw it. I'll stamp a postcard to seal it after that.

Sea or ocean. Painter: Lionel Walden.

And where am I? Where do I commence...do I culminate here? Hurt and broken? Believing that it was something when it wasn't. I'm to blame. I put myself in a position to be facilely hurt...suppose I go back? I'd like to think I'd make different culls. But that'd be too facile. Nothing left to do but cry and move on.

Believe it or not the stinging sensational pain will fade and I'll be okay. Maybe not...now or next week; but I'll be okay. Insanely broken but better pieces I suppose.

Insane. I'm insane for the things I believe in.

I feel proud of my damages. Odd? You betcha. How can one speak with a positive tone about one's own destruction? But it's possible. I'm proud of my climb, my metamorphosis, and my halting ways.

It feels like I'm tone-deaf to all the unsupportive hindrances that I've encountered in this amorphous transition. My mouth hangs open when I find myself speechless regarding the notions of speaking argumentatively. Have I...learned? Oh certainly. And what arguments have I had? The ones with myself.

Every active stimulus that finds it's way into my realm is causing my senses to awaken, bloom, and burst with activity. I love it. Lackluster. No enthusiasm. Why? As a way to become more aware of my damages and feel proud.

my mind is full of flowers, dreams, gentlemen and ethereal ladies