Solitude.

—Solo—

VI

Angelina's body was pummeled by a tremendous surge of in and out surroundings. It wasn't always like this, and she didn't expect it to stay that way. Angelina had returned to work mode after celebrating her birthday with an outpouring of love from people she held dear to her heart. Not only was she working, but she also had that itch, that niche—almost a need for something more. Perhaps it was the return of her Mother that spurred her on to more self-discovery. Angelina may have been pushed further than she ever dreamed she could go by her new lease on love and life.

Angie's first film, Original Sin, was the first of many. Despite the fact that filming had not yet begun, she was ecstatic. The writing spoke to her, almost in ways that represented everything she disliked about a character as well as everything she might adore. She was out today. A walk through nature by herself, to cleanse her head of the congestion. In no sense of sickness— but to cleanse any self-inflicted doubts.

No doubt, everything, life, and times had changed. Angelina was satisfied at the moment. She walked on the trail, pressing her feet into the crooked gravel. That she was in love seemed surreal. She had no idea that love would suddenly descend upon her like a sack of bricks. As she did with many other things, she received it with faith and understanding. The trail led to the area of the woods that was the deepest and darkest. The actress knelt down and searched her bag for her camera. Maybe, just maybe, she'd really grow interested in photography and perhaps start directing films.

Angelina had several opportunities as a result of her acting career. That's something, she never took for granted. She thought that travel, amnesty, and philanthropic events were all extraordinarily wonderful. But, she had every desire to be more, though. Do more. The smallest part of her life was and is Hollywood. Glamorous dresses, makeup, and parties barely scratched the surface of who Angelina was in reality. Her brother James, made the proposal that she write an op-ed piece to TIME magazine. Angelina initially believed he was yanking her chain. He wasn't, though. When Antonio Banderas and the cast of Original Sin first met, they spent the most of their conversation discussing global issues.

As Angelina silently approached a bird's nest, the camera's shutter flickered repeatedly. Angelina had opinions on everything, including societal issues, literary works, and historical events. Why not? Why not have courage and contribute to TIME magazine? However, Angelina knew she would get harsh criticism. As she had always been subjected to. She smiled as she recalled the gasping outrage caused by her numerous tattoos. She would ruminate on the idea of writing something, much as she had done with her own collection of poetry. She found it strange that something she had always done in her free time or with her mother could now be bought by others. Angelina hiked the remaining distance in silence after one more shutter click.

In time with the foggy breeze, her chest rose and sank. The raw scents of nature entered her lungs. The path grew narrower as it led to her final goal; hanging plants and flowers adorned the route. A prosperous and magnificent river was created from the still water. Nature was hushed. However, it matched the constant cacophony of sounds that thrilled Angelina's head and emotions. Her eyes were squinted into the distant as she clenched the camera in her palm. It was amazing. Her arms had scratches and scuffs from prickly bushes, her hair was clinging to the back of her neck, and her boots were covered in dirt and gravel. Never before had she felt more lovely, alive, and open to new experiences than she did now.

With her camera, Angelina captured the water, the flowers, and the little insects. She located a spot a downed tree limb. She had placed her journal on her lap while sitting with her legs outstretched and her back resting against the wood. Naturally, there were scribbles and indents on every page from previous works. Many of them were sappy odes to her love. High-pitched, almost sickeningly girlie declarations of love were also something Angelina enjoyed. To have complete freedom. She wouldn't limit her feelings, not even in her own mind. Her attention was now on the present situation. She wrote while slightly leaned over and focused on putting all she was feeling into words.

Frequently on shoots, there would be after-party festivities, and just like now, Angelina discovered herself mumbling ideas, to herself. As she continued to write, she would exhale, bite the corner of her lip, and nod to herself. Her inspirations came and went, ebbing and flowing with each penstroke. The woman breathed a ragged laugh when she reached the final line on the page. Above her, in the clouds, she could hear the approaching thunder. She looked up at the somewhat cloudy sky with its touches of blue and sunshine. She grinned because it appeared as though the sky represented two halves of something. Could it be that Angelina was also inspired by that? Yeah, maybe she was.

To check the time, she flipped her wrist and glanced at her watch. She would have to return. Even while Angelina was positive she would return to this route, she also knew she wouldn't. That was the allure of hiking—observing nature and locating trails. Each one stood for a specific moment and emotion. The freedom came from finding it. There were other freedoms and paths to explore that might be found. She took a few more photos, being careful to catch the most charming and tranquil effect of the sun shining on the peak of the river.

—Solo—

III

It changed into Conan, Leno, Letterman, Stewart— all the late night shows wanted her. Even good Morning America, wanted Angelina on their show. And for what? GIA had emerged as an overnight success. HBO clearly had executed nicely, as did she—a Golden Globe nomination; and that was nothing to sneeze at. Matters were truly starting to pick up voltage with her career. Plenty of new projects sat on the horizon. Some scripts and films Angelina had fawned over for a couple of years, unsure if it honestly it matched her. Lisa Rowe; Girl Interrupted, actually was one that seemed to suit her quite well. But then came such movies as the Bone Collector, Pushing Tin, Gone in 60 Seconds— all of which made her uneasy. some of the “potential” cast participants were all stars she had watched on the large screen. Idolized even. Now, to be performing alongside them...become like an in depth fever hallucination of some type.

She and Julia acknowledged their way to the cramped crowd, that waited for them outside the hotel. Angelina was continually dazed to visualize fans—actual people who were there for her. It was insane to her. Her free hand fished the packet of cigarettes out her pocket, fitting to light one—then the bustle begun. Shouts for autographs, pictures, the whole nine. Angelina pleasantly submitted, satisfied and starstruck herself. With the unlit limp smoke in her mouth she marked a few autographs.

“Angelina!”

“Angelina! Are you and Johnny Miller back together?”

“Angelina! Are you going to do the movie with Denzel Washington!”

Going through as many autographs as she could, Angelina shook off the questions. “I don't really know...” She wasn't insensitive or mean--honestly, she didn't know. With the last autograph, she granted the person who wanted a kiss. That certainly revved up the crowd even more, causing both she and Julia and rest of their beefed up security team to laugh.

Waving to the rest, Angelina got into the SUV, buckled in, and lit her cigarette. Julia looked on with an unpleasant expression. She hated cigarettes. The fading brunette hair, actress raised an eyebrow as her lungs inhaled the nicotine. “Find me something better and I'll quit on the spot.”

Some of that statement was truthful. Angelina had done well for herself not to take drugs over the past two days—not that she could. With the Golden Globe nomination, the squeeze and the end of the film, she didn't have time to do her extracurricular business. And quite honestly she didn't miss it. That wasn't to say that Angelina hadn't taken up quite the chainsmoking—habits, but everything was a working progress.

Angelina always came away from meetings with certain executives emotional. Otherwise, there would have been no particular reason for her to be at a hotel. It wasn't in a negative sense she felt emotional- but a sense in which she was actually doing THIS. This—meaning: really picking scripts, having producers, directors, writers actually want her. After all, she had signed on to do the next few films. Taking the cigarette from her lips, she let the smoke escape through the crack in the window; a smirk of satisfaction rested on her lips as she did.

The car ride had only been several minutes. A quiet ride between she and Julia—no need to really exchange any words. As the SUV pulled into her driveway of her darkened house, Angelina cursed softly noting and perceiving she hadn't left a light anywhere in the house. She only hoped Yogi— hadn't caused any damaged or had been damaged himself. Yogi, was her new bestowed upon her puppy! Her brother James had randomly given him to her. Now, the four legged cutie was apart of her life. It was dark and the klutz she could be...it wasn't a good set up, as she made her up the steps of her porch. With her purse slung over her shoulder, shopping bags nibbled at her fingertips, and her journals pressed against her chest the actresses jogged, carefully up the rest of the stairs to her front door.

Most of the time Angelina wouldn't bother to leave the doors locked. Even though safety precautions warranted her too. It made things easier when meetings, filming—ect ran late. Her body made it through the door on cue as the horn of the car, signaled a goodbye. The shopping bags fell to the floor, her purse slipped down her arm, and of course the journals in her hands began faltering as well.

Before long she could hear the deep pounding padding steps, of her eager doggy Yogi. In a blink of an eye the lovable chocolate Labrador—ran upon her. Tail wagging, eyes large with anticipation, and barking as if Angelina have been gone for hundreds of years. Bending down to meet the adorable canine halfway. She scratched him, patting his fur, and permit the four legged animal to lick her face a bit. “Been a good boy? Hm? Yes? Yes!”

She was answered with more speedy barks and licks of affection. Regaining her standing position, Angelina and Yogi traveled past the dim living room, over the two little steps and into the kitchen. Out stretching one arm, Angelina flicked on the kitchen light and was met with the white affluent, peaceful ambiance of the kitchen fully. Most of the cooking contraptions, the actress had failed to use— her attention span for cooking was anything less than bearable.

Small chuckles echoed from her lips as she fished around the lower cabinets trying to find a snack. Yogi, budded his head against her leg— almost asking for one himself. After grabbing a few simple crackers for herself, dog treat for the pup, Angelina pranced her way to her bedroom.

The lanky actress had wolfed down the crackers fast. Now she became situated in a heated, candlelit, door closed and locked, bubble bathtub. Her pale skin soaking in the sweet lavender body wash, she so graciously added to the water— along with some honeysuckle bath bombs. Angelina adored bubble baths, mainly after long days which includes one like today. As the soothing, muscle relaxing home spa like treatment was needed—to was the Rose Gold, Pinot wine that sat half empty on the rim of the sleek porcelain tub. In the beginning stages of her soak she had, nursed the wine. Baby sips, little nips. Then, grabbing the glass by the base she downed the wine. Rich in taste, smooth on the route, leaving a satisfied almost drool expression upon her face.

Raising her head a bit, damp strings of her hair sticking to her neck. Her misty eyes viewed the steam from the water—it was gratifying to see. Angelina stuck one arm out from under the water, watching enticingly close, as droplets fell from her thin fingertips. A soft “Mmm.” Rang from the depths of her throat, and past her lips. This was bliss. This was truly a peace maker to her overactive mind. Overactive life in some areas.

There are parts of me that are broken, tangled together, hurtful, and joyful. I've talked about this before, but that ravished part of me doesn't care. I am still learning. Learning how to... To put on paper how I really feel. It goes well beyond the creepy, spooky, and unsettling feelings that I will harbor within me. No fancy talk, no cover-up, just how to...

The high effects of life's ecstasy warn me off. Dull eyes, zombie dragged and drugged, I am a personality bubbled and bright, but only in the dark crooks of my mind. No mask. Uncovered and here to stay. I can be two, three, four, or six people at the same time! I don't want to be trapped in the bug house. I don't want a circus. I'm just letting loose this sticky muse.

There will be another muse like this. This personality will regain its strength and trust me, I'll be here to capture it. I am not someone who locks it up and pretends to be a housewife. Fuck it. Captured it and I'm happy. This is an anxious capture.

To: Angie.

From: Angelina.

I have to have faith in myself. I must have something absurd and irrational to cling to. Stupid and silly, yet I fully comprehend it. I'm destroying myself with worry about the future. I'm exhausting myself thinking about the past. in the present? Standing here, unsure of myself. Walking while blind... It's almost as if I'm a wind-up toy with a purpose. Would I hear myself if I shouted?

Not the rose petal anymore. Just a leaf. By my own thoughts, I have been crushed and malfunctioning. Suffocated and plagued by oneself. I'm no longer disillusioned, but instead having mental dizziness. In my head stewing. Then halt. Then halt. Yet how? Breathe. Exhale and inhale. The day will be new tomorrow. I've come this far, and I'm confident that I can continue.

I am tired. Every part of me is tired. I am so thankful daily for the brightest blessings. But I have had enough thinking.

It is a space that I have created so that I can express myself and feel the way I want to. How to quiet my thoughts.. how to turn off this waterfall? All I want to do is not think anymore.

It is not that I am sad. I am not in the cloud of overindulged over-exasperated mixed emotions. It is simply that I am tired. I simply want peace and quiet. I want to smile and not over think it.

ANGELINA JOLIE  Gia, 1998  – dir. Michael Cristofer

Sea or ocean. Painter: Lionel Walden.

I need to keep my joy in mind when I write or alter. I've let my thoughts to fool me.

I've let my imagination to make me into a frightening devil. How clichéd. How depressing of me.

My scowl widens as I pick up the pen. I'm disoriented inside of myself and yearn to meet someone great. I feel renewed when they hear me speak.

What...if no one answers the call? Am I destined to roam the earth by myself? No.

I'll take my own call. I'll turn off my thoughts so I may continue to be content. Because happiness is now a decision. My decision.

—Angie💋

💕

— Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra