More Issues Than Newsweek

WARNING: This post is Nyquil-ed out, and probably completely irrational. Why? Because I'm completely illogical and paranoid. And hopped up on medicine isn't helping.

You might be thinking to yourself right now, "why is she writing another post? She just did one on Saturday. And you'd be right. This doesn't fit my normal schedule. But I can't sleep. And I can't turn off my brain. And my last post was short (well, for me... it was only about 2 pages in Word). And this is my blog, and I'll post whenever I darn well feel like it.

When I got home from my coaching session on Friday night, I was ecstatic. I called my parents first, but only because they're in another time zone. And then I called Brian. Because I needed to call him. I needed him to be as elated as I was.

God, I'm needy.

Brian's right. I have trust issues. And I have commitment issues. And I have abandonment issues.

Sometimes I feel like a lost little girl.

I'm just so terrified of being forgotten. Or unwanted. Or alone.

I think I latch on to people too often. I use them like security blankets. I wrap myself up in them as much as I can in order to protect myself from anything else. And when the blanket begins to fall to the floor in the middle of the night, I wake up shivering and try to grasp it before it falls out of reach.

Brian's right. I'm terrified that he's going to stop caring about me. It scares me more than anything else. It doesn't help that he's so far away. And that I can't read the thoughts on his face during our silences on the phone. And that sometimes he's too busy to talk to me at all.

When did I start needing him so badly?

He somehow inherited a role in my life that has been passed on from person to person for years. The person whom I need. Is it a best friend? That's what I always called it. Either that, or an emotional affair... Maybe it's something else. Maybe you're not supposed to need someone as much as I need people. But that's why the "desperately needed" role exists in my life: because I can't properly exist without it. It was Katy, and Amy, and Isyemille, and Megan, and Phil, and Annie, and Marisa, and Mary, and Greg, and Mike, and Liesl, and Anna, and Jake, and Dave... And now it's Brian. It's the person that I need the most in the world. And it's the person I'm most afraid of losing. It's the person that I'm worried is going to stop liking me back.

I ask myself how I got so jaded. In many respects, my life has been simple. I have a loving family and really haven't had a lot of struggles. But somewhere along the line, I became screwed up when it came to inter-personal relationships. And now it's easier for me to communicate with people through the internet than in real life. Gosh, that's pathetic.

I think I can trace a lot of it back pretty far, actually. One of my childhood best friends didn't invite me to her birthday party one year. I convinced myself that she hadn't had one. Another good friend decided she wanted to hang out with the popular kids (a group that I was decidedly not a part of), and made fun of me in front of them using information I had trusted her with. She traded me for them, and threw me to the wolves in the process. With a couple of other friends, I always felt like the third wheel. Or I was a back-up best friend. And I felt as though I needed to fight somehow to keep their friendship. I needed to prove that I was worth staying friends with.

I feel like an inconvenience a lot. I feel like I'm burdening people. Or throwing a wrench into their lives somehow. I sometimes wonder if I deserve friends. Or if I have any at all. Maybe people are just pretending to like me out of pity. That's depressing as hell.

Some days, most days, I just retreat into my apartment. And I wonder if anyone will call me. And I try to convince myself that it'll be alright if they don't. I'm great at convincing myself of things like that.

I have a couple of friends who have the sorts of cell phones that are always ringing. To the extent that you can't hold a conversation with them without getting interrupted. Clearly, my cell phone is broken. It doesn't ring nearly as often as theirs. And when it does ring, it's usually my mother.

I never wanted to be the girl who sits next to her phone, waiting for the boy to call. But that's exactly what I've been doing. Brian said he'd call me Sunday night. I sent him a text message during the day to remind him to call me. He usually goes to bed around 10:00. I actually sent him a text message around 10:15, accusing him of having forgotten me. He ended up calling about half an hour later. You understand why he accused me of having trust issues.

He said he's going to stop calling me for a while. He wants me to understand that just because he's not calling, doesn't mean he hates me. Doesn't mean he's mad at me, or that he's forgotten about me, or that he doesn't care. I promised to try my best not to be paranoid and freak out about the whole thing, as is clearly my nature.

I think this is Brian's way of teaching me something. But I can already tell you that it isn't going to work the way he hopes it will. Because right now, what's going through my mind is that I want him in my life more than he wants me in his. Irrational, I know, but that's how I operate. I play defense. I worry. I think up the worst case scenarios.

I wish someone were here right now, physically here, to tell me that everything will be alright. I wish there were someone to cuddle with. Or someone to stroke my hair. Someone to softly sing an Anna Nalick song as I drifted off to sleep. Just so that I didn't feel so helpless and alone. Because, as I type this, it's 2:00am, and if I were the sort of person who cried regularly, I'd be near tears. My soul is rolled up into a ball in the corner. Tonight, the air carries the pain of February with it. Please, God, may I not get S.A.D. early this year. I can't take it. Please let it not come until after grad school auditions are over.

I want to trust people more. I want to have close friends without feeling as though I have to fight for them. I want to be emotionally available. I want to learn to be as vulnerable in life as I am in my writing. And I want to trust others enough that it feels okay to do that.

I want to be able to be in a relationship without feeling suffocated. I want to be able to find another person who cares about me an equal amount, not more, not less. I want to know what it is to complement another person. Not to need them. Not to have them need you. But to know that, although you'd be able to survive without each other, both of your lives are improved because of each other's presence.

I want to stop fearing that people are going to leave me. I want to know that I'm worth loving. I want to know that I can be the sort of person whose phone rings several times an hour, so that I'm not perpetually checking my email in order to pass the time.

I want something that I can't define. Something that words won't explain. Something that I can't wrap my head around. All I know is that I don't have it now, and I haven't a clue as to what it is or how to get it.

Sleep is kicking in... I'm not even going to bother proof-reading this. It's probably a disaster in terms of sense and spelling, but I'm too tired for me re-reading it to do much good.

May you be able to sort through your issues.

~A~

P.S. In case you're unaware, it is possible to "pause" the music on this page. It is also possible to switch to whatever song suits your fancy by clicking on the track.

Strength, Spirit, & Self-Esteem

Guess what I found?

Exactly what I was looking for.

I just had my "Come to Jesus" moment.

The world has flipped.

Are you ready?

I'M A GOOD ACTOR!

No, f*** that. I'm a f***ing great actor. And I'm going to get into grad school. I'm going to go in there and knock their socks off. I can feel it. I know it with every fiber of my being. God I feel great. I hope this feeling lasts.

I went to a coaching session with Susan (my Shakespeare coach) and Jeffrey last night, and four other "students" were there as well. I actually got there like half an hour late because I went to the wrong place, but anyway. I did the same Shakespeare monologue that I've been working on since November: The Princess of France in Act V of Love's Labours Lost. And it's like tonight it finally worked exactly the way it was supposed to.

I truly believe that everything happened for a reason.

I lost my voice for a REASON! It was because I was forced to not recite that monologue for a week. I ran through it in my head. I did runs of the thought process silently. And I found her. I connected to her in a way that makes her real. I found moments where I became her. And then I was able to put them all together.

And most importantly, I let her go. If I hadn't lost my voice, I would've kept doing what I was doing. I wouldn't have rediscovered her. But instead, I found something that worked.

It worked really well. So well. Jeffrey and Susan asked what I'd done to change her (as they hadn't seen the piece since the end of November). They said that I found a great balance. I stopped being too formal and too timid, as I thought a princess should be. After all, you can't "play the princess". Every other person in the room has to play that you're the princess.

You know what else happened for a reason? This f***ing cough. Because of it, I've been staying in the lower register of my voice. My Kathleen Turner voice (when I told Jeffrey that, he started telling a story about when Kathleen Turner saw him on Broadway in Taboo. He's awesome, FYI.) And that was EXACTLY what the princess was missing. That low, firm resonance to prove that she's in control. She's regal. She's a lot more mature than the silly King of Navarro that she's dealing with..

Thank you, Lord.

It worked so well that they actually requested to see what my non-Shakespeare monologue was that I'd be using at auditions (which is something I never predicted that Susan would do). I was hesitant for a couple of reasons. First, that I was wasting time in this workshop. Second, that it might be really bad (as I haven't had an audience for it yet... I've been playing with it on my own). But I had such an emotional high going into it, thanks to the last monologue working...

And I found HER, too! I got braver with my modern piece. I dropped to my knees and really explored the physicality of it. And they were all laughing their heads off and cheered hysterically when it was over.

I've been working with Susan since July 2006. And I first worked with Jeffrey around February. And they said that last night was the best work they've ever seen me do (and I've brought Susan near to tears before).

So this is why I believe that I can do it. Because they believe in me.

And now I know I can. I know that I've found these women. I know that they live inside me. And I know that I can bring them back to the surface when I need them.

For the first time, I'm not worried about begging grad schools to accept me. I know that they'll be begging me to go there.

I came so close last time. And you know what? I'm BETTER this time. I can't believe that this didn't occur to me before. I've IMPROVED from then. I have a résumé with professional shows on it! I'm older now, and therefore more valuable to the programs! Things can only get better, not worse. And I need to stop freaking out (please remind me of that in a week when I start freaking out again).

I finally found my strength, my spirit, and my self-esteem. And it feels great.

Look out, world. Here comes Angela!


May you learn that all the strength you need comes from within.

~A~

The Fine Lines

It's been awhile since I've shared any of my theories, so I've decided it's time to present one.

I've been working on this one for a long time, but it's not quite finished yet. I feel like there's more here. I encourage you to share your thoughts in the comments section.

I call it The Fine Lines of Personality, and, as with most of my theories, it has to do with dating (well, really, it has to do with people, but the best application for it is in dating). I named it after a lyric from the musical Avenue Q...

"There's a fine, fine line between love and a waste of time."

So here goes.

Did you ever notice that people around you (and occasionally you) are drawn to people who turn out to be completely horrible? Well, here's the thing: everyone is horrible in one way or another. And we all have ways of trying to hide it.

Everyone has positive and negative qualities. Everyone is flawed. That is fact.

I imagine that the reason people date the wrong person for long periods of time is because they're blinded by a positive quality that sort of masks the negative one. And it's my thought that these things come in pairs. Every negative quality has a complementary positive one.

Herein lies my theory... People fall into categories. Maybe not perfectly. I myself dip a little into three of the ponds I'm about to mention. But it's an interesting way of dissecting people and relationships. And I'm sure there are more out there (just like in Hogwarts, there are more qualities that students have than there are Houses that play up said qualities... Sorry. Harry Potter geek going back into hiding now).

The Fine Lines
- Charming/Con Artist
- Sexy/Evil
- Confident/Cocky
- Passionate/Violent
- Mysterious/Manipulative
- Sensitive/Spineless
- Quirky/Crazy

Confused? Don't worry. Mama Angela is here to explain.

(Note: I mentally associate some of these with males and some with females due to my past experiences, and I might address them as such. But I assure you, either gender can be placed in any of these categories.)

CHARMING/CON ARTIST
I've dealt with these sorts a lot in my life, and now I can generally spot them from a distance. I originally called this one "Charming/A**hole", but I decided that was too generic. Encounters with someone bearing this label leave you feeling vaguely deceived, as he seemed like "such a great guy" at the beginning. Every con artist has to be able to pull off the sweet, charming, lovable role. They can't appear skeezy, or else it will ruin the con. They sweep you off your feet. And then they turn into something else. Something undesirable. But they're so charming and magnetic that it takes you forever to realize that.

SEXY/EVIL
Think of Colin Farrell. Or Jude Law right after he was caught cheating. Or Demi Moore in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. Or Angelina Jolie in... anything. It's the idea that by being gorgeous, you can get away with murder. And sometimes, it's the touch of evil that makes them sexy in the first place. For example, I have a bit of a crush on the WWE wrestler "Edge", who plays a "bad guy" character. You're supposed to hate him. And I think that makes him particularly foxy. I suppose this is where the appeal of a dominatrix would lie.

CONFIDENT/COCKY
This is the one that I fall for the most. Confidence is hot. And something I don't have a ton of, so I admire it in others. The problem, of course, is over-confidence. Random acts of unmitigated ego. These guys talk about how cool they are until you believe them. And then you eventually come to terms with the fact that they're arrogant bastards. Think of Alex on Grey's Anatomy or Chuck Bass on Gossip Girl (although they both have a touch of Sexy/Evil to them as well... but you get the idea).

PASSIONATE/VIOLENT
Okay, so maybe violent is taking it too far. But at least volatile. Perhaps even emotionally abusive. I once lived with someone whom I'd throw into this category. She seemed... bipolar. She was a very passionate person, which I admired about her. But her highs were high, her lows were low, and although her passion was magnetizing, I eventually noticed that she seemed off-balance. And potentially dangerous.

MYSTERIOUS/MANIPULATIVE
If you ever think someone's mysterious, it's for one of three reasons. 1. You haven't tried hard enough. 2. They're painfully shy. 3. They're calculating every move they make. That's right. Mysterious people are manipulative as hell. They think it's alluring. And they're right. Makes you curious. And you feel this need to become the person who gets them to open up. They've got you exactly where they want you, and you have no idea that you're a marionette.

SENSITIVE/SPINELESS
This one usually fits with the stereotype of "The Nice Guy/Girl". I like to think of George in the first season of Grey's Anatomy (I only really watched the first season... so I don't know what he's like now... But at the time, he was really into Meredith). It's the guy who's the good friend of the lead girl, and I always think he's so sweet and wonder why she's ignoring the potential there. And then I think something wistfully, such as, "If it were me, I'D notice him. He's so wonderful!" But then one day I realized: I wouldn't. I fall for the confident, charming a**holes, the confident egomaniacs, and the sexy bad boys of the world. Mr. Nice Guy? Way less likely to toss my confetti. I mean sure, I like the nice part in theory, but I can't deal with the spineless part. I need a man who can make decisions, because I'm sure as heck not going to. And I don't want to be put on a pedestal; it just makes me uncomfortable. And, as much as I hate this about myself, there's always going to be a part of me who wants someone to protect me/take care of me/save me. And a sweet-yet-weak guy is hard to imagine in that role. Not that I haven't fallen for a guy like this... I have. More than once. But it just doesn't work out the way I want it to.

QUIRKY/CRAZY
Think of Natalie Portman's character in Garden State. I've never actually seen this movie (at least in part because I don't much care for Natalie Portman), but I know this is a good example. Why? Because of how many times I've been compared to the character. Yes, that's right. I'm in this bunch. Well, I'm a little bit of a couple other things as well, but I'm mostly here. My ex came up with this label, although he called it "Cute/Crazy" (actually, he thought I was "Sexy/Evil" before this one was invented, if you can believe that). But I'm pretty sure that's just because he thought quirky was cute. And he liked alliteration. Anyway. It's someone who seems silly and full of life, but is disguising a closet of emotional and psychological problems. There's always a reason for quirky. I'm just saying...



So, there you have it.
I'm Quirky/Crazy (and Mysterious/Manipulative... and Passionate/Violent...). And I fall for Confident/Cocky (and Charming/Asshole... and Sexy/Evil... and, in spite of my self, occasionally Sensitive/Spineless). And so far, none of these labels have worked out for me.


You know, I was recently trying to reevaluate what it is I want in a romantic relationship, and I realized that I'm sort of thinking the wrong way about things.

Do I want someone who I find to be funny?
Or do I really just want someone who will think that I'm funny?

Do I want someone smart?
Or do I just want someone who can keep up with me (and occasionally tell me how brilliant he thinks I am)?

Do I want a good writer?
Or do I just want someone who can recognize and appreciate good writing (and occasionally mistake my writing for the good stuff)?

Do I want someone to take care of me?
Or do I want someone I don't have to take care of?

Do I want someone handsome?
Or do I want someone who thinks I'm beautiful?

Do I want someone Charming? Sexy? Confident? Passionate? Mysterious? Sensitive? Quirky?
Or do I just want someone who is NOT a Con Artist? Evil? Cocky? Violent? Manipulative? Spineless? Crazy?

All good questions.

I just hope that I'll know him when I see him.

May you know what you want as well as what you don't.

~A~

P.S. I hope that all of you (yes, you... even the lurkers) will comment on this post. Please consider the following:
- Can you figure out which you come closest to?
- Can you figure out which you fall for the most?
- Are there personality lines that you can come up with that I've missed? (Because I'd love to add to my collection)

ETA: I've added a few new fine lines to my list at the suggestions of readers. They're still being developed... Once I get a good grip on them, I might do a follow up entry.

Fine Lines in the Nebula
- Experienced/Damaged
- Driven/Obsessed
- Outgoing/Obnoxious
- Hipster/Poseur
- Idealistic/Unrealistic

Fighting the Plague

I'm starting this on Saturday night. I chugged the dregs of my Nyquil bottle and decided to start a blog post. So this could be a weird post. And I'll probably fall asleep before I finish it, but I figured I'd give it a shot.

Brian seemed to enjoy my last post, although I'm not entirely sure why. He said something about liking my honesty. He also said something about wanting to give me a hug. Did that post make me sound as though I needed one? Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.

Every couple of years, I get a super-illness that I refer to as "The Plague". I know I've got the Plague when I have a wide variety of symptoms, and I can't figure out if/how they're related. That, and I can't sleep for long periods of time even when taking medication that's supposed to knock me out. (I once had 64.25 sleepless hours while taking a DOUBLE-dose of Codeine... It defied medical logic.)

I was pretty sick at work all week. I didn't sleep Sunday night after writing my blog entry. I spent the entire night feeling hot, sick, and generally miserable. I was alright most of Monday morning, but when the afternoon hit I was suddenly falling apart. I started sneezing and coughing again, and my throat hurt. I got a stress stomach-ache and headache. The I got dizzy and nauseated, so I took some ibuprofen and Tums.

Suddenly, the room became freezing, so I put on my fleece, hat, and scarf while I was doing my work. I took my break by passing out on my keyboard. My boss walked up at that point, saying "You know she's really sick, because usually she's such a jitterbug." My coworker responded, "She's all tuckered out."

Upon hearing female pronouns, I assumed I was being spoken about (which, actually, I always assume when I hear a female pronoun. I suppose I'm paranoid. Or extraordinarily egocentric). As I lifted my head and opened my eyes to look at them, my boss said, "Look at you. You're all bug and no jitter". I said I was fine. She asked why I was wearing a hat and scarf. When I said it was because I was cold, she instinctively put her hand to my forehead and declared that I had a fever. She sent me home early with strict instructions: "don't come back until your jitter outweighs your bug." (No joke.)

I went home, crawled into bed, and attempted unsuccessfully to will myself to sleep all night. I fully planned to go into work on Tuesday, but I couldn't. I stayed in bed all day, too awake to sleep but too weak to move.

By Wednesday, I was back in the office against my better judgment. Can't waste all my vacation time this early in the year. I shoveled cough drops into my mouth as though they were Lifesavers. But the last three days of work were definitely rough.

On Friday, against my better judgment, I went to a poker party being thrown by my work-buddy Ben (the pudding guy) and his girlfriend. I was doing pretty well with the poker, until I let my high chip count lead to hubris. Then, it was only a matter of time. (For example, I thought I had one hand wrapped up with a straight, but then I lost to a flush on the river. Drat.)

I sat at the losers table and played a very tense game of Scattergories (which I'd never played before). Turns out, I love it. And I won by a full 10 points.

Once the poker had ended, I talked to Ben for awhile. He apparently used to read this blog, but stopped once he read about himself. Now, he prefers to hear stories in person instead of reading them. I keep a notebook in my purse where I jot things down. Random things, like items to add into my book of lists, books that I should consider reading, bad names, and blog topics. He leafed through the notebook, occasionally pointing at subjects that he wanted to hear about, and I'd oblige. It was probably just as much fun for me as it was for him.

By the end of the night, my voice had started to disappear. I was becoming increasingly more hoarse (blame Scattergories... lots of yelling involved in our game). It became clear that I wasn't going to have a voice in the morning.

I met several lovely people at the party, including one guy who insisted on walking me home. And then asked for my number. I gave it to him, because I saw no good reason not to. He seems nice enough. I'll let you know if I hear from him.

I was supposed to be an extra in a video shoot today for my ex-roommate, a funny little Indian guy named Himanshu. I sent him a text message to let him know that it wasn't happening. It would've been uncomfortable to traverse the public transportation system in 20-below weather on any day, but I certainly wasn't going to do it with my current level of illness.

I was actually in one of Himanshu's music videos over a year ago (for a song called "Klub Tyme" by an artist named Aderrick), in a "blink and you'll miss me" sort of way. You'll see my hands in the beginning, picking something up (0:04) and smoothing a tie (0:05). Then me dancing in a very dark setting (0:12), Then my hands buttoning a shirt (0:17). Then you'll see me walk into the club with the artist, Aderrick, as his "date" (0:20). I separate from him as we walk into the club (0:52). You can catch glimpses of me throughout, in the background (on the left... 1:10, 1:15, 1:17, 1:24, and on the right touching my hair at 1:33). Then, later in the video, Aderrick opens a bottle of champagne, and it spills on my arm (1:54). A guy then licked it off, but you can't see it in the final cut (we did take after take of my being covered in champagne and getting it licked off me... all for naught). By the end of the video, Aderrick leaves the club with another man. You can watch it, if you like.

(in case the embedded version doesn't work, it's here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6B1FLT0ay4)
Exciting, I know.

I couldn't even tell you what I did today. I mostly sat around. I attempting to chat with Brian on the phone at one point, with what little voice I have. I threw my trash out. I watched the latest thing to arrive from Netflix: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which I very much enjoyed). I surfed the internet. I ate tomato soup (instead of the traditional chicken soup, due to my new-found vegetarian ways). I drank juice. And I did a lot of coughing. I tried to sing, which was completely unsuccessful. And I took a bunch of pictures of myself, trying my hardest not to look sick (see above).

It's weird not being able to talk to myself. You wouldn't believe how much I talk to myself now that I live alone. It helps me to keep loneliness at bay.

Alright, the Nyquil is kicking in... Continuation coming... 12:39pm


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


So it's Sunday now...

My ears hurt today. And I have cramps. And I've started coughing up stuff (including something that looked a little like blood... I thought that only happened if you had consumption... should I be worried?). Yup. This is definitely the plague. The black death has evolved to something that can't kill you, but makes you want to put yourself out of your misery.

I've been sick since New Year's Eve. If I were a horse, I'd be glue and gelatin by now.

My voice is maybe starting to come back a little... I only say that because I watched a video I made for someone yesterday, and then I tried to speak, and I think it's a little better... But if I didn't have something to compare it to, I'd still say it's missing. Quick, send out a search party for my voice!

It's like I'm the little mermaid Ariel, and Ursula has my voice... Except there's no Prince Charming to seduce. I'm voiceless AND alone. I clearly did not get the fair end of this deal. Remind me to start reading these contracts more closely before signing them. Or maybe show them to a lawyer.

I don't even have a plan of what I'm going to do today. I'll probably just sit here. Doing nothing. And pray that the demons leave my body soon, so that I can put all of my energy into grad school auditions instead of self-healing.

I'm going to go putter around my apartment, thinking all the sarcastic thoughts that I'd prefer to say aloud, and trying to distract myself from the illness at hand. And, hopefully, I'll finish editing Chapter 3 of my novel.

In case you missed the memo (and a few intense entries to boot), if you're interested in reading my unfinished novel, leave your email address in the comments section. It's in a private blog that you can only get to if invited.

May your immune system be able to fight off the plague when it comes your way.

Good health and many blessings,

~A~

ETA: In Scattegories, for the letter "G" and the category "Things You Find on a Map", I wrote "Genome". Be impressed.

In Defense of Silence

Whenever I played team sports in gym class, I always preferred being on defense. In soccer, I'd hang around down near my own team's goal, feeling as though I was going to be more helpful down there. I was never an aggressive player. I often ended up in the right place at the right time to help my team. And even when I was just standing on the field, just chatting with the goalie while everything interesting happened on the other end of the field, I felt like I was being helpful. As though by not acting, I was setting up a better strategy for moments to come.

And I guess that's how I play life as well. I have so many coping mechanisms and defense mechanisms that it's a wonder that I'm not mechanical. But I'm great at protecting myself. Self-preservation is my specialty.

I learned long ago that I'm great at talking myself into and out of things (a good example of this being my concept of "As Good As Gay"). I'm able to convince myself that the things I predict will happen are all for the best. I'm good at seeing something that's going to fall through long before it does, and I know what steps to take to make myself the least disappointed. I shape a cast around my heart long before it has even broken.

I also have great skill with abstract thought. I make connections that other people don't, which is either advantageous or alienating, depending on the circumstances. And I'm constantly thinking. Even if you don't see them turning behind my eyes, my wheels are always in motion. And whereas most people have linear thought processes, I tend to think in webs. Every new idea leads me to a whole set of unrelated tangents. (Like this one about how I think, for example.)

I only mention how I think because it relates to my methods of self-defense. I'm overly analytical. I think far more than I should. And before any important action, I think through a thousand consequences. I think until my hands shake and the world is blurry. I think about the things that could happen and the things that never will. I think about the positives, the negatives, and everything in between. That way, no matter what happens, I'm a little more prepared than I would've been (I've already mentioned how much I hate surprises).

Now, this bubble-wrapped life of mine does come with it's drawbacks. I'm not much of a risk-taker. I don't stir the pot if I don't have to. And there are a lot of things that I don't do because I think it's going to benefit me or someone else in the long run, no matter how appealing it may seem in the moment. (Really, the only time I have a tendency to be impulsive is when I'm shopping, and I've been using a system of checks and balances on that one with Megan for the last decade... Dear God. I just realized that it's been a decade since I started high school. Well, 9.5 years technically, but close enough. Egad!)

Sometimes I think about things for so long that it becomes too late to do anything about them. But I'm generally able to convince myself that it was meant to be that way (I am, after all, good at talking myself out of things).

Generally, I'm a pretty honest person. Mostly because I'm a terrible liar. But also because I don't like lies. Honesty is much more appealing.

But I am not of the opinion that "not telling the whole truth" classifies as lying. Lying is fabrication, not omission. Withholding information is completely different from lying. And I find that it's often completely necessary.

It's not that I'm trying to lie. It's not that I'm trying to be manipulative. It's just... I feel this need to strategize.

Most of the time I do things like this, it's with the intention of protecting someone. Sometimes that someone is myself. Usually, it's whomever the thing I'm hiding pertains to. Sometimes, it's whomever I'm keeping the secret from. And sometimes, those last two qualifications have to do with the same person.

Brian finally read the entry I wrote about him.

Maybe I shouldn't have written what I did. But I felt like I had to. And he reads this infrequently and without pattern... I guess some part of me thought there was a chance that he'd never see it. I guess I left things up to God/The Fates/destiny/the universe. And I convinced myself that it was for the best.

There was a lot that I didn't put in that entry that I would have if there were no chance that he'd read this. A lot of things that can't be said.

As a side note, I recently realized that I talk about Brian almost as much as I talk to Brian. Is that unhealthy? Or stalker-esque or something? Or perhaps I'm finally riding the final hill into the valley of mental illness that I've feared for so long with my thinking-man's-hypochondria.

Anyway. Every time I told someone that Brian was in Nebraska and in love with me, I could expect to hear the same answer: "Oh, this isn't going to end well."

We had a long conversation a couple of nights ago. Brian's apparently over me. Yes, over me. Meaning not in love with me. I don't know whether it had anything to do with reading what I wrote. All I know is that I was just as confused and messed up by him saying that he's not in love with me as I felt when he said that he was. Only this time, I wasn't smiling and blushing during my silence on the phone. I sat with furrowed brow and no words that would create a proper response.

I've been silent through large chunks of many phone conversations with Brian, which is something that I don't do much with anyone else. Sometimes it's because he's analyzing me and trying to bring slices of my soul to the surface. Sometimes it's because I'm not sure how to react to the inane things he's said. Maybe I'm just comfortable sitting in silence with him.

After we ended the phone conversation (because he goes to bed about 3 hours before I do), I ended up composing a long e-mail, saying all the things that I've never said. The things it feels like I can't say or shouldn't say... so I don't. Things that I've wanted to say that I thought weren't okay to say.

Maybe it was because I'm sick (I have a tendency to be blunt when I'm sick). Maybe it was because I was sleep deprived (I hadn't slept the previous two nights, thanks to the sickness and my insomnia). Maybe it was the medications I was on. But it just seemed like things he needed to know. Things that he should know now that he says he's over me.

I finished the e-mail. I reread it, and deleted a few paragraphs (using the self-censoring techniques that come along with my defense mechanisms like a 2-for-1 deal at Target). I wrote an introduction about how I probably shouldn't send it. And I wrote a conclusion blaming it on my illness/medications/insomnia. I went to hit send, but then stopped myself. I walked away from my computer. I said a prayer. I called Megan (at what I'm sure was an ungodly hour in Michigan... and on a school night for her, no less). And Megan did exactly what a non-sexual soul-mate should: she talked me through it without pushing me in one direction or another. And we decided that I should sleep on it before sending it. So I saved it as a draft and left it in my e-mail account.

Fact about me: I'm a great secret keeper, but everyone always knows that I have secrets. Somehow, I'm bad at the poker face part of the secret-keeping process. Still, I'll keep a secret as long as you need me to do so. I have a secret that someone told me in 8th grade that I've never told (again, that was a DECADE ago). And a handful of them from high school (including one that has to do with a wide circle of my friends... and I've never told). Some of them I've kept for so long that they don't even matter any more. Others I kept for so long that I forgot them. Once I swear my secrecy, I'm a lock-box, baby.

But that fact also applies to my own secrets. Hence how I ended up telling Brian that the e-mail that I didn't send exists. He thinks the fact that I mentioned it means that on some level, I want him to talk me into sending it to him... something like that. And he's a little bit right. I do want to send it to him. But I won't. Not now, anyway. Because I know that right now, some things have to stay secret. And I'm very good at that.

Besides, it's for the best. In the long run. For the both of us.

Or, at least, I've convinced myself of that.


May you always know how to stay silent when you know you should, no matter how much you want to scream.

~A~



P.S. Yes, the shadow picture is a self-portrait. (Someone once asked if I was naked when I took it. Can you believe that?)

P.P.S. For those of you non-Reader users (dude, seriously look into them... they're fantastic. I use Google Reader), you might want to get in the habit of checking back here every Monday and Friday, so as not to be disappointed (I'm trying to post a Wednesday-or-Thursday and a Saturday-or-Sunday... and I often post at night, as that's when I'm free to write... so that's a good way to save yourself heartbreak...). Or, if you're like Amy and you just like having something to check, by all means keep checking back. It makes my hit-counts look higher, which makes me giddy.

P.P.P.S. If you do use a reader, please click to this page on occasion. I'll admit that it's mostly because I like having my hits go up. But it's also for all these good reasons that my blog-buddy R.E.H. pointed out. (Please read his post... And please comment on this one. Feed the bloggers! We all love responses.)

P.P.P.P.S. I've been listening to "Three Wishes" by The Pierces all day. I just added it to my Project Playlist, so now you can listen to it all day, too. (You might recognize it from Gossip Girl when they had that debutante ball... You know, if you're a loser like me and you're completely addicted to Gossip Girl... And you bought the episode Victor/Victrola on iTunes... And think that the British actor Ed Westwick -- a.k.a. Chuck Bass -- is fiercely sexy. Just me? Okay then.)


ETA: I just noticed that saying the title aloud sounds like "In Defensive Silence." Or maybe "Indefensive Silence" (not that it's a real word, but you can infer a meaning). And it's not too far from "End Offensive Silence." And that made me laugh.

Queue-ing My Life

My last couple of entries have been long and serious, so I'm going to mix it up. I'm going to write a light, short, meaningless entry. Fluffy, even. And potentially boring. I think I'm allowed to do that every once in awhile... right? Okay. Well, here goes.

I started the weekend off by donning my blonde "Hannah Montana" wig (which is hilarious, FYI), and finishing my supply of Midori in order to make a video on facebook for my pen-less pen pal Ricky. Once my blood had been properly diluted, I decided to start singing random songs and posting videos of the events on people's facebook walls. I did it pretty much all night. I had to try to be quiet-ish for them, as there are thin walls in my apartment building (but as I often hear my neighbors doing things that I'd rather not hear, I think that a little songstress payback was probably in order anyway).

And the rest of the weekend (aside from a Saturday night birthday celebration for Anna and a bar excursion following it) I've spent avoiding the things on my to-do list.

I only make myself to-do lists when I have a massive amount of things to get done. And somehow, after making the list, I become so exhausted that I don't accomplish anything.

This list I made by writing things I wanted to do onto note cards and pinning them to my bulletin board. Here's what it looked like:

- Take out trash (I have like 4 small trash bags in my kitchen that are begging to be disposed of)

- Research grad schools (I did a little last weekend, but I've stopped. Too depressing.)

X Unpack (From my holiday trip. Finally accomplished today)

- Keep running monologues (I've been doing this, but I'm not checking it off. I need to keep running them ad nauseum)

X - Switch up music on Project Playlist (I added way more than I subtracted. I especially recommend "Save Me from Myself" by Christina Aguilera and "Love Song" by Sara Bareilles)

- Wash dishes (heh... I haven't done them in about a week and a half)

- Clear off table/desk (You wouldn't believe how many unread copies of "Time Out Chicago" and "The New Yorker" I've amassed)

X Move bed (It was previously next to the windows, meaning that I was always freezing as I tried to fall asleep. I've now moved it near my computer -- I have a laptop, but not wireless internet -- and am currently typing while lying down. This could be dangerous.)

X Change sheets (I don't change my sheets nearly often enough. I'd say I do it about 4-6 times a year... I called my mother to ask her how often you're supposed to change them, and she said Oprah does it every three days. HA! My mother also said not to mention on my blog that I change them infrequently, as people might think it's weird. Whoops.)

- Pick up package from post office (Whoops. I've got to actually do this one of these days)

X Buy scale (I've been trying to lose weight for months now, but it's hard to gauge my progress when I'm guessing based on how well my pants fit.)

- Get 3 pairs of pants tailored (I've been putting this off since October)

- Buy ink for printer (I've been putting this off since at least March. Maybe February.)

X Buy groceries

X Edit chapter 2 of NaNoWriMo novel and post on blog

X Post new blog entry on regular blog (I'm going to go ahead and credit myself for this one now, even though I haven't technically finished it yet)

- CLEAN APARTMENT!!! (I've started, but so far I think I've only made things worse somehow.)

- Shop sales at Benetton, Express, and other places. (I'll go tomorrow after work -- when I should be picking up that package -- and hope they haven't run out of my size in everything cute.)


So I've done some things... But I have many tasks to go. And, I'll be honest, I'm not going to accomplish most of them. I've sort of run out of steam. Why? Oh, no reason. I've been doing mostly nothing.

I've started the cleaning process, as I've mentioned, but it's not going particularly well. Although I did find that hat that I thought I'd lost (the one that I bought a replica of in New York). So now I have two of them. Score.

One other awesome thing I did this weekend: signed up for Netflix. I'm totally amped about it. I can already sense how addictive it's going to become.

I have a history of saying that I REALLY WANT TO SEE movies that come to theaters, but then not actually seeing them. On average, I think I see about three movies per year. And I rarely rent things. The result is that the list of movies that I've seen is short and involves mostly movies that other people wouldn't watch. I haven't seen a wide variety of "classic" movies. I haven't seen many "popular" movies. Ex-boyfriend #1, who was a film major in college, actually once made me a list of over 100 movies that he thought I NEEDED to see. We dated for two years. I think I saw about ten of them.

So now, I'm going through and adding things to my queue like mad. All those movies that people told me I'd love. Like Winter Passing. And Pan's Labyrinth. And The Departed. And Idiocracy. It's a huge mish-mosh of genres. I'm ecstatic.

I chose the "1 at a time/unlimited per month" option. Because, let's be honest, I'm not going to need more than one at a time. I've owned the movie Monster for five years, and Delovely for three, and I've never seen either of them (I got one as a gift and the other as a prize in an Oscar pool -- I even WANT to see both of them, but whenever I'm in the mood to watch a movie, I generally grab Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!, America's Sweethearts, Shaun of the Dead, Animal House, Clue, or Boondock Saints).

My movie queue is really just a to-do list, now that I think about it. Or perhaps my to-do list is sort of a queue. Ah, there we are. Practically existentialist. Not really, but it's bedtime and a wave of sickness has just washed over me again (have I mentioned I've been battling generic winter illness lately? It's back in my throat tonight), so I'm probably just over-thinking things.

In other news, I've acquired a few more New Year's Resolutions. People have begun assigning them to me, which is rather fun.

- IAN - He's attempting to "corrupt" me, so he made me promise to use the word "cock" more often in 2008. I don't recall why I agreed to this. He also said something about sleeping in the nude, but it's too cold for that.

- RICKY - My pen-less pen pal and I made a pact to stop apologizing for things that we shouldn't apologize for. And since making it, I've realized that this was a horrible agreement. I apologize at the drop of a hat! Seriously, if I dropped my hat, I'd probably apologize. In fact, when it's dark in my apartment and I walk into something I apologize (to the wall, the chair, or the random article of mess I've stumbled over). Perhaps that's why it's a good idea to follow through with this. Every time I screw up in front of Ricky (via Facebook video or e-mail or the like), I have to do something (such as serenade him with a song from West Side Story) as punishment. If he does it, he has to give me a lap dance. That should be interesting.

- BRIAN - I've mentioned before that I don't like teasing or being teased. And I don't understand teasing as a method of flirtation. Brian's challenge to me is to learn to be more open to it. I'll probably die.

Alright, I'm out. I have work in the morning and I should probably get some sleep.

May the queue of your life hold many interesting things.

~A~

Theatre Changes Everything

Graduate school auditions are just around the corner, and I'm terrified. (The picture you see is the headshot I'll be bringing to them.)

I'm attempting to get accepted into a MFA program in acting. I'd be especially excited to get into a program that had a strong focus in Shakespearean work, but I'll take what I can get (after all, the odds of me getting in anywhere aren't great).

I'm worried that I'll do horribly.
That I'll embarrass myself.
That I won't be as successful as I was the last time, when I was "this close" to getting into two really great schools.

Can you even call that success?

You can in theatre. And I'm about to explain why.

I'm going to a sort of cattle-call audition for graduate school. The first step is a screening audition, where they try to weed out the mediocre people. Only a fraction of the people make it to the next round, which is actually performing your two contrasting monologues in front of representatives from whichever graduate programs are accepting students that year (unlike most fields of study, theatre grad schools don't all accept students every year). You have three minutes (including your introduction) to show them something that will make them want you (and they WILL cut you off if you exceed that time limit, which serves as a signal to the grad school reps that you weren't prepared well enough).

If you don't pass the screening auditions, there's an optional round that you can go to if you like. In it, you get ONE minute to show ONE monologue to SOME of the grad schools (whichever ones feel like sticking around for that round), as opposed to THREE minutes to show TWO monologues to ALL of the grad schools. Obviously, this is not a desired option.

Last time I went, I made it on to the next round. I was the first actor in the recent memory (or, perhaps, history) of my college to do so. Just lucky, I guess.

After everyone has shown their stuff to the grad schools, they gather you all in a room and call out names one at a time, handing each of the hopeful performers a folded piece of paper. The paper tells you if any schools want to see you again (and, if so, which ones, which hotel room they will be waiting in, and what time slot you have).

I was shaking last time as I unfolded my piece of paper. I had a healthy crop of call-backs. I hadn't anticipated any (as no other actor I knew had ever acquired any, and I had been told so many times not to expect any). I almost cried with joy.

The call-backs are all different. One of them was sort of an interview ("Who IS Angela?" "Why do you want to go to graduate school?" "What do you do that ISN'T theatre?"). One was a continuation of the audition (she wanted to see two additional monologues, and wanted me to re-perform one of the original ones, giving me direction as I went). And the others were more sorts of informational sessions, telling me about the programs and asking if I had questions. In one, I was alone. In the rest, I was with other people. I didn't know what to expect from one hotel room to the next.

But that's not even what I'm scared about the most. I'm not worried about the call-backs, but rather that I won't get any. I'm worried that I might not get beyond the screening round. That the last time I went was a fluke. My one, lucky shot. And that I'll never be tempted by opportunity again.

(Playing one of the stepsisters in Cinderella. April 2005.)

I did a little research on the grad schools last weekend, but I kept feeling as though I was counting chickens that would probably never hatch. I timed my monologues (and cut them when I realized they were too long), and criticized myself openly. They're going to take one look at me and know that I'm not good enough. I'm not what they want. I'm just another 20-something white girl, and that's not rare in the world of theatre.

Last time I went, I was a senior in college. My advisor told me that I really shouldn't bother going, as I was too young. Every graduate program is looking for students to round out their programs. People that will expand the potential of their casting pools. They already have undergraduate programs packed with 21-year-old white girls; they didn't need another one. She said I should wait until I was older. That I could become a sort of self-made minority by waiting.

Besides, going straight from undergrad to grad school, they'd probably just think that I was attempting to hide in academia.

Perhaps I was.

Last time, I had a bunch of callbacks. Enough, in fact, that I discounted some of them. I really fell in love with two schools, and I didn't want to settle for anything less. They had little in common with each other, aside from the fact that they were both small programs (most theatre programs are, because they have to be small if they're going to be good).

The first was a school that took 2-4 students every year. And they liked to keep their program male-heavy (which makes sense, as theatre itself is male heavy... they don't want the males to be inundated with roles as the females all fight over the part of the chambermaid). The year I auditioned, they informed me that they would be accepting 2 males and 2 females, which were the best odds I was ever going to get. I drove out to the school for a follow-up audition in front of all the faculty. They had current students call me to encourage me to go there (with one of them even offering to help me look for an apartment). And then they told me that I had made the waiting list. I was girl #3, for 2 spots. And then girls #1 and #2 accepted.

The second school only accepted students every 3 years. They take 5 males and 5 females, and then keep them for 3 years, and then get a brand new class. I travelled out to that one. I observed a class. I ate lunch with the 10 students. The college gave me tickets to a performance that night. I fell in love with the school. And then they told me that I was on the waiting list. I was girl #6 or so. And, as you may have guessed, girls #1-#5 accepted.

(Side note: I have a lot of friends who wanted to go to law school or medical school and always complained about how difficult it was to get in. And yes, I know that it is. But I felt like they were discounting the difficulty of me getting into an MFA program -- which, by the way is a terminal degree; there is no PhD in Acting -- and thinking that they had it harder. But you know what? There are far more medical schools and law schools than there are MFA programs. And they take more than 2-10 students at a time. And they take students every year. And they pay attention to objective things like past academic performance and test scores, instead of a subjective 3-minute audition. And they won't overlook you simply for being female... Please don't get mad at me for saying this. I'm not trying to knock other fields of graduate study; I'm just trying to get my own field the respect it deserves.)

So there you have it. My failure. I was so sure that I was going to get into one of those schools. It really felt as though I were being courted. But no. I was left with no where to go. Nothing to do. And not long after, I began my "adult" life in Chicago.

One might argue that I did well, seeing as how those schools auditioned hundreds of students, and I came so close. So yes, in many ways, my particular brand of failure was a form of success.

Grad school felt as though it were easily in reach. But I suppose it was just a mirage.

(I played Lady Macbeth in an all-female production of The Tragedy of Macbeth. November 2006.)

I have a very unfortunate (mostly subconscious) tendency that I don't often discuss, but I think it's probably a good idea to admit it right now. Maybe that way I won't be able to hide behind it anymore...

When I think I'm going to do worse at something than I'd like, I stop trying. I pull back. That way, if i fail, I can blame it on a lack of effort instead of a lack of ability. I can make claims like, "I could be an A-student, if I tried." It's less painful to think "I wasn't prepared enough" or "I didn't try hard enough" than it would be to think "I wasn't good enough." I don't think I'm the only one that does this sort of thing, but I've never heard anyone else admit it before. Maybe we're not supposed to... Oh well.

I'm worried that I'm going to do that with grad school auditions. I'm not going to prepare enough, I'm going to do terribly, and then I'm going to say, "well, I could've gotten in to grad school if I'd been on my game." And I'll forever wonder if that statement is true.

I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to resign myself to that. I hope not, anyway. I'm going to work. And I may very well fail anyway, but I won't let it be for lack of trying

I don't even know that this is what I want. I sensationalize the concept of graduate school. As though it's going to solve my problems. In some ways, I think I just long to be told what to do again. After spending so many years in school, it's weird to not have that steady schedule of events. I'd like to regain that.

When people asked me what it was like adjusting to the real world after college, I told them that John Mayer was right: "there's no such thing as the real world." But that I didn't miss homework.

I don't know if that's true anymore. I've really just been assigning myself homework instead of having it assigned to me, in order to make up for this mysterious presence that I've lost. Regulated activity, or something like that. Along with a list of completed tasks comes a sense of accomplishment. Maybe that's what I've been missing. So I scheduled writing into my life (in the form of three blogs and a novel). I scheduled reading in (I read on the "L". I just started The Lovely Bones at the recommendation of a dotcomrade). I started taking acting classes. In some ways, I've created my own makeshift substitution for school.

Maybe that's the problem with education in this country. It doesn't teach you how to be a functional person as much as it teaches you to be a student. And as soon as you figure out all the keys to being a decent student, you're done. And by that point you've amassed an assortment of skills that you will never again be able to put to good use. And if, like me, you're a life-long learner (a "student of existence", perhaps), you can never be satisfied without new knowledge being pumped into you on a regular basis.

I don't think that's the real reason I'm longing for graduate school, but it's part of it.

Really, I just want to be a good actor. Actually, I think I'm a pretty good actor already. But I want to be better. I want to be the kind of actor that makes the audience feel the story instead of just understand it. I want people to leave the theatre and feel that they've been changed in some way because of what they've just witnessed. I want to be astonishing.


(Me -- as a blonde -- with my buddy Kevin in The Comedy of Errors. August 2006.)

Maybe now is a good time to relate my theory to you:
Theatre can change the world.

I think that live theatre is a more powerful medium than television or film (I heard a saying once... "Theatre is life. Film is art. Television is furniture"). You can't change the channel. You can't fast forward. You can't throw popcorn at the screen. It's there. It's real. It's in front of you. In some ways, the audience is as much a part of it as the actors are. There's a connection there that's unlike anything else. The audience suspends their collective disbelief, and they witness the performed events firsthand. It's really an incredible sort of phenomenon when you think about it, that people are willing to accept theatre in the first place. But because it's not as easy to tune it out or escape from it, it can have a greater effect, I think.

I was once in a production of a stage version of Anne of Green Gables (which, for the record, wasn't particularly well-written). It was a community theatre production with a limited budget and a cast of enthusiastic local actors.

The story, if you're unfamiliar with the books, is about a precocious, redhead orphan girl named Anne, who is taken in by an elderly brother and sister after a misunderstanding. She's perhaps the brightest girl in school, in constant competition with a boy who teases her for her freckles and red braids. She experiences the world as a more romantic and enchanting place than other people, and her dramatics often get her into trouble. It's not political. It's not avant-garde. It's not meant to be a powerhouse of a play. The novels are heart-warming, and someone decided to create the play more for nostalgia and entertainment value than anything else. And that's fine by me.

While I was working on that production, a couple of troops of girl scouts came backstage before attending the performances. They could earn some sort of theatre badge for it, I guess. And I was asked to tell them all about acting, costumes, make-up, rehearsals, and everything else that might enrich the theatre-going experience. The girls were full of questions and seemed fascinated by everything I said.

And I realized... It didn't matter that this show wasn't written to as some sort of worldly commentary. If one of those little girls watched the play and felt a little more okay with her freckles, then that was more than enough of a reason to keep doing it. If one girl came to the show and felt a little braver about raising her hand in class... If she realized that it was okay for girls to be smart... Or if a child knew it was okay to be an orphan... Or okay to look a little different from everyone else... Or to think of the world as a beautiful place filled with poetry... This show (this poorly-written, unprofessional, tiny little show) could change that child's life.

That makes all the effort worthwhile.

And you know what? It's like that with every play. If one person who feels really lousy can go to a farce and forget their problems for a little while... If a family that rarely gives each other the time of day can see a play and have something to discuss as a family at dinner the next night... If one ladder-climbing professional can see Macbeth and realize that power isn't everything... Theatre can definitely change lives. Who's to say that it can't change the world?

So everything that I learn that I can use to make a show better, I'll learn. Because if the show is a little bit better, then maybe it can touch someone a little bit more.

I've given variations on this speech more times than I can remember. And during every incarnation, I remind myself of why it is that I love theatre so much. I remember why I do what I do.

While I was in college, I ran into a guy whom I'd done theatre with in high school. I told him that I'd recently become a theatre major, and I felt a little guilty about it. I was worried that it was selfish, and I didn't think it was important enough. He looked me square in the eyes, more earnest than I had ever seen him before, and said, "It IS important." I wondered aloud if I should be doing something more altruistic, like becoming a doctor and trying to heal people's bodies. He responded with, "Angela, you're going to heal their souls."

True Story:
Several years ago, a woman went up to Mother Theresa. Mother Theresa looked at her and asked, "what's wrong?" The woman broke down, saying that she worked in theatre in New York, and that she felt like she wasn't doing enough with her life. She said that she wanted to go to Calcutta and help the poor. Mother Theresa looked at her and said, "In my country, there is a famine of the body. In your country, there is a famine of the spirit. You must remain."

So that's why I'm an actor.
I do theatre because I love it more than I can say.
I do theatre because I don't know if I could ever be truly happy doing anything else.
I do theatre to heal people's souls.
I do theatre because there is a famine of the spirit.
I do theatre because it's my way of changing the world.

I really hope I get some interviews at these grad school auditions. If they ask me why I want to go to graduate school, I think I finally have some answers that I'm proud of.

May you find your own little way to change the world.

~A~

(Me and my buddy Simon in Picasso at the Lapin Agile. June 2007)

Michigan Loves Me

This blog is starting to feel like my last blog used to... less about my ideas, and more about my experiences. I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet, so I'm just going to let words flow through my fingers and hope that people keep reading until I settle on a style. Or don't.

I should also warn you... I have a feeling that this is going to turn into an extremely long post. (Oh, wait... that sounds like every other post). There are a lot of things that I think I should mention, and now seems as good a time as any to do so.

Why is this going to be long? Because before the end of it I have to tell you the story of how someone fell in love with me.

(That ought to keep you reading, right?)

First order of business: my NaNoWriMo Novel. As promised, I will be posting a chapter every week in a new blog.

IMPORTANT: This blog will be PRIVATE, and you can only see it if invited. So if you'd like me to invite you, kindly post your e-mail address in the comments section. You won't be able to view it in a reader, since it's private. Because of that, I'm going to do my best to update it on a regular, weekly basis (every Sunday, is my goal. Just like PostSecret), so you won't have to erratically check and speculate.

Second order of business: I promised I'd recap my New Year's trip to Michigan for you, so I shall.

On December 30th, I drove from Connecticut to New York La Guardia (where they paged Chelsea Clinton on the loud speaker), got on a turbulent plane to Cincinnati, nearly missed my connecting flight (due to some inept staff telling me my flight would be delayed... and then it wasn't), and ended up in Michigan around 10:30pm. In other words, the perfect time to head to Meijer.

My friend Megan, who picked me up from the airport, is in many ways my non-sexual soul mate (Random Note: it really bugs me that, according to Microsoft Word, soul mate is two words and not a compound word. Anyone else bothered by that? No? Just me?). We go for long periods of time without seeing each other, but we're consistently able to pick up where we left off without a hitch.

Megan calls me Aiea, which is a nickname that roughly half the people in my life use for me. If I at any time refer to Aiea, now you know that it's self-referential. Thought I should mention that.

We met the first day of our freshman year of high school, when we sat next to each other in a useless science class with an unbearable teacher (although I just described every science class I had from 8th-12th grade). She was new to the district, and I was awkward and friendless. We bonded instantly. We walked together at graduation, at which we flipped each others tassels and I promptly exclaimed, "My little Megan is growing up!" (I think she said something along the lines of "Mah-nah Mah-nah!" or "It comes from Boston Market and it tastes like chicken!" as a response... I miss the days when I was a part of private jokes). I thought that made nice bookends to my high school experience.

Before even heading back to her house, we took an obligatory trip to Meijer. If you're not familiar, Meijer is a store with toys, furniture, groceries, clothing, shoes, cleaning products, hardware, electronics, pets (yes, pets... hamsters, gerbils, fish, and such), greeting cards, bouquets, photo-processing, a pharmacy, helium balloons, and a sundry of other departments and items that I can't even come up with in order to list.

Megan and I have a tradition (which also applies to Target, Kroger, Rite-Aid, and the like as well) of filling a cart with tons of things that we intend to buy, and then settling on the floor in a random unfrequented aisle (usually near the pantyhose) and trying to talk each other out of each and every potential purchase. Why? Because we're both extremely impulsive and if we didn't, we'd probably each go broke every time we went.

My friend Brian met up with us (clearly not knowing what he was in for) when we were giggling in the make-up section (our favorite) and briefly reverting to our teenage selves. We had a blast. I got piggy-back rides from Brian. We made each other try on ridiculous things. We got in trouble for taking pictures in the store. We danced through the aisles (okay fine, that was mostly me). We said strange things loudly in order to get reactions from other shoppers. And after going through the mechanics of scouting the entire store, we settled down on a couch in the furniture section and talked each other down to just a few small purchases each (Brian jumped into the game and successfully convinced Megan not to buy a fake engagement ring that she planned to wear to the bar on New Year's Eve to try to discourage creepy drunks from hitting on her). I think I walked out with moisturizer, hair-ties, and blue nail polish.

The next stage involves reverting to childhood (one of the little adventures I so adore) and getting upon the penny-rides at the front of the store (a dark purple dinosaur that we lovingly call "VibraDino", and a brown horse, which has replaced the pink pony that formerly occupied the position). We once went in with a sock full of pennies and "raced" for an embarrassingly long period of time with other friends in tow. Brian was hesitant at first, but we convinced him to join in on the fun in the end. We were laughing and taking pictures (no one yelled at us that time... they were probably frightened by us. Or amused. It was, after all, around 1:00am at that point). We rode until we had all run out of pennies.

After spending more money on the "Mystery Mix" in the stickers vending machine than we should have (and me ending up with a lovely "I Heart Geeks" sticker that Brian tried to acquire through trade), we left.


Megan and I somehow managed to stay up until well past 5:00am. How? I don't know. We were being losers. At one point, we were playing online Scrabble (well, Scrabulous on Facebook, technically) against each other on separate (I spelled it right on my first try!) laptops in the same room. Later, we took an online quiz to determine if we were geeks, dorks, or nerds. Then we decided it would be funny to sign up for the ultimate in online pathetic-ness: SecondLife accounts (God only knows why... that's the sort of thing that's funny when you're sleep-deprived). My character is named Eulalie Jiminy (pronounced yoo-LAY-lee, and yes, it's a legit name, albeit an underused one ), which I think is a hard-to-beat combination (you're limited in your last name choices, by the by).

The next morning I awoke to a great pain in the bottom of my foot, which turned out to be because I had somehow unknowingly gotten a piece of glass lodged inside of it. How did I know? Because I've done it before (last March... it was horrible). Must've happened three days before, when I broke a glass in Connecticut while standing barefoot in my parents kitchen. And no, I don't know how I didn't feel it for three days (and one of those days I was walking all around NYC). Remedying this involving soaking my foot in a bathtub while Megan gave herself a pedicure, and me using a needle in a sort of self-imposed mini-surgery. Never saw the glass, but my foot no longer hurts, so I assume that I removed it.

My friend Ian came over and helped us get ready. Or, really, just hit on us while we were getting ready (which I actually enjoyed. I needed the ego-boost that night). At one point, as I was checking the stats for my blog while all dolled up for NYE, Ian referred to me as, "the hottest thing [he'd] ever seen." (Maybe I should've mentioned that Ian runs a technology firm of some sort... And that you should always play to your audience...) Gosh, I love Ian. We've only been close since about June, but he's one the most fascinating people I've ever known.

We had already warned Brian well in advance that we'd be late (as Megan and I have a habit of making large quantities of time disappear, which once caused my mother to call the police in panic). We arrived at his house at 10:15 (he had told us to come at 9:00... whoops), carrying my box of Apples-to-Apples, and saw two of his friends that we hadn't seen since high school.

Perhaps I should mention that none of us were really friends in high school. I mean, Megan and I were two peas in a sticky pod. And Brian and his friends were an established group, I think. But I only had one semester of Chemistry with Brian in high school (another of those science classes with an instructor I didn't care for... Megan was in that class as well, actually), and we only reconnected over the summer thanks to the magic of Facebook. He's one of my best friends now, thanks to seeing him a couple of times in summer and keeping in constant communication. It's a very similar story with Ian, whom I hadn't seen since high school until seeing him in a bar with Megan in June, and he's on my speed dial now as well. But in high school, my mother claims that Ian once tried to sell me drugs (by the way, as näive as I am now, you should have seen me in high school... I didn't watch R-rated movies, so I wasn't a great target for a drug deal). As for Brian's buddies, we all knew them, but we weren't friends. It was a strange mix of people. (And one of Brian's friends is married and brought his wife).

But Apples-to-Apples is a great unifier, and the evening went swimmingly (Demanding? Rosa Parks! <-- my favorite play of the night). Megan, Ian, and I had intended to go to a bar for the actual ball-drop, but the blizzard in conjunction with not hearing back from a friend we were supposed to meet made staying at Brian's place the preferable option.

With the exception of the married couple, there was no kissing at midnight, for which I was rather grateful. Ian, on the other hand, ducked out shortly after midnight to find a desperate (spelled it right!) girl at a bar to make out with him... and hopefully "start the new year with a bang" (his words, not mine... and yes, I think he meant it like that). Megan left shortly after Ian, but I hung around, watching YouTube videos and a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air marathon with Brian and his friend Aaron. All in all, a good New Year celebration.

Sadly, we all forgot to take pictures. This is especially disappointing to Megan and I, as we looked great. I'd even straightened my hair for the occasion (actually, Megan straightened my hair. And Ian helped). And it means that there is STILL no picture of Ian and I in existence, which is tragic.

By the time Brian drove me back to Megan's place, it was around 6:15am and a foot of snow had fallen. Ah, Michigan. How I love you. Connecticut was virtually snow-less while I was there, and in Chicago we see more of the treacherous ice than the pretty snow. But Michigan is a picture-perfect, hard-to-drive-in, Hallmark-copyrighted Winter Wonderland. Just gorgeous.

I woke up a few hours later, with my throat on fire. Throat pain so bad that I could feel it in my ears. I watched that Rose Bowl parade with Megan's parents (she wasn't up yet, and I had nothing better to do), before heading out to meet my dear friend Phil for coffee.

Megan is my soul mate, but Phil always seemed more like my best friend. He and I had epic phone conversations every night in high school (causing astronomical phone bills that our parents were less than pleased about), and I always had a feeling that he understood more about me than anyone else ever could. Unfortunately for me (and all of woman-kind), Phil is gayer than time spent with the Flintstones (ba-dum-ching!), and therefore I'm no more likely to marry him than Megan. Ah well. We had a lovely time, gossiping about mutual friends and sharing the emotional train-wrecks we were dealing with personally.

For dinner, Megan and I went to Mongolian Barbecue with our good friend Amy, whom I hadn't seen since I'd moved to Chicago and she to Buffalo (although I know she reads my blog *waves to Amy*, so she still knows what I'm up to). Megan's still in college (she's a double-major with a minor earning a teaching certificate, and so she has one semester left of classes, and then one of student-teaching), and Amy's in graduate school. As Megan pointed out, we spend most of our time in three different states, which is beyond bizarre to think about. We don't speak to each other as often as we probably should, but every time we're in the same place, it still seems like we're close friends. Or maybe it just feels like we should be.

Brian picked me up from the restaurant and drove me to the train station in the snow.

Maybe now is a good time to mention that Brian's in love with me.

(Makes you want to go check out those pictures of him a little more closely, doesn't it?)

I've hesitated to bring that up in previous posts, as I know he reads this blog on occasion. But I've decided that I don't know what the harm in mentioning it could be. It just is. He says he's "in love with" me, which has sort of warped our friendship.

Brian lives in Nebraska, so I've thrown out the possibility of any sort of relationship. He was As-Good-As-Gay from the beginning.

But maybe I should back up to where it began.

We became friends on Facebook, after not having seen each other since that chemistry class our junior year of high school (he graduated early). Then I had a dream that he took me to prom, and wrote about it on his Facebook wall (because it was completely random and sorta funny... I thought he'd get a kick out of it). He told me he was going to be in Chicago briefly in July, so we arranged to meet up for dinner (with another guy we knew from high school). I was in a relationship, and Brian was going on a date with some girl the next day (see how early we established the A.G.A.G. thing?). We had a lovely talk, mostly consisting of me telling him all the high school gossip that I'd heard (which is a favorite pastime of mine). I figured the next time I'd see him would be at our first high school reunion (which I think will be our ten-year... only 4 years to go... weird).

In August, I got a text message from him saying he was in Michigan, and I happened to be as well (in fact, that weekend was the last time I was ever in my house before my parents moved). We met up at Steak & Shake around 11:50, and ten minutes later I sang Happy Birthday to him as he turned 24. We discovered a common adoration of Natalie Imbruglia, and when we got kicked out of Steak & Shake a little before 2:00am (for some reason it's no longer 24 hours), we headed back to my car and started playing CDs for each other. And there we stayed, until past 5:00am when the ill-aimed sprinklers came on, showering the parking lot.

The next day, I spent a lot of time with Megan. My brother's birthday was a couple of days before Brian's, so my family was having a sort of celebration for him that night. I decided to call up Brian and invite him over (because I'd had so much fun with him the night before... and at least partially because I thought maybe I could set him up with Megan... What? I had a boyfriend at the time, remember? Brian was of no use to me in a romantic light, but I thought he was neat, and I think Megan's neat, and I thought it might be neat if they got together). When we sang happy birthday to my brother, we sang it to Brian as well.

The three of us had an incredibly fun night. We watched The Office on my laptop long after the rest of my family had gone to bed. I taught Brian what a "stage kiss" is. We took a million pictures of ourselves with my computer's built-in camera (one of which, me and Brian in my kitchen, I posted in my last entry). At the end of the night (*ahem* 6:15am), Brian told me he thought I was "the coolest girl [he'd] ever met." That's when I started to get the idea that I might not be able to set him up with Megan.

After that, Brian quickly earned a place on my speed dial, and I started talking to him on a regular basis. He leaped onto what I like to call "my new favorite people" list. I had a sort of non-sexual crush on him, which led to our emotional affair. There were days that he read my mind, and other days he analyzed me to a point that hurt (even making me cry all night when he said the reason I can't accept compliments is because I don't love myself enough... and also that I wall myself up and don't allow anyone in).

The night I broke up with Ex-Boyfriend #2, Brian asked me on a date (which never came to fruition, as he's in Nebraska and I'm in Illinois... there's a whole Iowa between us, so there was no good way to arrange a date. I'm pretty sure I said no, mostly because of that). And not long after that, I wrote Flipping the Switch. Mostly because I was trying to decode myself a little bit. And because I thought I'd sorted things out with him. I thought we started the path back to friendship without complications.

About a week after that (beginning of November), we sort of had a fight (which started because he stopped calling me, and continued because I snapped at him for not calling me), and I removed him from my speed dial (that'll show him!), and started playing the song "Hey Boy (Why You Didn't Call Me?)" by The Blow on repeat. We made up, but our communication became less frequent. I missed him. And I recorded him a video on facebook. And that seemingly innocuous video changed everything. Brian says that watching that video made him realize that he was in love with me.

If you saw the video, you wouldn't understand where that was coming from. I was goofy. I danced a little. I nagged him a little for not calling me. I did absolutely nothing that any normal person would find in any way, shape, or form to be attractive. Nothing. Needless to say, I was unprepared for his response. And being on the phone with someone who is professing their love for you (seemingly out of nowhere) is one of the most confusing, uncomfortable experiences that you can possibly imagine. And, on the Brian front, I've been sort of a mess ever since.

By that point, I had already told him that I was going to try to be in Michigan for New Year's Eve, and suddenly I wasn't sure if it was still a good idea. When a huge roadblock came, making going to Michigan more challenging, I sort of took it as a sign that I shouldn't go. But not long after, I became resentful of the fact that I couldn't go. I realized I wanted to be in Michigan for a lot of reasons that weren't Brian, and that I shouldn't let the possible effect of complicating things with him further prevent me from that. I really wanted to go there. And where there's a will, there's a way. So I made some very complicated last minute changes to my schedule, and I found my way there.

I had a great time in Michigan. Probably the most fun I've had... *laughs*... since the last time I was in Michigan. Wait, no... that can't be right. There was my birthday. And the NaNoWriMo 29-hour Write-In. And the night of the NaNoWriMo "Thank God It's Over" party. And my office holiday party.

Huh. I just realized that all the events I just mentioned involved me having extraordinarily long conversations with people. And they all involved out-of-the-ordinary situations. And I'm fairly certain that the majority of them involved me entering "Story-Mode" at some point. I need more of all the aforementioned commonalities in my life, I think.

Anyway.

(Picture taken in August)

That's my situation.

While I was in Michigan, Brian gave me perhaps the longest hug of my life. It felt like it lasted for years. And I felt a little guilty for loving it.

My brother thinks I'm a tease. I don't think I am. I hope I'm not. I'm just... indecisive? I don't know.

Brian is no longer on my A.G.A.G. list, but he really should be. I don't know if he realizes all the reasons that this won't work. He's in the military, and he's probably going to be overseas for the better part of next year. And he's going to be in the military for another four years or so. Even when he's in the states, he's not anywhere near Chicago. I'm not doing long-distance (since that worked out so poorly with Ex-Boyfriend #1, who was only 90 minutes away), ESPECIALLY since I'm not even sure about this to begin with.

I adore Brian. He's one of the niftiest people I know. He's probably my best friend at the moment. And as I mentioned once in a tearful breakdown to him (which Brian reminds me of on occasion), I sometimes feel as though he's the only person who really, really tries to know me. Not the me that other people see. The one who lives inside. The one who can't get out. The one that even I don't know all that well.

Brian, if you read this, I hope you're not upset. Maybe I shouldn't have written all of this, but I had to get it out. I had to tell someone who wasn't Megan or Anna. It just felt like something that needed to be written. After all, this blog is my cheap therapy.

To anyone else who made it through this post, thanks for sticking around (8.5 pages in Microsoft Word... I think we have a new record).

May you be reminded of what it's like to feel missed, wanted, and loved.

~A~

P.S. If you want to read my novel, don't forget to post your e-mail address in the comments section. This is clutch. Cool? Good.

P.P.S.

Unresolved

Hello ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the new year.

First off, I'll give you a quick recap of my 2007, as it seems that's what all the cool bloggers are doing...

(Note: Pictures all taken in 2007, though not necessarily in the months they're near)


(My friends and I went to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was going for a Magenta-esque look)

JANUARY
- I began temping at my current workplace.
- I took a Shakespeare class.


(Goofing off with my old roomie, Cameron, in his Maverick flight suit)

FEBRUARY
- I was in a staged reading of a new play (in which I was cast as a 50-year-old woman... perfect, obviously).
- I went through my usual "I hate the world" bout with Seasonal Affective Disorder


(My coworker and me in our cubicles on "Jeans Day", the last Friday of the month. It's a major office event.)

MARCH
- I auditioned for a massive amount of productions, and kept getting called back, but not cast.
- I was hired officially by my current workplace (and got benefits and a 401k. Woo-hoo, I'm an adult!).


(Decked out for a "Pirates, Indians, & Gypsies" party. I think I was trying to be a gypsy.)

APRIL
- I was cast in a play-turned-musical production of Picasso at the Lapin Agile.
- I started playing Guitar Hero II. And kicking booty at it.


(In rehearsal for Picasso at the Lapin Agile.)

MAY
- The cast of said production began giving me lessons in "how to drink socially", and bought me drinks wherever we went.
- I won a Baby Name Pool out of over 700 entries.


(A scene from Picasso at the Lapin Agile, in which I played Suzanne.)

JUNE
- I got a promotion at my current workplace. And a raise. Hooray!
- I broke the heart of the fabulous guy I dated for over 2 years.
- Picasso at the Lapin Agile ran for 4 weeks
- I started dating a new fellow, who everyone knew was completely wrong for me (I think even he and I knew it).


(I get dressed up for the Tony Awards every year. My former roommate Anna looked on.)

JULY
- I took another Shakespeare class.
- My roommates and I threw a few parties, culminating in a "Sexy Party", which rocked my world.


(Some of my college friends and I pose at The Sexy Party)

AUGUST
- I moved into a shoebox-size studio apartment.


(Being a dork with my dear friend, Brian, who is on my speed dial)

SEPTEMBER
- I started this blog!
- It hit me that I'd gained 25 pounds in a year. How on Earth did that happen?


(My Picasso castmates Dave & Dane taught me a lot about bars.)

OCTOBER
- I was dumped by the new fellow. Meh.
- I turned 23.
- I took yet another Shakespeare class (Yeah, I'm a geek. So what?)


(Sniffing out my friend Zel on my birthday)

NOVEMBER
- I participated in (and finished) National Novel Writing Month, which might be the coolest thing I've ever done with my life. I've never been more proud of (or more embarrassed by) anything than my unfinished slap-dash novella.
- I participated in (and finished) NaBloPoMo by posting three completely random things per day for the entire month of November.
- I became a vegetarian (which I STILL am, shockingly; I thought it was a two-week experiment, but it's starting to stick).
- A guy told me he was in love with me (note: not one of the two ex-boyfriends).
- I started another blog (I have an addiction). I'm pretty sure no one reads it but me. But I don't even really care... It's just where I throw links I like so that I can find them later on. And if it amuses others, that's just a bonus.


(Laying my claim on my friends Mike and Jim)

DECEMBER
- I was hit by a car.
- I took a vacation from work to head to Connecticut, New York, and Michigan for 11 days (which I'll probably write about in my next entry... Sorry for the delay).


(Goofing off with Anna)

Eventful year, right?


(Playing Guitar Hero II with Anna, still in our Rocky Horror gear)

I also learned that a few of the people I'd basically forgotten about after high school are some of the coolest people I know. And I gained a couple of "dotcomrades" (and a pen-less pen-pal, with whom I exchange epic e-mails that the rest of the world wouldn't appreciate) whom I've grown fond of. I've learned how to pay bills. I've made up a couple of recipes (the sorts of food that only I would dare touch). I've found a new favorite television show (Pushing Daisies, which makes me want to hug my laptop after every episode that I watch alone in my apartment while eating copious amounts of food). All in all, I'd say it was a good year.


(Dancing in Picasso at the Lapin Agile)

And at this time of year, people tend to think about things they should resolve to do differently in their lives, as a fresh year suggests a clean start.

I bet you're wondering whether I kept my resolutions from last year (actually, you probably weren't... people tend to think so hard about upcoming resolutions that they forget about past ones entirely). Honestly, I don't remember what I resolved to do for 2007. No clue. Just another auld lang sigh (forgive the unnecessary pun).

I tried to quit biting my nails for 1993. And pretty much every year since then. It never sticks. One year, I made it until the last week of February, and then went through an emotional breakdown and gave up. I'm not going to try to give it up this year. Frankly, I like biting my nails. It's comforting. And I have a wicked oral fixation, so it's just easier if I leave it alone. (And really, I could have worse habits. I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, I don't have sex, and I rarely drink... how bad could nail-biting possibly be?)

In 1996 (I think), I gave up drinking cola (I included Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and anything else that was dark, as I was convinced they were staining my teeth). And I successfully completed the year. I overloaded on Sprite and 7-Up so much that year that they've never been quite as good since.

I have a tendency to follow my Lent resolutions better than my New Year ones. I usually give up two things, so that if I'm a horrible failure at one, I can at least stick with the other. Like the year I gave up "worrying" and "elevators". Or the year I gave up "pursuing boys" and "television I can't learn from" (I was still allowed to watch the news and anything with acting on it, -- I considered that to be professional research -- but I couldn't watch, say, anything on VH1. Including Strange Love, which I believe was entirely contained within Lent that year). Or the year I gave up "excuses" and "computer games". I never make it easy on myself, do I? One year I gave up "red wine vinegar", and it threw my whole immune system out of whack (I came down with several back-to-back mystery illnesses), and vowed never to alter my diet in favor of a Lenten promise again.

Anyway. I don't like the idea of changing things just because it's a new year. If you want to make a change in your life, just do it; don't wait for a year change.

That said, there are some things I want to try to improve with, and now is as good a time as any to get going. So here are a few things I've come up with:

- Make a conscious effort to call my brothers more often.
Now that we're living in three different states, I don't talk to my brothers as often as I should. And I know that if I don't do something about it now, it's just going to get harder as we age. So I'm going to try to call each of them at least once a month, instead of just finding out about them through my parents and their Facebook profiles.

- Be more physically active.
I'm a sedimentary rock. I need to start walking more or something. Haven't put much thought into this yet, clearly, but it needs to be done.

- Learn to accept compliments with more grace.
I've mentioned before that I'm horrible at accepting compliments. I always think people are lying to me. Trying to get on my good side. Or mocking me somehow. I don't know. I have less-than-perfect self-esteem (okay, it's pretty bad). And I usually don't agree with the nice things they say (except with strangers... I'm a little better at taking them from strangers, as strangers have no reason to lie to me. I also enjoy complimenting strangers, and have no problem tapping a woman on the shoulder on public transportation to tell her I dig her shoes/purse/hair). But I want to stop that. I want to believe the nice things people tell me. And deflecting every compliment I get isn't going to help my self-esteem. So I'm going to try to stop. I'm going to learn to look them in the eye, smile, and say thank you. Hopefully, I'll be better at it by the end of the year.

- Memorize the correct spellings of excersize, maitenance (maintainence), and immeadiately.
And everything else on my list of "words that I consistently have trouble spelling for no apparent reason and am frequently embarrassed by when I can't figure out how to get them to spell out in T9 on my cell phone, but I don't want to switch over to the alphabet function because then I KNOW I'm spelling them wrong, and I don't want people to think that I don't know how to spell simple words like corderoy, persue, desparate, and seperate." (If any of the aforementioned italicized words looked right to you, then you might want to make this a resolution for yourself as well.) I swear, I'm generally an excellent speller. And I'm embarrassed every time I have to question the spelling of any common word.

(NOTE: I intentionally used my mistake-spellings of these words instead of the correct ones so that you'd be able to see what I'm doing wrong. I think I've actually mastered separate/desperate now, but I used to mix up which had the "a" in the middle and which had the "e". I included two spellings of maintenance because it's the HARDEST word for me to spell for reasons unbeknownst to me, and I usually go through four spellings before I find the correct one.)

- Finish my NaNoWriMo novel.
It seems that the most vote-getting item is for me to post portions of the unbelievably bad novel I'm working on in a weekly blog as I edit and finish the book. So I will. Now, as my business-oriented brother has told me, he thinks this is a horrid idea, as once something is on the internet, you have no way of protecting it. Someone could steal it easily. My solution at this point is to publish it in a "private" blog (if I do that, I'll leave instructions on this blog as to how to get to it or something) and to use Copyscape or something. If anyone else has any thoughts on how to protect my work as I share it, please let me know. Although I can't imagine anyone wanting to steal my unfinished garbage, but some people are incredibly ill-meaning, so you never know.


And, perhaps the most terrifying of all...

- Figure out what I want to do with my life.
I feel like I should have figured this one out by now. And I have a feeling that at least one person out there is probably confused by this. Well, here's something I've recently talked out with a friend well enough to be able to put on paper: I love acting, but I hate being an actor.

Theatre is the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I truly believe that theatre can change the world (a belief that I'll have to explain another time in more detail). And I love working in theatre. I love acting more than I possibly put into words. It helps my soul to breathe. It makes me feel powerful to my core. And I'm good at it.

But that's only a small fraction of being an actor. The rest of it is the business behind it. I hate going to audition after audition, callback after callback, putting everything I've got on the line, and never hearing back. I hate wondering if I'm sending the right head shot to the right company. I hate networking, and schmoozing, and acting like remembering someone's name is going to get me a job down the line when I doubt that it actually will. I hate knowing that I'm just another 20-something white girl, and that plenty of other girls who look/sound/act just like me will be showing up to the same audition, and I am not in any way, shape, or form "special". And I hate failure. I don't have the ego to bounce back from long strings of rejection. And I'm not sure that I ever will.

I'm auditioning for graduate schools in February, and I'm not even certain that I want to go. Would it even do me any good? Or will it just make me an even better actor with the same sets of hang-ups and fears that I have now?

My other problem stems from my indecision and my chameleon-like ability to pick up new tricks. I have too many interests, too many skills, and too many talents, and I always feel like there's something different I should be doing (which is perhaps why I went through SO MANY MAJORS in college). There are days when I ask myself why I'm not trying to get into medical school (I love helping people, I'm great at biology, I kick butt in dissection, and medical professions sort of run in my family). There are days that I want to quit my job and be a writer (NaNoWriMo and blogging were the biggest natural highs of my year). There are days I wonder why I'm not in graduate school for Psychology/History/Dentistry... etc. There are days that I wonder if I've been working towards the wrong goal, and the thing that will make me truly happy is right in front of my nose and I'm ignoring it.

And then there are days that I think if I don't get back on stage soon, I'm going to explode.

My love for theatre consumes me. I think about being on stage every day. I run monologues as I'm getting ready to leave the house (which my brother made fun of me for while I was in Connecticut). I read plays on the bus. I save money so that I can go to plays/musicals/workshops/classes/lectures as often as possible. And it gives me so much joy to be a part of it.

But I hate the business. I hate the idea of having to get agents. I hate the idea of being in horrible shows to get my face seen. I don't think I'm strong enough. I'm more likely to believe criticisms than compliments. I'm more likely to get knocked down and stay there. And when push comes to shove, I'm more likely to give up than try harder.

It wasn't easy for me to admit any of that (and there are many people I hope will never read it), but it's the truth.

So this year, I want to figure that out. I want to know whether I want to keep acting, or throw in the towel. I want to figure out if I need to go back to school and get new, usable skills that can help me get a job I'm well-suited for, or if I should keep doing what I'm doing.

As a side note, acting is truly a craft. And it takes far more training and skill than most people realize. All the arts do. So if you meet someone attempting to make a living in the arts, support them. Don't think to yourself that they should get a "real" job. They have real jobs. And chances are good that they're far more passionate about their chosen careers than you are about yours. If they weren't, it'd be impossible to keep going. It's too hard to do if you don't love it with every fiber of your being.

And some people, like myself, are passionately in love with what they do, but hate the means to do it.


May your fresh year give you a fresh perspective on what you want in life.

~A~


(Jumping for joy after bowling a strike on my birthday)