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| June 2012 |
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| December 2013 |
Sunday, December 29
Saturday, December 7
Essay on Lurve
So I sometimes post photo essays because I think it's fun. This morning I'm gonna change it up a bit and do a video essay on my evolving feelings about romance, ect. (And they are country music videos. Duh. Because that is what my life is.)
1. Thesis: As you change as a person, your thoughts and feelings on important topics change too. Every time I read a book, it's different not because the words are different but because I'm different. The following examples will cite how my feelings on romantic partnership/love/sex/companions/boys/men/me/dating have changed over the last year and a half.
2. Summer 2012 - How I felt when I was sure, at some level, that this whole love thing was never gonna work out for me.
Hunter Hayes - Everybody's Got Somebody but Me
(The caveat: this song is a little too upbeat for that time of my life, but the lyrics get it.)
3. Spring 2013 - As I began to realize that maybe it wasn't hopeless, I started to wish really really hard for it not to be hopeless. (As if the wishing, and not realizing would change it? Yeah, I know, silly.) But I wished for myself to have a chance at it.
At this point I also, somehow, got myself in a situation where all the men I had serious feelings for were very much taken.
The Band Perry - Don't Let Me Be Lonely
4. Summer/Fall 2013 - All of a sudden, it all got a lot less sad. It was intense and not easy always, but it was also something to think about and not weep over. I had lots of crushes and I went for it in a way I hadn't ever before. I stopped moping so much.
Easton Corbin - Lovin You is Fun
5. Winter 2013 - How I'm feeling now. Because, really? Just fuck it. Fun is pretty much all that it needs to be about right now. So yes: red wine, please. Dancing, please. Skinny jeans and high heels and ridiculous situations, please. Because I'm 24 and won't be ever again.
Sugarland - Settlin
Sing it, Sugarland.
1. Thesis: As you change as a person, your thoughts and feelings on important topics change too. Every time I read a book, it's different not because the words are different but because I'm different. The following examples will cite how my feelings on romantic partnership/love/sex/companions/boys/men/me/dating have changed over the last year and a half.
2. Summer 2012 - How I felt when I was sure, at some level, that this whole love thing was never gonna work out for me.
Hunter Hayes - Everybody's Got Somebody but Me
3. Spring 2013 - As I began to realize that maybe it wasn't hopeless, I started to wish really really hard for it not to be hopeless. (As if the wishing, and not realizing would change it? Yeah, I know, silly.) But I wished for myself to have a chance at it.
At this point I also, somehow, got myself in a situation where all the men I had serious feelings for were very much taken.
The Band Perry - Don't Let Me Be Lonely
4. Summer/Fall 2013 - All of a sudden, it all got a lot less sad. It was intense and not easy always, but it was also something to think about and not weep over. I had lots of crushes and I went for it in a way I hadn't ever before. I stopped moping so much.
Easton Corbin - Lovin You is Fun
5. Winter 2013 - How I'm feeling now. Because, really? Just fuck it. Fun is pretty much all that it needs to be about right now. So yes: red wine, please. Dancing, please. Skinny jeans and high heels and ridiculous situations, please. Because I'm 24 and won't be ever again.
Sugarland - Settlin
Sing it, Sugarland.
Wednesday, November 27
Before Bed
When I was a young girl, I had a green rocking chair that sat in my room. It was remnant from my nursery, I think. But when I had outgrown that chair, when I was nine or ten, I had a lot of trouble sleeping. I would imagine that there were people in my room, in the corners, coming to get me and I would panic. Slowly, slowly, panic. For a lot of those years I slept in a nest of quilts on my parents' floor but when I was in my own room, I had a trick I used to calm myself down. I would imagine Mary Chapin Carpenter was sitting in my green rocking chair, with her guitar on her lap, singing me "When Halley Came to Jackson."
Now I'm a (sometimes) grownup and I happen to have a green armchair in my room. As I was lying in bed tonight, ready to sleep, I turned on "It Don't Bring You," which I consider another lullaby. I suddenly remembered all those nights Chapin kept me safe from the monsters in the corners and I set it up to play again. I know there is no one here but me, Alyssa upstairs, and Charlie down the hall. I know I am safe here and I will not panic, not tonight. But a little lullaby and a little safety never hurt anyone.
Now I'm a (sometimes) grownup and I happen to have a green armchair in my room. As I was lying in bed tonight, ready to sleep, I turned on "It Don't Bring You," which I consider another lullaby. I suddenly remembered all those nights Chapin kept me safe from the monsters in the corners and I set it up to play again. I know there is no one here but me, Alyssa upstairs, and Charlie down the hall. I know I am safe here and I will not panic, not tonight. But a little lullaby and a little safety never hurt anyone.
Tuesday, November 19
Last Week's Dream
I had a dream last week that I wanted to write about that I never got a chance to. It's pretty cloudy now, so I'll do my best to remember what I can.
In the dream, my roommates and I were moving into a new apartment. Our new place was in a very European-esque building and had lots of winding hallways between the rooms. There was some leftover furniture in the apartment and the first part of the dream was me wandering through these rooms, choosing which would be mine, moving furniture, examining our new old-world space. After a while of looking around I noticed a staircase that led up to a door. My roommates appeared and the three of us climbed the stairs and opened the door into another apartment.
This apartment was painted all yellow, with white, ornate furniture. It felt like an old grandmother's apartment and I remember feeling very much not-at-home. I didn't feel at home in the apartment downstairs either, but it was a very active feeling in the upstairs apartment. Then one of my roommates said that this was our new place, not the one downstairs, which immediately upset me. I did not want to live here, but it seemed we had no choice, we had no where else to go. We started to move our objects upstairs and I tried to change my thinking, tried to accept this new space. The yellow seemed to glare at me and I didn't even want to touch the furniture.
Then, suddenly, one of the rooms was on fire. A space heater had overheated and the yellow upstairs apartment was on fire. We called the fire department and tried our best to put out the fire ourselves. (It was very much Wife In The Attic type of room fire, not Oh Holy Fuck This Is A Real Danger fire.) Eventually, as we were just finishing putting the fire out, my current director came into the apartment. He was overwhelmed with show paperwork and binders and was very flustered by our presence, much less the fire damage. He put down his objects and explained to us that this yellow apartment was and IS his apartment, and that we were wrong, the downstairs apartment was ours.
It was very relieving to know that we were not going to have to live in this awkward space, but the guilt I felt over the fire went up exponentially. I had, somehow, come to believe that the space heater fire was my fault. Later in the dream I learned that it was not in fact my fault, but at the time I was drowning in this guilt and shame.
A lot of the dream gets fuzzy here, but I do remember two specific moments: finding out that I had not caused the fire (and all of the relief that went with that), and looking at my director's computer. While on the computer I found a file with pictures and adjectives of women that he was interested in. They were all women I did not know, with the exception of myself. It was an old picture of me, at my old weight, with the adjectives: "fat, arrogant, ignorant."
This is the second dream I have had in which this particular person has accused me of arrogance. Arrogance is not a fault of mine, I don't think (arrogant to think so?). I have a lot of faults and will gladly discuss most of them, but I've never felt arrogance to be one. What does this dream mean? What does this man's dream accusation of arrogance mean? What does it mean that it's happened twice? If you have thoughts, I sincerely do want to know them. I think it's interesting that I was in his file of women he is attracted to, but only listed with negative characteristics. I didn't notice what was written for the other women.
In the dream, my roommates and I were moving into a new apartment. Our new place was in a very European-esque building and had lots of winding hallways between the rooms. There was some leftover furniture in the apartment and the first part of the dream was me wandering through these rooms, choosing which would be mine, moving furniture, examining our new old-world space. After a while of looking around I noticed a staircase that led up to a door. My roommates appeared and the three of us climbed the stairs and opened the door into another apartment.
This apartment was painted all yellow, with white, ornate furniture. It felt like an old grandmother's apartment and I remember feeling very much not-at-home. I didn't feel at home in the apartment downstairs either, but it was a very active feeling in the upstairs apartment. Then one of my roommates said that this was our new place, not the one downstairs, which immediately upset me. I did not want to live here, but it seemed we had no choice, we had no where else to go. We started to move our objects upstairs and I tried to change my thinking, tried to accept this new space. The yellow seemed to glare at me and I didn't even want to touch the furniture.
Then, suddenly, one of the rooms was on fire. A space heater had overheated and the yellow upstairs apartment was on fire. We called the fire department and tried our best to put out the fire ourselves. (It was very much Wife In The Attic type of room fire, not Oh Holy Fuck This Is A Real Danger fire.) Eventually, as we were just finishing putting the fire out, my current director came into the apartment. He was overwhelmed with show paperwork and binders and was very flustered by our presence, much less the fire damage. He put down his objects and explained to us that this yellow apartment was and IS his apartment, and that we were wrong, the downstairs apartment was ours.
It was very relieving to know that we were not going to have to live in this awkward space, but the guilt I felt over the fire went up exponentially. I had, somehow, come to believe that the space heater fire was my fault. Later in the dream I learned that it was not in fact my fault, but at the time I was drowning in this guilt and shame.
A lot of the dream gets fuzzy here, but I do remember two specific moments: finding out that I had not caused the fire (and all of the relief that went with that), and looking at my director's computer. While on the computer I found a file with pictures and adjectives of women that he was interested in. They were all women I did not know, with the exception of myself. It was an old picture of me, at my old weight, with the adjectives: "fat, arrogant, ignorant."
This is the second dream I have had in which this particular person has accused me of arrogance. Arrogance is not a fault of mine, I don't think (arrogant to think so?). I have a lot of faults and will gladly discuss most of them, but I've never felt arrogance to be one. What does this dream mean? What does this man's dream accusation of arrogance mean? What does it mean that it's happened twice? If you have thoughts, I sincerely do want to know them. I think it's interesting that I was in his file of women he is attracted to, but only listed with negative characteristics. I didn't notice what was written for the other women.
Friday, October 18
Horror
So I went to a horror play last night. About zombies. There were two zombies onstage the whole time, chained up, trying to get at the two other characters. One of them [the zombies] is a girl I know, a friend even! Did that stop me from throwing myself into the lap of my friend every time she looked at us? Not one bit.
Sometimes you try things outside your comfort zone and you find that, after it's over, you're still alive. But maybe you also happen to be talking a mile a minute for more than an hour, trying to process all the adrenaline in your body.
Sometimes you try things outside your comfort zone and you find that, after it's over, you're still alive. But maybe you also happen to be talking a mile a minute for more than an hour, trying to process all the adrenaline in your body.
Saturday, October 5
Smoke Rings in the Dark
Today I've been thinking about who I've had to let go, and how I wish it hadn't played out that way.
This is on repeat.
This is on repeat.
Friday, October 4
Right now
I am sprawled out on my bedroom floor, both hot and freezing because I just biked home from Belmont and it is 45 degrees outside.
I really am never going to get into this whole exercise thing.
Thursday, October 3
The Angel of Death
I had a pretty fractured dream last night. I was home for Passover dinner and I lived with an entirely different family, in a different house. I guess the dream started with us watching Newsroom because the beginning is a bunch of images of the characters from Newsroom dealing with Criminal Minds like situations. Don killed someone, Maggie is being chased up a spiral staircase, they both end up on a roof over the city with a pool and neither are safe. It's all dark and frightening.
Then my family (including a big brother, a little brother and a little sister who are small children) sits down to Passover and the kids at the table begin asking the questions from the Haggadah. When we get to the story of the ten plagues and the final plague, my mom (not my actual mother) motions for me to get up. Confused, I stand. She then nudges me out of the room and I walk out to discover that I am to play the part of the Angel of Death this year. The next part of the dream is me moving from house to house on a dark Egyptian street, placing my hands over the cradles of the first borns and watching them die. I guess I always imagined this plague taking out kids of all ages but in this dream I was only killing babies -only children and the first children of their parents. I moved from sleeping house to sleeping house and wept silently as I pulled something egg yolk like out of each child and killed them all. At one point I wanted to stop but then my dream older brother was behind my shoulder, urging me on, reminding me that this was the price of our freedom.
After what seems like an eternity, I am done and I am allowed to return to the table. My mother pats my hand, in a "You've done well" gesture. We go back to the ceremony when a rock comes flying through our window. When my brother goes to the front door to see who threw it, a man comes rushing past him and barrels into our house. We all scream and I go to protect my younger siblings. My older brother chases this man down and discovers him in my room, going through my things. My brother somehow throws him out of the house. We call the police and when they arrive, they don't understand why we called them. The man is still prowling around our front yard, like an animal, looking at me. The police refuse to make him leave, saying he is not trespassing because he is on the sidewalk.
My dream essentially ends there. I say it was fragmented because what I remember mostly are snapshots that tell this story. An image of the TV show, an image of dinner, of the broken window, of the man pacing on the sidewalk. The most fluid and complete portion of the dream was when I was the Angel of Death.
It is incredibly rare for me to wake up in the middle of the night for any reason. Even when I sleepwalk, I never wake myself up. I am a heavy sleeper and I usually only wake up in the night when I'm sick. Last night I woke up at 6:00a, parched. I went to the bathroom for water and felt ill. When I went back to bed it took me almost an hour to fall back asleep - another rarity for me. I don't know what this dream means or why I had it, but it has shaken me up pretty badly.
Then my family (including a big brother, a little brother and a little sister who are small children) sits down to Passover and the kids at the table begin asking the questions from the Haggadah. When we get to the story of the ten plagues and the final plague, my mom (not my actual mother) motions for me to get up. Confused, I stand. She then nudges me out of the room and I walk out to discover that I am to play the part of the Angel of Death this year. The next part of the dream is me moving from house to house on a dark Egyptian street, placing my hands over the cradles of the first borns and watching them die. I guess I always imagined this plague taking out kids of all ages but in this dream I was only killing babies -only children and the first children of their parents. I moved from sleeping house to sleeping house and wept silently as I pulled something egg yolk like out of each child and killed them all. At one point I wanted to stop but then my dream older brother was behind my shoulder, urging me on, reminding me that this was the price of our freedom.
After what seems like an eternity, I am done and I am allowed to return to the table. My mother pats my hand, in a "You've done well" gesture. We go back to the ceremony when a rock comes flying through our window. When my brother goes to the front door to see who threw it, a man comes rushing past him and barrels into our house. We all scream and I go to protect my younger siblings. My older brother chases this man down and discovers him in my room, going through my things. My brother somehow throws him out of the house. We call the police and when they arrive, they don't understand why we called them. The man is still prowling around our front yard, like an animal, looking at me. The police refuse to make him leave, saying he is not trespassing because he is on the sidewalk.
My dream essentially ends there. I say it was fragmented because what I remember mostly are snapshots that tell this story. An image of the TV show, an image of dinner, of the broken window, of the man pacing on the sidewalk. The most fluid and complete portion of the dream was when I was the Angel of Death.
It is incredibly rare for me to wake up in the middle of the night for any reason. Even when I sleepwalk, I never wake myself up. I am a heavy sleeper and I usually only wake up in the night when I'm sick. Last night I woke up at 6:00a, parched. I went to the bathroom for water and felt ill. When I went back to bed it took me almost an hour to fall back asleep - another rarity for me. I don't know what this dream means or why I had it, but it has shaken me up pretty badly.
Tuesday, October 1
Online Dating
Oh, yes. That.
I have been on a lot of dates off of OkCupid, which was something I used to be very much ashamed of. I felt like there was something really wrong with me, that I had to try and meet someone on the internet when everyone else meets all normal real-life like. (N.B. I talk about this shame like it's a total past thing, but it's not. I just downloaded the app like three weeks ago because before that I was embarrassed someone would see it.)
I made my account when I first moved here two years ago and since then I have been on a lot of dates. I think this all of them, but I honestly cannot be sure. It is in semi chronological order, though again, I don't really know. I have only ever seen two of these people twice, as marked with a *.
Daniel* - who I dated for like a month just because I could, which was not very nice of me though he was quite sweet
??? - The guy who ordered the sandwich and was too awkward to eat it
Paul - who bought me drinking chocolate because I don't like coffee and then talked over me our entire date
Eric - The guy who texted me asking if I wanted to come over and watch a movie five min after I walked away from the date and then two days later asked me to drive him to the doctor after he flicked burning cigarette ash in his own eye
Jacob
Austin - the guy who I went on one date with and then remembered my name and what theater I worked at a year later when he met someone I knew at a party
Aaron - the guy who I thought was going to kill me, twice/ who agressively kissed me on the Burnside Bridge and made me freak out thinking everyone I knew was driving past and seeing me with this guy I didn't know
Ryan - the guy who stood up and said his first three sentences to me in a Russian accent, so that I thought he was Russian, and then dropped it with no explanation
Ari - was in the Israeli army which I was sooooo excited about. A Jew! A man! Hooray! No dice.
Javier
Dan*
Revan - the guy who walked away from me, mid-sentence, when his cross walk light turned on and then texted me two days later for a second date
Of all of these guys, there have only been two that I liked. Two that I felt like I had a good date with, two I liked talking to, two I thought we genuinely connected, both of whom I kissed quite a bit afterwards, and those are the only two who did not texted me and asked for a second date. Seriously, honestly, truly. There are a dozen men listed here and the only two I liked were the same only two who didn't like me enough for a second date.
I'm ruminating on this tonight because the latter Dan has just blown me off and I'm wondering what I did wrong. Or what I'm doing right when I'm not interested. Or why I do this at all, since it is usually such a waste of time/money.
My parents met because my mom's best friend set them up. I set up my friends all the bloody time. I tend to think that everyone is happier when they're having sex and I love me some happy people, so I put everybody all together because why the fuck not. Two of my good friends have been together almost a year because of me. I played a big part in the coupling of some friends who are getting married next summer. Yay friends! Yay dating and fun! All of this is true and: I have never been sent on a date by anyone I know.
Why is that? How do I change it? Maria says I seem like I can't be set up because I already know what I want? Or something? Should I get off my computer right now and go sit in a bar for the next 40 min until it closes? (No.)
I guess I just have more questions than answers tonight. I wish that wasn't the case.
I have been on a lot of dates off of OkCupid, which was something I used to be very much ashamed of. I felt like there was something really wrong with me, that I had to try and meet someone on the internet when everyone else meets all normal real-life like. (N.B. I talk about this shame like it's a total past thing, but it's not. I just downloaded the app like three weeks ago because before that I was embarrassed someone would see it.)
I made my account when I first moved here two years ago and since then I have been on a lot of dates. I think this all of them, but I honestly cannot be sure. It is in semi chronological order, though again, I don't really know. I have only ever seen two of these people twice, as marked with a *.
Daniel* - who I dated for like a month just because I could, which was not very nice of me though he was quite sweet
??? - The guy who ordered the sandwich and was too awkward to eat it
Paul - who bought me drinking chocolate because I don't like coffee and then talked over me our entire date
Eric - The guy who texted me asking if I wanted to come over and watch a movie five min after I walked away from the date and then two days later asked me to drive him to the doctor after he flicked burning cigarette ash in his own eye
Jacob
Austin - the guy who I went on one date with and then remembered my name and what theater I worked at a year later when he met someone I knew at a party
Aaron - the guy who I thought was going to kill me, twice/ who agressively kissed me on the Burnside Bridge and made me freak out thinking everyone I knew was driving past and seeing me with this guy I didn't know
Ryan - the guy who stood up and said his first three sentences to me in a Russian accent, so that I thought he was Russian, and then dropped it with no explanation
Ari - was in the Israeli army which I was sooooo excited about. A Jew! A man! Hooray! No dice.
Javier
Dan*
Revan - the guy who walked away from me, mid-sentence, when his cross walk light turned on and then texted me two days later for a second date
Of all of these guys, there have only been two that I liked. Two that I felt like I had a good date with, two I liked talking to, two I thought we genuinely connected, both of whom I kissed quite a bit afterwards, and those are the only two who did not texted me and asked for a second date. Seriously, honestly, truly. There are a dozen men listed here and the only two I liked were the same only two who didn't like me enough for a second date.
I'm ruminating on this tonight because the latter Dan has just blown me off and I'm wondering what I did wrong. Or what I'm doing right when I'm not interested. Or why I do this at all, since it is usually such a waste of time/money.
My parents met because my mom's best friend set them up. I set up my friends all the bloody time. I tend to think that everyone is happier when they're having sex and I love me some happy people, so I put everybody all together because why the fuck not. Two of my good friends have been together almost a year because of me. I played a big part in the coupling of some friends who are getting married next summer. Yay friends! Yay dating and fun! All of this is true and: I have never been sent on a date by anyone I know.
Why is that? How do I change it? Maria says I seem like I can't be set up because I already know what I want? Or something? Should I get off my computer right now and go sit in a bar for the next 40 min until it closes? (No.)
I guess I just have more questions than answers tonight. I wish that wasn't the case.
Thursday, September 26
Happiness is...
... a sunny day at the end of September and the way Ev twists around her front pack to look up at me.
Wednesday, September 18
Biking II
The Playlist
While battling the hills in SE: "I Need a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler at the beginning and "The Killing Floor" by Jimi Hendrix at the end.
Once I hit the top of the those hills: "If You Want to Sing Out" by Cat Stevens (I almost wept, it was so perfect).
Turning on to Duke St and then pulling into my own driveway: "Sostenuto" from Mahagonny Songspiel by Kurt Weill.
The Time
Driving home from the theater usually takes me twenty to twenty-five min. Last week this ride took me an hour, tonight it took me forty min. I think this is totally due to the fact that my bike has gears and Alyssa's doesn't, not due to me becoming Olivias, the Greek God of Biking.
The Ride
Was a pain in the ass. It was long and difficult and there were four big hills. I didn't like it. I don't. But when I get home, I know that I have taken myself there. I take these tiny back streets and there are lots of other bikers on them and relatively few cars and sometimes I go really slow and sometimes I stop. But this time! This time I never got off the bike. I did not push it up any hills and I did not sit down. Sure, I stood there and panted but there was no walking. All biking.
The Name
While riding home tonight I decided on the name of my bike. I wanted to name it after Sons but I knew that my bike was a girl. Not a ton of lady characters on that show. I mulled it over tonight and there was one that, as soon as it popped in my brain, felt immediately right. Just clicked. Made me smile, even though I felt like I was dying. So: in memoriam, my bike will be named Donna.
While battling the hills in SE: "I Need a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler at the beginning and "The Killing Floor" by Jimi Hendrix at the end.
Once I hit the top of the those hills: "If You Want to Sing Out" by Cat Stevens (I almost wept, it was so perfect).
Turning on to Duke St and then pulling into my own driveway: "Sostenuto" from Mahagonny Songspiel by Kurt Weill.
The Time
Driving home from the theater usually takes me twenty to twenty-five min. Last week this ride took me an hour, tonight it took me forty min. I think this is totally due to the fact that my bike has gears and Alyssa's doesn't, not due to me becoming Olivias, the Greek God of Biking.
The Ride
Was a pain in the ass. It was long and difficult and there were four big hills. I didn't like it. I don't. But when I get home, I know that I have taken myself there. I take these tiny back streets and there are lots of other bikers on them and relatively few cars and sometimes I go really slow and sometimes I stop. But this time! This time I never got off the bike. I did not push it up any hills and I did not sit down. Sure, I stood there and panted but there was no walking. All biking.
The Name
While riding home tonight I decided on the name of my bike. I wanted to name it after Sons but I knew that my bike was a girl. Not a ton of lady characters on that show. I mulled it over tonight and there was one that, as soon as it popped in my brain, felt immediately right. Just clicked. Made me smile, even though I felt like I was dying. So: in memoriam, my bike will be named Donna.
Monday, September 16
Alone
Guys - I'm actually enjoying having the house to myself.
Since college I have lived with six different people in a variety of different configurations and I have, on multiple occasions, been left with my abode empty. And I usually hate it. I mean: HATE it.
The first time Mona left me alone at the Manor I made Nils (Nils!) come stay with me so I wouldn't be alone.
The second time I made Jack come over and watch a movie every night until I was half asleep.
The third time I had Daniel come over.
When I lived with Chelsea and Maria, I was left alone once: I made Alan come over for both days.
When Charlie moved in everyone left at Christmas time and I got strep throat/scarlet fever and locked myself in my room for the entire time I was there.Before I got sick I made Andrew come and stay with me the night before he drove to CA, so I wouldn't be alone. And once I was sick, I stayed with Cameron and Kailyn for my last night in town, to have someone drive me to the airport and to take care of me.
And now here I am, nine months later, and I am at night two alone at Albert Hall and I am LOVING it. I really am! Last night I stayed up until 2am cleaning the house and fixing the oven and the kitchen chairs. I listened to the Weepies and drank tea and didn't wear any pants. Tonight I had some friends over for dinner and no one bothered us and now I am curled up on my couch, ready to watch some Sons of Anarchy. The house is clean, quiet, and empty. But peaceful empty, not menacing empty. I'm not afraid or uncomfortable or anxious this time. It's just me. In my house. Doing my own thing. With no one else around. And it's lovely.
Guys - does this mean I'm becoming a grown up?
Since college I have lived with six different people in a variety of different configurations and I have, on multiple occasions, been left with my abode empty. And I usually hate it. I mean: HATE it.
The first time Mona left me alone at the Manor I made Nils (Nils!) come stay with me so I wouldn't be alone.
The second time I made Jack come over and watch a movie every night until I was half asleep.
The third time I had Daniel come over.
When I lived with Chelsea and Maria, I was left alone once: I made Alan come over for both days.
When Charlie moved in everyone left at Christmas time and I got strep throat/scarlet fever and locked myself in my room for the entire time I was there.Before I got sick I made Andrew come and stay with me the night before he drove to CA, so I wouldn't be alone. And once I was sick, I stayed with Cameron and Kailyn for my last night in town, to have someone drive me to the airport and to take care of me.
And now here I am, nine months later, and I am at night two alone at Albert Hall and I am LOVING it. I really am! Last night I stayed up until 2am cleaning the house and fixing the oven and the kitchen chairs. I listened to the Weepies and drank tea and didn't wear any pants. Tonight I had some friends over for dinner and no one bothered us and now I am curled up on my couch, ready to watch some Sons of Anarchy. The house is clean, quiet, and empty. But peaceful empty, not menacing empty. I'm not afraid or uncomfortable or anxious this time. It's just me. In my house. Doing my own thing. With no one else around. And it's lovely.
Guys - does this mean I'm becoming a grown up?
Saturday, September 14
Wilde Tales: A Photo Essay
Yes, selfies are awful and vain and awful and silly and awful.
Now that we have that out of the way: I opened my webcam during rehearsal in order to take an awful vain awful silly awful selfie. What happened is that I went to click the "snapshot" button and hit the "burst" button instead. I assumed one picture was taken and then I went back to watching what was happening in rehearsal. The end was result was 30 something photos of me watching rehearsal, which is pretty hysterical all by itself. Here are some of the best ones, and they will maybe give you an idea of the play I'm working on now (and how much I love this stupid job).
That last picture reminds me of the end of this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WKbzq3wqWo
Now that we have that out of the way: I opened my webcam during rehearsal in order to take an awful vain awful silly awful selfie. What happened is that I went to click the "snapshot" button and hit the "burst" button instead. I assumed one picture was taken and then I went back to watching what was happening in rehearsal. The end was result was 30 something photos of me watching rehearsal, which is pretty hysterical all by itself. Here are some of the best ones, and they will maybe give you an idea of the play I'm working on now (and how much I love this stupid job).
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| This one was the on purpose selfie. |
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| I actually make this face? |
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| Oh jeez. |
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| Only the most professional |
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| The White Woman Overbite |
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| <3 |
Friday, September 13
Biking
I bought a bike! And I have begun to bike! Like a Portlander! With my legs! Carrying my own body! And my own stuff! Place to place! Panic! Excitement!
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Thursday, September 12
Elephant-a-topia
Here is a dream I had on Sunday night, the night that Two Gentlemen of Verona closed.
In this dream, my cast from Two Gents and I have been through some kind of accident/trauma/wreck and have washed ashore on a lost island. This island is very Dinotopia-esque, in that it is another world that is cut off from our world. This island was, centuries ago, originally populated by a group of people who were escaping a natural disaster of some sort by riding on the backs of elephants. The elephants swam and swam and eventually reached this island. In the time that passed between then and my dream the elephants evolved into animals different from our image of elephants and were much more like the oliphonts in Lord of the Rings: fearsome and war-like. There are skulls of mammoth sized elephants everywhere as markers, sculptures, warning, or tokens. They're all chilling, just expansive forehead and terrifying tusks. I can see them up and down the beach from the moment we land.
My memory of the dream picks up with my cast and I trying to find a way back to our world. We are unable to simply leave by taking to the sea, due to some kind of treacherous block (like in Dinotopia). Instead we have to take a boat through a complicated series of caverns and find a way out to the open ocean (also like in Dinotopia). We all gather together and try to make a map of these caverns from our memories of the crash/wreck/accident that brought us here. We hash out what we can and come up with a rough idea of how we want to try navigate through these underground rivers, all the while very much aware of the fact that we could easily get lost and die lost in those caverns.
We finish the map and begin to pack our multi-room-ed boat/submarine/machine. As we do so, a native of Elephant-a-topia comes to me. This is odd because none of them have talked to us or helped us the whole time we've been here. This person is dressed in the clothes of their world but carrying a modern day baby carrier - the kind for very small infants with a plastic handle. This person makes it clear that this baby is of our world, not theirs, and that I must bring it with me when we leave. In exchange for taking the baby, this person gives a map of the caverns. The map only appears on the carrier when I am actively caring for the baby, and is written in their language, covered in signs I can't understand.
We all board the boat/submarine and Zach, on of my cast, takes the helm. He has our rough map beside him and has made me the navigator. I hold the infant to my chest and try to consult both maps at once, while talking to Zach and keeping the baby quiet. Eventually we come to a discrepancy between our map and theirs and Zach and I disagree about which way to go. Kate, another cast member, leaps to my defense. She points out that the map I was given was made by people who actually knew what they were doing. Zach refuses to listen, saying that the fact we can't read it makes it useless. I try to explain what shapes I think are rocks and which are currents, but Zach ignores me. Kate becomes infuriated and storms out. I place the baby into the carrier and bring it with me as I follow her.
I find her in another room of the boat/submarine and I sit beside her, trying to calm her down. She is, obviously, upset because all our lives are at stake. After a while of talking we are interrupted by a huge crash our boat/submarine hits something. We both leap up, I grab the baby, and we run back to the control room. There is water pouring in from a huge hole in the wall. I place the baby safely out of the way and run to the hole. As I do so there is terrible tearing sound and Tony, another of cast members, tackles me just tin time to save me from being crushed to death by a piece of the structure of the boat. At this point we are laying on the floor, with him pinning me down. There is chaos everywhere and I am frantically trying to get up, panicking about the baby. He is yelling at me, trying to get his point across: "If it had gone differently, I would have kissed you gently. We could have been Julie Andrews and Captain Von Trapp." And that is where my dream ended.
I keep on remembering mine, especially that baby. I didn't gender it in this retelling because I don't what it was. It had dark hair and a lot of it. It slept so quietly and felt so natural, breathing with me as it lay on my chest. It reminded me of a dream I had last week in which I'd had my first child and was introducing him to my parents. Both babies were very similar - less than three months old with dark hair, sleeping soundly against me. I want to know where it came from, what happened to it, if I'll see it again.
In this dream, my cast from Two Gents and I have been through some kind of accident/trauma/wreck and have washed ashore on a lost island. This island is very Dinotopia-esque, in that it is another world that is cut off from our world. This island was, centuries ago, originally populated by a group of people who were escaping a natural disaster of some sort by riding on the backs of elephants. The elephants swam and swam and eventually reached this island. In the time that passed between then and my dream the elephants evolved into animals different from our image of elephants and were much more like the oliphonts in Lord of the Rings: fearsome and war-like. There are skulls of mammoth sized elephants everywhere as markers, sculptures, warning, or tokens. They're all chilling, just expansive forehead and terrifying tusks. I can see them up and down the beach from the moment we land.
My memory of the dream picks up with my cast and I trying to find a way back to our world. We are unable to simply leave by taking to the sea, due to some kind of treacherous block (like in Dinotopia). Instead we have to take a boat through a complicated series of caverns and find a way out to the open ocean (also like in Dinotopia). We all gather together and try to make a map of these caverns from our memories of the crash/wreck/accident that brought us here. We hash out what we can and come up with a rough idea of how we want to try navigate through these underground rivers, all the while very much aware of the fact that we could easily get lost and die lost in those caverns.
We finish the map and begin to pack our multi-room-ed boat/submarine/machine. As we do so, a native of Elephant-a-topia comes to me. This is odd because none of them have talked to us or helped us the whole time we've been here. This person is dressed in the clothes of their world but carrying a modern day baby carrier - the kind for very small infants with a plastic handle. This person makes it clear that this baby is of our world, not theirs, and that I must bring it with me when we leave. In exchange for taking the baby, this person gives a map of the caverns. The map only appears on the carrier when I am actively caring for the baby, and is written in their language, covered in signs I can't understand.
We all board the boat/submarine and Zach, on of my cast, takes the helm. He has our rough map beside him and has made me the navigator. I hold the infant to my chest and try to consult both maps at once, while talking to Zach and keeping the baby quiet. Eventually we come to a discrepancy between our map and theirs and Zach and I disagree about which way to go. Kate, another cast member, leaps to my defense. She points out that the map I was given was made by people who actually knew what they were doing. Zach refuses to listen, saying that the fact we can't read it makes it useless. I try to explain what shapes I think are rocks and which are currents, but Zach ignores me. Kate becomes infuriated and storms out. I place the baby into the carrier and bring it with me as I follow her.
I find her in another room of the boat/submarine and I sit beside her, trying to calm her down. She is, obviously, upset because all our lives are at stake. After a while of talking we are interrupted by a huge crash our boat/submarine hits something. We both leap up, I grab the baby, and we run back to the control room. There is water pouring in from a huge hole in the wall. I place the baby safely out of the way and run to the hole. As I do so there is terrible tearing sound and Tony, another of cast members, tackles me just tin time to save me from being crushed to death by a piece of the structure of the boat. At this point we are laying on the floor, with him pinning me down. There is chaos everywhere and I am frantically trying to get up, panicking about the baby. He is yelling at me, trying to get his point across: "If it had gone differently, I would have kissed you gently. We could have been Julie Andrews and Captain Von Trapp." And that is where my dream ended.
***
The day after I had this dream, I had lunch with Maria and the Kate from the dream. I sat down and said, "Oh! Kate! I had a dream with you in it." She immediately perked up, "I had one with you in it!" I gasped. I've only ever co-dreamed with one other person (my magical mother) and while our dreams were a.) on the same night and b.) eerily similar, we were not in fact in each other's dreams. The idea that Kate and I both dreamt of Elephant-a-topia was so exciting. Exciting because it would be so eerie and so rare, but also because I was so confused about the dream. If she had had the same dream, maybe she could illuminate more for me(especially about the baby). Before I told her about mine I said, "Stop me if it sounds like your dream at all. And if it does, we have to call Tony and Zach immediately." Then I launched in and both Maria and Kate sat there, slack-jawed. I'm sure you all have already guessed this, but no, Kate did not dream of Elephant-a-topia. She dreamt about going to lunch or something equally banal. She didn't really remember.I keep on remembering mine, especially that baby. I didn't gender it in this retelling because I don't what it was. It had dark hair and a lot of it. It slept so quietly and felt so natural, breathing with me as it lay on my chest. It reminded me of a dream I had last week in which I'd had my first child and was introducing him to my parents. Both babies were very similar - less than three months old with dark hair, sleeping soundly against me. I want to know where it came from, what happened to it, if I'll see it again.
Friday, September 6
Long Vs. Short
This morning I remembered why I chopped off all my hair six years ago.
TWENTY MINUTES OF BRUSHING OUT TANGLES EVERY DAMN DAY.
TWENTY MINUTES OF BRUSHING OUT TANGLES EVERY DAMN DAY.
Wednesday, September 4
Sick
I have a pretty full day tomorrow, so I should be going to bed. I'm going to write this post instead because today has been not the greatest and I think that if I can let some of this go then I will probably sleep better tonight. Because right now I feel a little sick and maybe it's physical but my bet is this is emotional sick.
I had a cast party at my house last night where, for a variety of silly and fun reasons, an actor in my cast (male) and I decided to do a drink for drink. Silly! Fun! We decided on the rules (a shot of whiskey and half a beer ever half hour for three hours) and followed them strictly. People were putting money on who they thought would last all three hours. It was competitive. Silly! Fun! And guess what? We both made it all the way through and we both got drunk. And I mean: DRUNK. We both blacked out, we both vomitted. There were no winners last night, just a pair of ridiculous losers.
I have blacked out exactly five times in my life: once in Buenos Aires, twice in college, my birthday this past June, and last night. And this will be the last time, barring some extreme circumstance. Because this morning I woke up with the buzz of a hangover and something a lot worse: shame. A friend of mine who was there talked to me for an hour this morning while I cleaned my kitchen in my underwear, filling me in on the loud, stupid, belligerent way I acted. I hit on one of my cast members in a way that made him uncomfortable. I ran off down the street and two of my friends had to go get me. I demanded things from people, I shouted. And I did all of this stupid behavior in front of my cast. The cast that is supposed to trust me, feel supported by me, and respect me.
I've fucked up and it feels awful. I've been carrying the knowledge of this around in me all day. I ate french fries for dinner, hoping that fried/greasy food would make the sick feeling go away. It didn't. It hasn't. Because I know that I have to go to the show on Saturday, look at them all, and know that the way they see me has been irrevocably changed. I'm reminded of something Claire told me during my second summer at SSC as her ASM. I mentioned how sad it was the stage managers worked so late that we always missed the post-rehearsal drinks at the bar. "I feel less bonded with the cast then I would, you know?" She smiled and said, "It's the way it's got to be. Yes, we have to work but also, we can't let loose with them, Olivia. They need to respect us, they need to take our notes and listen to us. That will be harder to do if they see us drunk every night after rehearsal." As usual, Claire was right. (Claire is always right.)
So, writing this post hasn't made me feel any better. I'm not sure much will. I've let myself down and that is a hard thing to look in the face.
I had a cast party at my house last night where, for a variety of silly and fun reasons, an actor in my cast (male) and I decided to do a drink for drink. Silly! Fun! We decided on the rules (a shot of whiskey and half a beer ever half hour for three hours) and followed them strictly. People were putting money on who they thought would last all three hours. It was competitive. Silly! Fun! And guess what? We both made it all the way through and we both got drunk. And I mean: DRUNK. We both blacked out, we both vomitted. There were no winners last night, just a pair of ridiculous losers.
I have blacked out exactly five times in my life: once in Buenos Aires, twice in college, my birthday this past June, and last night. And this will be the last time, barring some extreme circumstance. Because this morning I woke up with the buzz of a hangover and something a lot worse: shame. A friend of mine who was there talked to me for an hour this morning while I cleaned my kitchen in my underwear, filling me in on the loud, stupid, belligerent way I acted. I hit on one of my cast members in a way that made him uncomfortable. I ran off down the street and two of my friends had to go get me. I demanded things from people, I shouted. And I did all of this stupid behavior in front of my cast. The cast that is supposed to trust me, feel supported by me, and respect me.
I've fucked up and it feels awful. I've been carrying the knowledge of this around in me all day. I ate french fries for dinner, hoping that fried/greasy food would make the sick feeling go away. It didn't. It hasn't. Because I know that I have to go to the show on Saturday, look at them all, and know that the way they see me has been irrevocably changed. I'm reminded of something Claire told me during my second summer at SSC as her ASM. I mentioned how sad it was the stage managers worked so late that we always missed the post-rehearsal drinks at the bar. "I feel less bonded with the cast then I would, you know?" She smiled and said, "It's the way it's got to be. Yes, we have to work but also, we can't let loose with them, Olivia. They need to respect us, they need to take our notes and listen to us. That will be harder to do if they see us drunk every night after rehearsal." As usual, Claire was right. (Claire is always right.)
So, writing this post hasn't made me feel any better. I'm not sure much will. I've let myself down and that is a hard thing to look in the face.
Thursday, August 29
Barre 3
Today I did a very scary thing. Today I went to a group exercise class with another person. Not just another person but a really cool lady that I have a super big friend crush on who I want to think I'm great and not awkward and foolish, which is what group exercise classes make me feel. Today I went to Barre 3.
Barre 3 is a Portland exercise studio chain that offers classes that are a mix of yoga, ballet, and pilates. The classes are STUPID expensive. As in, $40 for a class. This particular friend has been pestering me for months to go with her to Barre 3 and I always said, "Sorry - Can't afford it." (Which is, by the way, TRUE). But last month she sent a livingsocial deal for Barre 3 where you could get a four class pass for $40 - and then she sent me a promo code to get another $10 off. So I would essentially paying $8 for a $40 experience and I think all of you reading this know how I feel about retail victories. So here are are: victory achieved and I am now attending some incredibly ritzy exercise class for the next three weeks.
I felt a lot of feelings as I went into the class today but a major one was curiosity. "What are we paying for here? Is this exercise blend so awesome that you'll pay that much to be instructed? Do you leave feeling euphoric? Will I walk out immediately a pant size smaller?" The answer actually kind of broke my heart. No - it was not life changing. I did not fly out of the studio on feet made of clouds, I am not now a super model. I suspect that the reason all of these women pay $40 a class is for the simple fact that the room was all women. And not just women, but white, healthy women of a certain economic standing. There were no men to look at us as we stretched our butts in the air, there was no obese women breathing loudly in the corner, I was the only one there in leggings and a shirt as opposed to Lulu Lemon exercise gear. The instructor used anatomical words like, "your seat" and "your belly" to talk about our bodies. Both the instructor and the lady at the front desk made a point of checking in with me after class and calling me by my first name. "You did great today, Olivia" and "Have a good day, Olivia!"
I swim at my local community center 1 - 3 times a week and have since April. No one there has ever said my name. There are people swimming at all different speeds and with different ability and sometimes the cement floor locker rooms smell like pee because someone has, well, peed. There are some skeezy guys and some very overweight patrons. One of the swimmers I see every week has only one hand. I sometimes share a lane with a man that has waist length dreadlocks. It costs me $30 a month to use the pool whenever I want for as long as I want.
I guess what I'm trying to get to is this: there is always a thrill to get a glimpse of life on the other side of the economic barrier. Always. I mean, fuck - the bathrooms had little rolled up terry-cloth towels for you to wipe your face with. There were tampons in a neat cup in case you forgot yours and makeup removing pads and Q tips. The floors were smooth wood and I didn't think twice about going barefoot because it was cleaner than my house is. It was like going to a salon to work out and the redhead on the mat next to me was wearing a wedding band littered with diamonds on one hand and a rock the size of my pinkie nail on the other. I saw the draw - of course I saw the draw- of doing something that makes you vulnerable (moving your body) in a space that feels safe (homogenized). But I can also say that once this coupon is used up, I am not coming back. I will bet that there are yoga or pilates classes offered at my community center and I bet the music awkward and the room smells awful and frankly, that will suit me just fine. Because I may be white and I may be semi-normal-bodied as of right now and I may not be destitute but I am definitely not of their breed.
Barre 3 is a Portland exercise studio chain that offers classes that are a mix of yoga, ballet, and pilates. The classes are STUPID expensive. As in, $40 for a class. This particular friend has been pestering me for months to go with her to Barre 3 and I always said, "Sorry - Can't afford it." (Which is, by the way, TRUE). But last month she sent a livingsocial deal for Barre 3 where you could get a four class pass for $40 - and then she sent me a promo code to get another $10 off. So I would essentially paying $8 for a $40 experience and I think all of you reading this know how I feel about retail victories. So here are are: victory achieved and I am now attending some incredibly ritzy exercise class for the next three weeks.
I felt a lot of feelings as I went into the class today but a major one was curiosity. "What are we paying for here? Is this exercise blend so awesome that you'll pay that much to be instructed? Do you leave feeling euphoric? Will I walk out immediately a pant size smaller?" The answer actually kind of broke my heart. No - it was not life changing. I did not fly out of the studio on feet made of clouds, I am not now a super model. I suspect that the reason all of these women pay $40 a class is for the simple fact that the room was all women. And not just women, but white, healthy women of a certain economic standing. There were no men to look at us as we stretched our butts in the air, there was no obese women breathing loudly in the corner, I was the only one there in leggings and a shirt as opposed to Lulu Lemon exercise gear. The instructor used anatomical words like, "your seat" and "your belly" to talk about our bodies. Both the instructor and the lady at the front desk made a point of checking in with me after class and calling me by my first name. "You did great today, Olivia" and "Have a good day, Olivia!"
I swim at my local community center 1 - 3 times a week and have since April. No one there has ever said my name. There are people swimming at all different speeds and with different ability and sometimes the cement floor locker rooms smell like pee because someone has, well, peed. There are some skeezy guys and some very overweight patrons. One of the swimmers I see every week has only one hand. I sometimes share a lane with a man that has waist length dreadlocks. It costs me $30 a month to use the pool whenever I want for as long as I want.
I guess what I'm trying to get to is this: there is always a thrill to get a glimpse of life on the other side of the economic barrier. Always. I mean, fuck - the bathrooms had little rolled up terry-cloth towels for you to wipe your face with. There were tampons in a neat cup in case you forgot yours and makeup removing pads and Q tips. The floors were smooth wood and I didn't think twice about going barefoot because it was cleaner than my house is. It was like going to a salon to work out and the redhead on the mat next to me was wearing a wedding band littered with diamonds on one hand and a rock the size of my pinkie nail on the other. I saw the draw - of course I saw the draw- of doing something that makes you vulnerable (moving your body) in a space that feels safe (homogenized). But I can also say that once this coupon is used up, I am not coming back. I will bet that there are yoga or pilates classes offered at my community center and I bet the music awkward and the room smells awful and frankly, that will suit me just fine. Because I may be white and I may be semi-normal-bodied as of right now and I may not be destitute but I am definitely not of their breed.
Monday, August 26
The sun for sorrow will not show its head
I had a whole blog post planned out in my mind about a book I read recently and how it connects to my current show, Two Gentlemen of Verona. I was going to write it as soon as the baby went down for a nap and then I got a voicemail from my mom, "Oee, call me when you can." My immediate thought was, "something terrible has happened. I talked to My sister this morning, so I think she's okay. My dad? Mom didn't sound like she was crying though."
It turns out something terrible has happened, though nothing deadly. Shakespeare Santa Cruz, the regional theater in my hometown, is closing. I worked with this company for two summers and have friends still working there. I did not go back this summer, yes, but I had hoped that I would go back again. Hope is too light a word: I planned, I prayed, I feverishly wished for the day I could return as an Equity stage manager. I imagined a future in which my family came with me to Santa Cruz each summer and my children knew my hometown, lived with their grandparents, felt the splendour of summer days in the redwood forest and summer nights on the beach. And we could do all this, me and my imaginary future family, because I could work somewhere I loved. I put so much thought into that future; I was sure the only thing between me and it was time.
I don't quite know how to characterize this loss. My breath catches when I think that I have already seen my last show in the glen. I imagine that forest filled with candes at the company's traditional end-of-season vigil and I want to cry. I have cried today, more than once. I have lost a part of what I was aiming for, my friends and I have lost our artistic home, this country has lost a place of beauty and magic.
It turns out something terrible has happened, though nothing deadly. Shakespeare Santa Cruz, the regional theater in my hometown, is closing. I worked with this company for two summers and have friends still working there. I did not go back this summer, yes, but I had hoped that I would go back again. Hope is too light a word: I planned, I prayed, I feverishly wished for the day I could return as an Equity stage manager. I imagined a future in which my family came with me to Santa Cruz each summer and my children knew my hometown, lived with their grandparents, felt the splendour of summer days in the redwood forest and summer nights on the beach. And we could do all this, me and my imaginary future family, because I could work somewhere I loved. I put so much thought into that future; I was sure the only thing between me and it was time.
I don't quite know how to characterize this loss. My breath catches when I think that I have already seen my last show in the glen. I imagine that forest filled with candes at the company's traditional end-of-season vigil and I want to cry. I have cried today, more than once. I have lost a part of what I was aiming for, my friends and I have lost our artistic home, this country has lost a place of beauty and magic.
Tuesday, August 20
Fatkinis
So I spend the majority of my time on Instagram looking at hashtags like #weightlossbeforeandafter or #70poundsgone. In my idle searching today I stumbled across an image that also had the hashtag #fatkini, which made me go, "huh?" So I followed it. What I came across was hundreds of images of women of all sizes in bathing suits of this cut:
There were different patterns and different makes but the message from all the women was all the same: "hooray for this bathing suit! hooray for the way it makes me feel! hooray for allowing me to show off what I've got!"
So I went online and google searched "fatkini," which lead me to this blog post: http://everydayfeminism.com/2013/07/10-reasons-i-love-my-fatkini/ . The whole article is worth a read but her reason number four is what really hit home for me:
According to the articles I've read, when the designer GabiFresh (pictured above, modeling her own work) first released these suits they sold out nearly immediately. There are still orders on back-order as the production company scrambles to keep up with the demand. To that I say: amen. A-fucking-men. Because we all deserve to be adored, flirted with, and worshiped. And more importantly: we all deserve to feel like we should be adored, flirted with, and worshiped.
There were different patterns and different makes but the message from all the women was all the same: "hooray for this bathing suit! hooray for the way it makes me feel! hooray for allowing me to show off what I've got!"
So I went online and google searched "fatkini," which lead me to this blog post: http://everydayfeminism.com/2013/07/10-reasons-i-love-my-fatkini/ . The whole article is worth a read but her reason number four is what really hit home for me:
4. My fatkini is my claim to visibility and an open invitation to admire me, flirt with me, and worship me (do please make sure to ask first!).What resonated was the idea of needing to extend that invitation. My mother has, for a long time, told me that the weight I carried was a barrier, a go away sign, a huge wall put up between myself and intimacy. I listened and I heard but I didn't truly believe it until I started to take these walls down. It's frightening and exhilarating to begin extending that invitation, to believe that I am worth admiration, flirtation, and worship. It's difficult and I've used countless people and tools to let me do it. What I loved about these images and messages and tumblrs and instagrams and everything I've been looking at today is that all of these women are actively inviting. Personally, it took half a year or so and 50 pounds or so for me to feel like I could/can start inviting. It was inspiring to see that just a swimsuit enabled thousands of women to extend that invitation.
According to the articles I've read, when the designer GabiFresh (pictured above, modeling her own work) first released these suits they sold out nearly immediately. There are still orders on back-order as the production company scrambles to keep up with the demand. To that I say: amen. A-fucking-men. Because we all deserve to be adored, flirted with, and worshiped. And more importantly: we all deserve to feel like we should be adored, flirted with, and worshiped.
Friday, August 16
Monday, August 12
How it feels sometimes
Isn't this just how life feels sometimes?
It's this week's cover of the New York Times Book Review magazine and it made me stop in my tracks when I saw it. So accurate; so heart-breakingly true.
Luckily, this image isn't today. Today is a soft, nice, cool day, a day for reveling in your own blessings, a day for short naps on airplanes and exploring the inner warmth that comes after a recharging weekend home.
Thursday, August 8
"You eat so healthy."
Guys, GUYS. Someone actually said this to me yesterday.
After prepping for rehearsal I pulled my dinner out of my lunch box and sat down next to ASM to eat. She's a local highschooler who speaks plainly and spends table work editing her college essays. She glanced at my kale salad and said, "You eat so healthy."
Guys, I laughed. I wasn't laughing at her, I was just laughing. I felt like I was just not living my life, not even that anyone was joking around. My ASM looked very confused so I apologized, "I'm sorry and thank you for saying that. It's just a new thing for me, is why I'm laughing. A new thing."
Yesterday morning I swam laps at the pool before work. There is an older guy who swims there too who likes to talk to me when he gets the chance. He's probably in his 70s and wears those silly nose clip things that keep water out of your nose. He seems sweet but sometimes I don't know how to deal with him; he is always complimentary but I don't like the way his compliments imply that he watches me.
Yesterday I had a lane to myself for a bit and sure enough, he jumped in to join me. We swam without talking for a while and when I got out to stretch he hung out at the wall. Two weeks ago he told he admired my stamina, referring (I think) to the sets of ten laps I do at (for me) high speeds. I'd responded that I was trying to lower my time. Yesterday he asked me how my times were coming along and I said I wasn't as focused on it as before, due to an injury. He seemed concerned, asked if I was okay, and then said, "your progress has been incredible to watch." It was quite a thing to say. I mean, a little creepy from an older man-type stranger but still very powerful.
I have no way to look outside myself, none of us do. But yesterday I had two unrelated people, two almost strangers, really, who don't know me or my story, give me a little insight on the outside. They told me what they see when they look at me and sometimes that is invaluable.
Friday, August 2
New Boyfriend
I have a new country music boyfriend. First it was Josh Turner, then it was Kip Moore and now I'm having some serious feelings for Randy Houser. A vest, guitar, and arms that can pick me up and carry me away? Come to mama.
Thursday, August 1
July 31st, 2012
On July 31st, 2012 I woke up and went to work. Last year July 31st fell on a Monday, so I would have had the night off from Lear's Follies. After work I went to Cameron and Kailyn's house, because I knew both my roommates had their boyfriends over and I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to see what I didn't (and to my mind, couldn't) have. So I stayed at my friends' place for a while and when it was time to go home, I left. But I didn't go home. I got close and I balked, so I went grocery shopping. I called my best friend and, as was par for the course last summer, started weeping while in Safeway. I have a vivid memory of standing in the juice/cheese/yogurt aisle of my local Safeway, staring at the orange juice and thinking, "I can't I can't I can't."
So I decided not to. I went home and I remember looking at my fridge, not knowing what to eat because I was starving but also so ashamed. I chose some quinoa, heated it up, and went down to my room. I ate it slowly, knowing that in the morning I was going to change my attitude toward eating for a long time. I signed up for Weight Watchers that night and sat down with a journal. I wrote for an hour and cried, trying to dispel all the mental toxins I'd accumulated that day, that summer, since I was 10 years old.
That day was a year ago yesterday.
Over the last year I've come up with a metaphor I think is very apt: I have described my mental state at the early stages of this process as being in a submarine which was prone to springing leaks. I imagined myself spread across the inside of the submarine, holding all the bolts in place, using all my physical energy to prevent the leak that would sink me. The submarine would not survive even the smallest drop of water; I could not allow myself to even think of the possibility of failure. My mind was a police state for those first few months - unified under strict and terrifying rule: "I will not go back."
It's been a year and an unimaginable amount of things have changed. I walk differently, talk differently, dress, think, eat, move, smile, shower, drive, drink, prioritize, shop, and dream differently. I am different but that mantra is still the same: "I will not go back."
There are some people who have helped me enormously in this last year. Everyone around me has been supportive and wonderful but I have to single out my mom, Mona, and Chelsea.
Chelsea was the best possible roommate to have when making a life change of this kind. She sat at the side lines and let me fight my own fights but always there when I needed to learn how to cook vegetables, or when I wanted to go on my first hike. She was the girl I showed all my new pants to, the girl who hugged me when I cried when I dropped under 200 lbs.
Mona has been the biggest cheerleader anyone could ask for. Never getting sick of receiving pictures or hearing stories, she is always ready with a "HELL YES." Since I was twelve years she has been trying to convince me that I am beautiful, and it only makes perfect sense that she has been holding my hand while I make the steps to finally believe her. She was the first person I told that I was going to do this and it's for good reason: she is the swim teacher holding her hands out to the little girl swimming for the first time - "you can do it!" she yells, with a huge grin, because she truly, firmly believes that I can.
There are really no words to describe what my mom has done for me in the past year. She'll listen to any frustration, insecurity, or mishap I have. She'll listen to me tell her when I'm proud of myself and with her, it's never bragging. She has bought me so many new clothes and so much food. She has advice and words of comfort. She is more honest with me than anyone, period. And that honesty is what keeps me grounded and keeps me going. The fact that I know I am making her proud is a charm I wear every day, and hold my head higher for it.
Yesterday was July 31st, 2013. Today is just another day where I pack my lunch, eat my vegetables, keep track of everything I eat and drink. I am so grateful for everything the last year has been - I cannot wait to see the view from July 31st, 2014.
So I decided not to. I went home and I remember looking at my fridge, not knowing what to eat because I was starving but also so ashamed. I chose some quinoa, heated it up, and went down to my room. I ate it slowly, knowing that in the morning I was going to change my attitude toward eating for a long time. I signed up for Weight Watchers that night and sat down with a journal. I wrote for an hour and cried, trying to dispel all the mental toxins I'd accumulated that day, that summer, since I was 10 years old.
That day was a year ago yesterday.
Over the last year I've come up with a metaphor I think is very apt: I have described my mental state at the early stages of this process as being in a submarine which was prone to springing leaks. I imagined myself spread across the inside of the submarine, holding all the bolts in place, using all my physical energy to prevent the leak that would sink me. The submarine would not survive even the smallest drop of water; I could not allow myself to even think of the possibility of failure. My mind was a police state for those first few months - unified under strict and terrifying rule: "I will not go back."
It's been a year and an unimaginable amount of things have changed. I walk differently, talk differently, dress, think, eat, move, smile, shower, drive, drink, prioritize, shop, and dream differently. I am different but that mantra is still the same: "I will not go back."
There are some people who have helped me enormously in this last year. Everyone around me has been supportive and wonderful but I have to single out my mom, Mona, and Chelsea.
Chelsea was the best possible roommate to have when making a life change of this kind. She sat at the side lines and let me fight my own fights but always there when I needed to learn how to cook vegetables, or when I wanted to go on my first hike. She was the girl I showed all my new pants to, the girl who hugged me when I cried when I dropped under 200 lbs.
Mona has been the biggest cheerleader anyone could ask for. Never getting sick of receiving pictures or hearing stories, she is always ready with a "HELL YES." Since I was twelve years she has been trying to convince me that I am beautiful, and it only makes perfect sense that she has been holding my hand while I make the steps to finally believe her. She was the first person I told that I was going to do this and it's for good reason: she is the swim teacher holding her hands out to the little girl swimming for the first time - "you can do it!" she yells, with a huge grin, because she truly, firmly believes that I can.
There are really no words to describe what my mom has done for me in the past year. She'll listen to any frustration, insecurity, or mishap I have. She'll listen to me tell her when I'm proud of myself and with her, it's never bragging. She has bought me so many new clothes and so much food. She has advice and words of comfort. She is more honest with me than anyone, period. And that honesty is what keeps me grounded and keeps me going. The fact that I know I am making her proud is a charm I wear every day, and hold my head higher for it.
Yesterday was July 31st, 2013. Today is just another day where I pack my lunch, eat my vegetables, keep track of everything I eat and drink. I am so grateful for everything the last year has been - I cannot wait to see the view from July 31st, 2014.
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| August 2012 |
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| July 2013 |
Tuesday, July 30
Cooking
I'm trying to learn to cook, so I don't end up subsisting solely on snap peas, wasabi seaweed, and frozen brussel sprouts. I have three recipes in my aresenal, so last week I branched out and made chicken curry. This week I made red beans and rice with chicken, zucchini, and mushrooms. Super easy recipe, pretty delicious results!
The topic of cooking is related to the topic of eating which is related to the topic of dieting which is related to the topic of how I feel about myself which connected to the hip bone... *she breaks into song*
I had a pretty down Sunday, two days ago. I ended up wasting an whole hour going through old college photos on facebook, that was how down Sunday was. What I found though, kind of surprised me. I found some pictures I liked of me. That I still like. That I like, even though the girl in them looks the way I used to look. I saved some of them on my computer, just so I can remember that a part of this whole self-love thing that I'm working on includes loving that girl too.
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| Look, Ma! |
I had a pretty down Sunday, two days ago. I ended up wasting an whole hour going through old college photos on facebook, that was how down Sunday was. What I found though, kind of surprised me. I found some pictures I liked of me. That I still like. That I like, even though the girl in them looks the way I used to look. I saved some of them on my computer, just so I can remember that a part of this whole self-love thing that I'm working on includes loving that girl too.
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| On my cross country road trip, winter 2011. In Florida, obviously. |
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| At an America themed party my senior year, also 2011. |
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| Thesis Odyssey, 2010 |
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| Thesis Odyssey, 2010 |
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| My last cast party, 2011 |
Sunday, July 28
No Way!
I was at a friends' house tonight and the topic of beloved childhood books came up. Two of my friends are currently re-reading the whole Narnia series and were saying that it is so wondering to re submerge themselves in it. I mentioned, of course, Ella Enchanted and Josh casually says, "Oh yeah, I read that book."
Wait: WHAT?
I was shocked. Shocked! I have never ever met a single man, ever, who has read Ella Enchanted. I think the first thing I said was, "You and I have to get married now, you know, " which of course freaked him out.
But seriously, how crazy is that! Think over and then write a blog post about it one day, have a major reminiscing conversation about it with a guy the next. This world, man. Cray-zay.
Also, I listened to Billy Joel's For the Longest Time on the way home tonight. I remember sitting backstage my freshman year of college and listening to handsome Tom Shoemaker warm up by singing it before each Figaro performance. He sang alone and to the empty audience risers, his beautiful voice filling Lester Martin. I have loved that song ever since. My favorite line tonight was: "I don't care what consequence it brings/ I have been a fool for lesser things." Amen.
We have all been fools for lesser things.
Friday, July 26
Reading
One of my favorite things about summer time when I was young was reading. There is a converted church on Empire Grade, a block up from the "center" of Felton and that was our library and my favorite spot.
One of my mom's best friends was the librarian there. The library had a backyard too - big tree, little porch. My mother would take my sister and I there every week it felt like, Tessie would climb the tree and I would root around the book shelves until I'd found exactly what I wanted and could go join her. Summer was about climbing those huge cement steps and running into the still darkness of the library. It was about Dorcas's big, swishy skirts and the way she'd always compliment me on my choice of book with a smile of approval or a wink. Dorcas was my childhood sommelier.
I remember one summer, I fell down those big, concrete steps that lead to the library. I tried to walk down them and read at the same time. I remember losing the book into the bushes, horrified, my big toe purple with blood.
One summer, or the same summer?, we collected Simba and Nala from a cardboard box across the street from the library; I remember arguing over what to name those kittens for weeks.
I think about that feeling now and miss it: the feeling of devouring books like cake pieces, the feeling of waiting for a spare moment so you can put your head down and go back to whatever world you just left. I'm an adult now and my time should be my own but I don't lose myself the way I used to. It's harder for me to forget than it was then.
When I went home last week I brought a couple books back with me. Nothing for me to read immediately, just books I wanted to have nearby. Among them was a severely battered copy of Ella Enchanted, by Gail Carson Levine. I have read this book more times than any other. Possibly more times than my parents read me Goodnight Moon, though maybe not. I didn't bring it to Portland just to look at it, or to spark conversation. I brought it to Portland because there always days when we desperately need to lose ourselves, need to forget, need to be ten years old and tripping over your own feet in excitement, you need to have something so wonderful in your hands you are willing to fall.
I have loved a lot of books in my life and Ella Enchanted is, by no means, my absolute favorite. But it was her favorite - that girl who had to ask Dorcas to reach to the highest shelf. It was her favorite and somedays I need to remember what it was to be her.
Sunday, July 21
Today
Today I:
wrote a performance report
went to the Farmer's Market, bought carrots and hummus and tea
took a shower, got dressed for work, hugged the boy roommate goodbye again
went to work, changed a lamp, ran a show, monitored a talkback, and closed it up for the weekend
went grocery shopping with a real list from a real recipe
made green chicken curry, something I'd never tried before, in the crock pot
deep cleaned my kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom
wrote a performance report
went to the Farmer's Market, bought carrots and hummus and tea
took a shower, got dressed for work, hugged the boy roommate goodbye again
went to work, changed a lamp, ran a show, monitored a talkback, and closed it up for the weekend
went grocery shopping with a real list from a real recipe
made green chicken curry, something I'd never tried before, in the crock pot
deep cleaned my kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom
sang along to Dr. Horrible meanwhile
did my laundry
sorted mail, receipts, and clothes to get rid of
had catch-up convos with two far away friends
made a to-do list for Tuesday morning, specifically between the hours of 9:30a - 1:00p
wrote another performance report
ate a huge bowl of popcorn for dinner at 11p
Sometimes I stage manage the shit out of my life.
had catch-up convos with two far away friends
made a to-do list for Tuesday morning, specifically between the hours of 9:30a - 1:00p
wrote another performance report
ate a huge bowl of popcorn for dinner at 11p
Sometimes I stage manage the shit out of my life.
Tuesday, June 25
A Mile
"This is it."
"This is what?"
"If I take one more step, it will be the farthest away from home I've ever been."
I thought about these lines from The Fellowship of the Ring this morning, while at the pool. I was at the wall and it was 12:17p. I know that because I watch the clock carefully when I swim, so I can keep track of my pace. I had just finished my 35th lap and was staring down the length of the pool before my last lap. It would be lap 36, my 72nd length along a 25 yard pool: a mile.
"This is what?"
"If I take one more step, it will be the farthest away from home I've ever been."
I thought about these lines from The Fellowship of the Ring this morning, while at the pool. I was at the wall and it was 12:17p. I know that because I watch the clock carefully when I swim, so I can keep track of my pace. I had just finished my 35th lap and was staring down the length of the pool before my last lap. It would be lap 36, my 72nd length along a 25 yard pool: a mile.
I started swimming at the end of April. My first day I did ten laps in 30 min and felt like I was going to pass out. I almost got hit by a car crossing the street, I was so disoriented. After that I tried to add a lap every time I went to the pool. Sometimes I couldn't, but most days I did. I started to stay longer at the pool. I lowered my lap time to two minutes, then a minute and a half. Now I'm working on an average time of 1:15/lap.
I've been on the edge of 36 laps for a while now. I took some time off last week because I was sick - I missed the day after my birthday because I was hungover. But today I looked down the pool, down my empty lane, and took that "last step further than I've ever been." I swam a mile today. A mile! And I swam it in 51 min. That makes my average time 1:25/lap. Not 1:15 yet, but getting there.
Just to put a mile in perspective - a mile looks like this in Santa Cruz: from the bottom of Hihn to a bit past the stables.
And like this in Portland: from the Jesus compound to Holgate.
I swam that far today. This lady, who has never used her body for anything other than moving her mind from place to place, swam a mile.
Sometimes, you have to celebrate the little victories just to celebrate.
Monday, June 24
This Morning
I woke up this morning, went swimming, took a shower, made a big pot of pasta and veggies and chicken, and now I am sitting in my living room, eating food I made, watching Game of Thrones, feeling my hair dry on the back of my neck and smiling.
Good morning, Monday. Good morning, rainy days. Good morning, me, myself, and I.
Friday, June 21
Shirt dress?
I got three compliments on my "dress" the last time I wore it. To each I said, "it used to be a shirt."
Now I'm not sure which it was originally intended to be - a shirt or a dress.
I remember buying this shirt/dress at a little clothing boutique right off Hwy 9 in Ben Lomond. Tessie and I went shopping the summer before I left for college and she made me try it on. Again, another item I would never pick out for myself; again, another item I adore. (Tessie is good like that.) I wore this shirt/dress to countless Bennington dance parties, to plays, to work, to summer bbbqs. I've mended it more than once, which is true about a lot of my clothing. I just now realized: I've worn this for six years.
I am having an interesting time with my clothing right now, precisely because so much of it has been with me for so long. Two days ago I wore a skirt I bought my junior year of high school. HIGH SCHOOL. No one should keep cheap clothing this long, but I do. I used these clothes to feel safe and protected and, well, cradled. I hated myself naked, but I could look at myself in these clothes. These clothes were my daily armor against the world and against myself. And now? Now I am having to let each of them go.
It's not happening all at once but it is happening. Three weeks ago I threw away the black dress I wore to senior prom: right into the trash can. After that was the tunic shirt I bought at Jenna's senior sale, gray with little purple flowers on it. Last week I bought a new bathing suit. All of these clothes have memories woven into them, alongside the stitches I've clumsily added to make them last. Most I'm throwing out but I'm also putting the best ones away. I want to be clear about this: I am not saving them because I am going back. I won't. I absolutely will not wear those items again.
Instead, I am going to give them to my mother. My mom has offered to cut them up and make me quilt from all my old clothes, all my rusted armor. At first I just went with her idea but now I can't wait for that day. I can't wait until my mom hands me the craziest (probably ugliest) quilt you've ever seen and I wrap it around my normal sized shoulders and use it to keep myself warm, and not to hide.
Monday, June 10
Friday, June 7
Clarity
When I work on a show I usually have a moment in the first week when a piece of the text reaches out and grabs me, snags a part of me, and the play begins to burrow itself into me. It commonly happens during the first read - the first time I hear the text aloud. My current show hasn't had our first read yet, because the director is trying out a new technique. But the snag happened to me nonetheless, last night.
I am working on The Taming of a Shrew and we were doing table work on the scene before the wedding. Petruchio is drunk and dressed horribly and Kate's father is berating him for his lack of respect.
TRANIO: See not your bride in these unreverent robes
Go to my chamber; put on clothes of mine.
PETRUCHIO: Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her.
BAPTISTA: But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
PETRUCHIO: Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words.
To me she's married, no unto my clothes.
Could I repair what she will wear in me
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
James read those lines aloud after a scene of yelling and drunken staggering. In his first go at it he lowered his voice a little and seemed to look inward. He spoke them to himself and I could see all the fear of letting someone in play across his face.
It reminded me of the moment when Leonard Whiting stops outside the Capulet ball and has the premonition of his death. You can also see him look inward as he says:
I fear too early: for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels...
But he that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail.
Watching James do that, have that moment of painful realization, and to be sitting across the table from him while he did it, broke a little bit of me inside. Because we've all felt that, haven't we? The fear and then, sometimes, the grief that comes with letting someone in and being unable to "repair what [they] wear in [you]."
Thursday, May 30
Lucky
I am lucky enough to be one of those people where, somedays, going to work is all it takes to make everything better. Give me a baby and some sunshine and I am on my way to a better place.
Wednesday, May 29
Alone
I am sitting in my living room, alone. Until Saturday, I am back to living here with only one other roommate. And when the roommate moves in, who knows? I don't really know her. I don't really know my current roommate either; Jen works more than I do (I know, crazy) so I never see her.
Chelsea is gone which means no comforting sounds of someone in the kitchen when I wake up, no lights on when I come home. No one to help me eat the big pot of pasta I made for lunches last night, no one to curl up on the couch with and watch Game of Thrones. No one to check my outfits and make sure I don't leave the house looking ridiculous, no one to belt Carrie Underwood with me in the kitchen.
I was lucky to have a roommate who was also my friend, but now I feel doubly lonely. I guess this is the time to put on my big girl panties, look lonely in the face and say, "Hi there. I'm Olivia. I'm thinking you might be around for a while, so please come in. Make yourself at home."
Chelsea is gone which means no comforting sounds of someone in the kitchen when I wake up, no lights on when I come home. No one to help me eat the big pot of pasta I made for lunches last night, no one to curl up on the couch with and watch Game of Thrones. No one to check my outfits and make sure I don't leave the house looking ridiculous, no one to belt Carrie Underwood with me in the kitchen.
I was lucky to have a roommate who was also my friend, but now I feel doubly lonely. I guess this is the time to put on my big girl panties, look lonely in the face and say, "Hi there. I'm Olivia. I'm thinking you might be around for a while, so please come in. Make yourself at home."
Sunday, May 26
The Southern Cross
While taking a morning drive up to North Portland today I heard Southern Cross on the radio. It felt wonderful to just turn it up and sing out with the windows down. I merged on I-5 and wanted to just keep heading north: out of Portland, out of here, on to somewhere new.
When I was driving to the theater today a fellow driver flagged me down to tell me one of my back tires was flat. I pulled over, hummed and hawwed and (*cringe*) made the decision to drive the rest of the way to work, so as not to be late. I did my pre-set quickly, filled up my water bottle, and went out to go change the flat in the sunshine. It was really soothing to do the physical work, to empty my mind and get my hands dirty. My director arrived as I was putting the jack away and stood there with her mouth open. "Did you just change your tire?" Yep. In less than twenty minutes too, so I could wash up and open house.
It felt good to sing one of my Mom's favorite songs, it felt good to change the tire by myself and be proud that I knew how. Today we close My Children! My Africa! and that feels good too.
We cheated and we lied and tested./ We never failed to fail, it was the easiest thing to do./ You will survive being bested, / somebody fine will come along/ and make me forget about loving you/ at the Southern Cross.
Friday, May 24
Swimmingly
I had a dream last night that I only remembered when I hit the water this morning: my first dream about swimming.
5/25/12: I looked it up. It is the five of pentacles.
In my dream two of my close friends were amalgamated into one woman. I have my theories about why this happened, but suffice to say that this person was like a holographic image: look at her one way and she is person A, look again and she is person B.
The dream begins when my director, my friend, and I all decide we want to exercise together, which is something I never do in real life (exercise with other people). My director and my friend wanted to go for a walk and I wanted to go swimming so we compromised*: we find a pool that is only three feet deep along its whole length so they can walk down a lane together and I can swim in the lane next to them. We start out and I try to keep pace with them, which is silly because even when I'm right next to them I still can't join their conversation. They are obviously having a great time though, laughing and smiling. I can see this but I cannot participate. I eventually give up trying and just focus on swimming.
After I swim for a while I notice that my back is cold. Then my shoulders, then the back of arms. All of a sudden I raise my head up and realize the pool is being drained of water. There is less than 6 inches left and I am laying on the floor, alone. Everyone else, including my friends, have left and I am covered in scratches and blood from trying to swim against the pool floor. The room is dim and I make my way to the stairs, cold and wet. That's when I see these rows and rows of small children in white robes, carrying candle lit lanterns. They're marching alongside the now empty pool, lead by an adult. The adult is gesturing madly to me to get away, out of the way, out of the room. It is obvious that I have stumbled upon a sacred or secret ceremony and am utterly unwelcome. I dash into the changing room and struggle with the lock on my locker. I can hear the procession following me and I try to gather all my things, shivering and scared and confused. I drop things, of course, and barely make it out before the children reach me. When I get to my car it is dark outside and colder still. I wrap myself in my towel and then check my phone.
Somehow, my phone is able to see where my two friends are. I can see them as if I am outside the window of The Apple Barn, a store that is outside Bennington in real life. In my dream it is a restaurant and my friend and director sit at a booth, waiting for their food. The lighting is warm and cozy and they are having a great time. I see my friend's phone buzz and know its a text from me. She starts to respond and I am suddenly in the store part of The Apple Barn, still dripping wet. I have asked where she is, why she left me in the pool all alone. She responds with "why?": essentially, "why ask me that? Why does it matter?"
That is all I can remember. A couple things have occured to me while I wrote this dream out. Here are two of them:
First, I remembered a scene from America's Sweethearts. In the movie Julia Roberts has recently lost 60lbs and at one point she gets in a fight with her superstar sister, Catherine Zeta Jones. It is the first time her character has ever stood up for herself to her sister. After Julia Roberts has left the room, Catherine Zeta Jones turns to John Cusack and says, "She was so much more fun when she was fat."
I remembered this scene because I think that is something I am afraid of. My therapist brought this phenomenon up with me this week as well, asking me if maybe some of the conflict in my life stems from that: stems from the fact that image of myself is changing and consequently the role I play for the world is changing. I told a story in a previous blog post where I compared myself to Mrs. Potts from The Beauty and the Beast and felt bad in that comparison because I cast myself in the undesirable, warm, motherly role. My therapist asked me if maybe my friends weren't ready to lose their Mrs. Potts. I think that this dream had a lot to do with that fear, my fear that because I am not the person my friends first liked, they won't continue to like me. That's how the scene from American Sweethearts came up for me. Honestly, I think I would die if anyone ever said that about me: "She was so much more fun when she was fat."
The second thing that occurred to me was when I was writing about The Apple Barn. I remembered the tarot card that is about being excluded and shut out in the cold. I think it's the five of pentacles? It depicts two beggars in the snow outside a church's stained glass window, which glows from the heat inside. I don't have a lot of insight about this thought yet, but that my dream had a lot of the feeling that is in that card.
5/25/12: I looked it up. It is the five of pentacles.
So. This has become a very long blog post. I've been mulling over this dream all day and I guess I had a lot of thoughts about it. I am nervous to post this because I have a lot of friends who read this blog and I feel like I am essentially saying, "I'm afraid you don't like me anymore. Tell me you like me?" and that is not what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to parse out what is in my head and what is in my heart. I guess I want to put a disclaimer on this post, in case reading it has made you uncomfortable. Here it is: I'm sorry you're uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable too. I don't know a lot of things right now but I do know that I love you, a lot. So much that I get scared. And being scared makes me anxious, and sensitive, and hard to be around I think. So I'm sorry if I am hard to be around. I hope you understand where this is coming from. I hope you'll stay.
*Fish, Mona.
Saturday, May 18
One Who Loved the Pilgrim Soul in (Her)
I saw an older couple in the audience of My Children! My Africa! tonight who were just sitting and chatting and waiting for the show to start. The reason I noticed them is because, as they were talking and he was gesticulating and she was smiling, she had one hand on the back of his head: she was softly, absentmindedly stroking his hair. They never looked my way and I never saw their faces. I will never know their names. They have no idea I even saw them. But watching her run his hair through her fingers broke my heart.
I hope that, someday, when I am old and gray (and full of sleep), there is a man in my life who will take me to plays and let me run my fingers through his hair.
Friday, May 17
Drawing
The woman who writes/illustrates for the blog Hyperbole and a Half recently put up a very brave and honest post about depression. It's been floating around the internet for the last week or two, so you've probably already seen it but in case you haven't, here is the link: http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013/05/depression-part-two.html
I've been thinking about this post a lot ever since I read it and after a couple intense conversations this week, I decided to try my hand at drawing a bit of my feelings. I'm not an artist, have never been an artist, will never be an artist. I think that this image would actually be a lot more successful if I'd had scissors, glue, and thirty magazines and been able to collage it, but the baby was napping and all I had was a notebook and pen.
The picture depicts a metaphor my mother and I have been throwing around for the last ten months. My mom says that the weight that I carried, and continue to carry, acted as walls that I put up to protect myself from the world. When I first started on this process/journey/diet/whatever last August she warned me that it was not going to be easy to take these walls down. And she was, as usual, incredibly and painfully right. Each wall has been made of a cement mixed out of my worst fears, deepest insecurities, scariest thoughts, most heart-breaking anxieties. Taking them down has required me to melt this cement with heat and sunlight and false bravado, a belief that the longer I stare at it, the more likely it is to go away.
Two of my walls are down now and the world outside my personal bomb shelter is a scary one. I keep chipping away at my third wall but I'm also looking over my shoulder at the dark forest all around. There are predators out there and right now I have nowhere to hide. I can put my remaining walls at my back if I need to, but that doesn't feel particularly safe either.
I hope that someday, this metaphor will shift and the world outside will be something welcoming and beautiful. I hope that one day I'll throw away the last few bricks and stand up into sunshine, and feel glad that these walls are no more. Right now it's like I've traded stale, trapped air for arctic wind: I can breathe better but it hurts a lot to do so.
So... here is the picture I drew about that.
I've been thinking about this post a lot ever since I read it and after a couple intense conversations this week, I decided to try my hand at drawing a bit of my feelings. I'm not an artist, have never been an artist, will never be an artist. I think that this image would actually be a lot more successful if I'd had scissors, glue, and thirty magazines and been able to collage it, but the baby was napping and all I had was a notebook and pen.
The picture depicts a metaphor my mother and I have been throwing around for the last ten months. My mom says that the weight that I carried, and continue to carry, acted as walls that I put up to protect myself from the world. When I first started on this process/journey/diet/whatever last August she warned me that it was not going to be easy to take these walls down. And she was, as usual, incredibly and painfully right. Each wall has been made of a cement mixed out of my worst fears, deepest insecurities, scariest thoughts, most heart-breaking anxieties. Taking them down has required me to melt this cement with heat and sunlight and false bravado, a belief that the longer I stare at it, the more likely it is to go away.
Two of my walls are down now and the world outside my personal bomb shelter is a scary one. I keep chipping away at my third wall but I'm also looking over my shoulder at the dark forest all around. There are predators out there and right now I have nowhere to hide. I can put my remaining walls at my back if I need to, but that doesn't feel particularly safe either.
I hope that someday, this metaphor will shift and the world outside will be something welcoming and beautiful. I hope that one day I'll throw away the last few bricks and stand up into sunshine, and feel glad that these walls are no more. Right now it's like I've traded stale, trapped air for arctic wind: I can breathe better but it hurts a lot to do so.
So... here is the picture I drew about that.
Wednesday, May 15
Good News
I managed to sleep through the night last night - first time for a week. If I had anxiety dreams, I don't remember them, so ha.
Also, I've found my first Summer Jam of 2013.
Also, I've found my first Summer Jam of 2013.
Sunday, May 12
Anxious
I keep having the same anxiety dream over and over, which eventually wakes me up and when I fall back asleep it happens again.
I am wandering around the bar and lobby areas of Theatre Theatre, milling with all the patrons during intermission. I do this for a while as I get more and more nervous about something I can't quite name. Then it hits me: I'm stage managing this show. I have an intermission re-set to do, calls to give, it is MY job to end this intermission. Instead I've just been wandering and this intermission has now gone on for at least 40 min. I'm mortified and begin running around, looking for my director, my house manager, anyone to help me fix this. But no one does, because it is all my fault.
Thursday, May 9
Night Off/Morning Off
I had a night off on Monday, which was wonderful and I did nothing but laugh and drink and walk around barefoot.
I had a morning off this morning, where I slept for nine whole hours, took a leisurely shower, ate my breakfast sitting in the couch, and caught up with a far away friend.
Now the baby is napping and has been napping for two hours. She's really marathoning this one and I got a lot of my own work done, in addition to the family's dishes and sweeping their kitchen/living room. I have more work I could do, but I wanted to write about a few things instead.
A blog version of gush-gush.
Legs
Or, as Australians call them, pins. We have them, there, at the bottom of our torsos. I've been wearing a lot of dresses without leggings recently and part of that is because it's so summery outside but most of it is because I think I'm starting to like my legs. They're kind of cute, in a leg way.
Jobs
*Whew* Okay, I just wrote that header and immediately wanted to delete it.
Yeah, okay, this is too nerve racking. Never mind, next!
Hikes
I think I am going to go on one this weekend. It was even my idea to do so. I very well might live to regret this.
Baby Bjorn
It's my new favorite thing, walking around with the baby strapped to me. Sunshine, Hawthorne, and my baby bunny in a front pack.
Santa Cruz
I miss it. A lot. Last night one of my actors asked me where I was from and then immediately said, "Shit, man. I wish they had a theater scene there. I would be down there so fast and fuck the rest of the world. I would never leave." Well, yeah, Bobby. Duh.
Evelyn
Just woke up! Gotta go.
I had a morning off this morning, where I slept for nine whole hours, took a leisurely shower, ate my breakfast sitting in the couch, and caught up with a far away friend.
Now the baby is napping and has been napping for two hours. She's really marathoning this one and I got a lot of my own work done, in addition to the family's dishes and sweeping their kitchen/living room. I have more work I could do, but I wanted to write about a few things instead.
A blog version of gush-gush.
Legs
Or, as Australians call them, pins. We have them, there, at the bottom of our torsos. I've been wearing a lot of dresses without leggings recently and part of that is because it's so summery outside but most of it is because I think I'm starting to like my legs. They're kind of cute, in a leg way.
Jobs
*Whew* Okay, I just wrote that header and immediately wanted to delete it.
Yeah, okay, this is too nerve racking. Never mind, next!
Hikes
I think I am going to go on one this weekend. It was even my idea to do so. I very well might live to regret this.
Baby Bjorn
It's my new favorite thing, walking around with the baby strapped to me. Sunshine, Hawthorne, and my baby bunny in a front pack.
Santa Cruz
I miss it. A lot. Last night one of my actors asked me where I was from and then immediately said, "Shit, man. I wish they had a theater scene there. I would be down there so fast and fuck the rest of the world. I would never leave." Well, yeah, Bobby. Duh.
Evelyn
Just woke up! Gotta go.
Sunday, May 5
Forgotten
I am sitting in the last day of tech for My Children! My Africa! and I just realized: I forgot to write tech blogs. I do it every time and yet this weekend - it did not even occur to me. Not even a blip on the mental radar. I originally opened this post to write about a quote from my show and then it hit me.
What does it mean that I forgot? What does it say about my regular tech anxiety? Or about my adherence to patterns? Because, of course, it can't be as simple as "I forgot." Not for this lady.
The quote I wanted to include was from a monologue in the second act, when one of the characters is talking about the journeys he takes by reading. He describes the places his books take him and he says: "I can stand in the banks of those great rivers, look up at the majesty of all the mountains, whenever I want to. It is a journey I have made many times. Whenever my spirit was low and I sat alone in my room, I said to myself: Walk, Anela! Walk!"
Lately, when I need to remind myself to keep going I take a deep breath and think, "Walk, Anela! Walk!"
What does it mean that I forgot? What does it say about my regular tech anxiety? Or about my adherence to patterns? Because, of course, it can't be as simple as "I forgot." Not for this lady.
The quote I wanted to include was from a monologue in the second act, when one of the characters is talking about the journeys he takes by reading. He describes the places his books take him and he says: "I can stand in the banks of those great rivers, look up at the majesty of all the mountains, whenever I want to. It is a journey I have made many times. Whenever my spirit was low and I sat alone in my room, I said to myself: Walk, Anela! Walk!"
Lately, when I need to remind myself to keep going I take a deep breath and think, "Walk, Anela! Walk!"
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