To My Secret-Keepers

(Me and my classmate Wifey. Yes, I'm tan, thanks for noticing. 04/14/10)

I am an excellent secret-keeper.

I am also an excellent source of information (including that of a restricted nature).

As a result, most people don't know about (or perhaps would not be inclined to believe in) my secret-keeping prowess. But I promise it's true.

I am still holding on to some major secrets that people have told me in the past. I've held one of them for 13 years, and I've never told anyone (and it is still pertinent information today). And I've discovered secrets that I really shouldn't know about that I've kept without being asked to. This includes at least one secret that affects me deeply, and that I am pained by the weight of, to the point that I occasionally hide it from myself.

But honestly? I hate keeping secrets. Especially my own.

So to the dedicated handful of followers who read this blog, even when I have long absences from it, I will now deign you my secret keepers. You have played that role for me already, as you know. And have read some blog posts that have since gone back to the mysterious land of "drafts", where I hope most people will never see them.

Today, I have two secrets for you. Keep them for me.


The first secret...

Remember a now-deleted theoretical post about what someone might do if they were put into a potentially abusive situation with a classmate or coworker?

Well, I took an action. An action I wasn't planning to take. A rather mild one, actually.

I haven't seen and repercussions of it yet. But I'm terrified of them.

And I already regret ever having said or done anything at all.

In this particular case, I just don't think it was worth the risk.

Especially since things are calm at the moment... and I may have just aggravated the waters.




The second secret...

Remember how I was asked to audition for a pre-Broadway run of a musical?

They've asked me to audition again.

And they've asked me not to tell anyone.

Normally, the theatre asking me to hide something from my classmates is something that I would falsely agree to, but then promptly disobey. After all, I hate keeping secrets. And I see no reason to keep theatre secrets from my class (whom I firmly believe should know what's going on at all times if they wish to).

And since my classmates will know my casting in 8 days anyway, it seems silly not to tell them about an audition I have in 6 days...

But I'm not going to tell them.

First of all, I don't want them to be jealous.

Second, I don't want them to beat themselves up for the next 8 days over it.

Third, if I end up not getting into the show, I don't want them to know that I had a second chance and failed.

...

(Yes, I know that the third one is silly, selfish, negative, and vain. But it's in my head.)

Fourth, this secret makes me feel a little bit powerful. The previous times I've had secrets of this nature about casting handed to me by the theatre, a select few held the same information that I did. And it seemed obvious that the information would get around. But right now, I am the only person that knows that I have this audition. Not a single one of my classmates knows. Neither of my roommates knows. The people who know are me, the people in charge of the theatre, my parents, and now you.

I suppose you could say that by putting this on the internet, I'm not keeping the secret very well. And maybe you're right. After all, I know a few people down here that know of this blog's existence. It's possible that my classmate Wifey (or her husband) is reading it right now. Or a certain 3rd-year. But I trust them. And frankly, I'm pretty sure that they don't read this anymore.



Anyway. Those are the things in my life that I don't talk about with people down here. Thank you for being my confidants.


May you be better secret-keepers than I have been today.

~A~

Honest Scrap Award

A big thank you to Amy for giving me the Honest Scrap Award!



"The HonestScrap award comes with a caveat or two. Firstly, you have to tell your readers ten things about you they may not know, but that are true. Secondly, you have to tag 10 people with the award. Thirdly, let all the people you've given the award to know that they've gotten it (comment on their blogs or something). And finally, make sure you link back to the person who awarded you." (Okay, so I personally added in #3 and #4, but really, that's just common courtesy when receiving/bestowing anything.)



The Ten Things are:

1. I don't handle spicy food well. At all. I like to think that my taste buds are just incredibly powerful and can therefore taste the spice when other people can't. Many things labeled "mild" are, in reality, not mild enough for me.

2. I've some things that are called "great literature", but I don't find them nearly as captivating or entertaining as the sorts of books I prefer to read. I'd rather pick up Harry Potter. Or chick lit. Or young adult novels. Or science fiction. The last two books I read were Bitter Is the New Black and Ender's Game. I just found my old copy of Tomorrow, When the War Began in my parents house, so I think I'm going to reread that.

3. When I was in kindergarten, some boys on the bus teased me by calling me Michelangelo, referencing the then-popular cartoon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. There was another girl in my class named Angela, but they never targeted her for some reason. My mother's brilliant solution? She bought me a Michelangelo action figure and got me to love the show. Suddenly, the flustered reaction to teasing turned into, "Yes! I LOVE Michelangelo!" (My mom = superhero)

4. Polka dots make me cheerful. I never actually seek out polka dots, but whenever I see them, they just kinda make me happy. Perhaps I should buy more polka-dotted things...

5. The last post I wrote was post #200... and I didn't realize it until I started writing this one. My grad school blog is at #179 (that's what happens when you blog multiple times a week, kids). My random crap on the internet blog is at #215 if you include everything in the Scheduled folder. And my novel blog that I've pretty much ignored for the last year is at #29.

6. Despite the facts that A. I'm usually far busier than I am now, B. I already have blogs that I can barely keep up with, and C. I use Blogger... I'm actually thinking of starting a new blog (in the style of CakeWrecks) dedicated to bad prom photos... I was thinking of calling it something like "What the Prom?" or "Prom-tack-ular". Why? Because I've saved up about 10 forwarded emails with bad prom photos... And I think it would be fun to put up one a day until I run out (or until people send me more, like the Cake Wrecks chick did). Thoughts?

7. When I was in 2nd grade, I was convinced that I would someday have twin daughters and name them Jessica and Tiffany (it was amusing to me when, many years later, I ended up going to school with a set of identical twins who bore those names). Around 1997, I thought if I had a son I'd name him Tarquin and I'd name a daughter Hedwig. Around 1999, I liked the "name" Anavieve Viana (I can't tell you how much that embarrasses the name-freak in me now). In college I went through a phase where I liked names like Friedrich and Zelda. At one point I had a love affair with Dahlia and Clark. Same with Hazel and Jared. In Roma (when I did as the Romans did), I liked Ginevra and Giacomo. When I moved to Chicago, I really liked the names Jeremy, Bernadette (I would've nicknamed her "Betty", but I think that Ugly Betty has kind of tainted that name), Julie and Malcolm. My favorite male name has been for a while now Henry (and there's a weird part of me that would want to nickname him Helo like on Battlestar Galactica, although I think the sensible part of me would beat the sci-fi fan up for that). My tastes in female names seems to change more rapidly (which is somewhat fitting with the current culture). Today, I'd probably pick something something more elaborate (to fit the times... remember that Olivia, Sophia, and Isabella are popular names right now) but still unusual, like Sabrina, Isadora, Clarissa, or Susannah.

8. Here are the characters I've played (most recent at top) that I can remember off the top of my head:
- Tillie "Tea" (upcoming)
- Laramie "Lara" (upcoming)
- Girl
- Sally
- Pastor Gray
- María "Masha" Sergeyevna Kulygina
- Hildy Matthews
- Mary
- Farina
- Hot Cocoa
- Carmella
- Suzanne
- Carol/Carolyn/Caroline
- Imogen
- Luciana
- Erotium
- Adriana
- Rosalind
- Julia
- The Priest
- Lady Macbeth
- Pfeni Rosensweig
- Diana Barry
- Stepsister Portia
- Violet "Vi"
- Ruthven
- Mrs. Louella Soames
- Digna Ochoa
- Rigoberta Menchu Tum
- Jose Zalaquett
- Marlene
- Abigail "Abby"
- Zot the Robot (yes, I played a robot)
- Fairtone
- Mrs. Myrtle Webb
- Emily
- Ernestina Money
- Miss Susan Barrymore
- Chamka
- Singing Ghost
- Carmel McGregor
- Follies Girl
- Tavern Adult
- Lost Boy
- Peanut Dancer
- Martha's New Clam Chowder Spokesperson
- Anansi the Spider
- The Ugly Duckling
- Peter Rabbit
- The Blue Engine
- The Farmer

I know I'm forgetting some, but I think that's pretty good for an impromptu list.

(Note: I decided a while ago that I would try not to give any child of mine the name of a character that I had played, because it would be too weird. As you can see, this has eliminated several good options.)

9. I have a mouth full of fillings. The dentist I went to for most of my life told me that it's not really my fault. Apparently, I have genetically bad teeth that have deep grooves in the middle, making it easy for cavities to form. I went to the dentist this week (where they told me I'm doing an EXCELLENT job, thank you very much), and the dental hygienist said that the fillings are all small and the cavities really weren't that bad. But then I went to a family practice doctor for a check-up who said he was shocked (SHOCKED) by how many fillings I had, because most people my age grew up with fluoride-fortified drinking water that helped with dental issues. Well, whatever. I blame genetics.

10. I'll admit it: I judge people who heavily align themselves with political parties. It doesn't even matter WHICH party. If someone is too far left, too far right, or too far out into the colorful world of independents, I have a problem with them. I vote based on candidates and issues, which means I end up voting in different directions. People who vote straight down a ticket? It feels like they're looking at politics the same way people look at college football; they've chosen a team, and they want that team to win*. I find myself often trying to play devil's advocate to those people and educate them on grey matter, even if I agree with them on some issues.

*(This seems especially true in presidential elections where people bring up things that have NOTHING TO DO WITH POLITICS in mud-slinging. Like when a family member of mine pointed out that Barack Obama's parents weren't married. What, exactly, does that have to do with an election?)



So okay... I guess it's time to award people (and also tag them with the meme that comes with it).

1. Valerie from Mixed Salad of Thoughts
2. Heidi from Heidi Renée
3. Jenn from Free and Flawed
4. bFlat from Lens Impressions
5. Roisin from The Beat of My Noisy Heart
6. Angela from My Quiet Testimony
7. P from *Insert My Blog Name Here*
8. Gooseberried
9. Katelin from Gorgeous Footsteps in the Sand
10. Pink Sun Drops

Have fun ladies!



May you be so open and honest in your life that lists like this are seriously hard to come up with. And may you be interesting enough that you can come up with them anyway.

~A~

Questions Written on My Face

I've spent half of April 29 wondering if something crazy would happen. And I'm spending the other half trying to prevent anything interesting from happening at all.

I had plans. I was supposed to go to a write-in to work on my novel. And I decided I couldn't. I wanted to lock myself in my shoebox-sized apartment and block out the world for a bit. I even considered turning off my cell phone (but decided I shouldn't render myself unreachable, in case the craziness of April 29 manifested itself in some sort of emergency situation... but even just considering it was a big deal). I just want this special day to not be special anymore. I want it to be like any other day.

Instead, I decided to stay in and write a blog post. On a Tuesday. Because I have something to say. Some thoughts that I have to drain from my skull before they flatten my brain like a pancake.

In the comments section of my last post, my buddy Nilsa said:

I think you should start posting "real life" pictures of yourself (i.e., post-storm) instead of continuous dolled-up ones. We already know you're gorgeous! :-)

This seemingly innocuous comment got my wheels turning in a major way.

I post the pictures that I do because I'm interested in photography. I really like taking photographs of people, but most people I know don't seem to like getting their picture taken. And besides, my camera isn't particularly great. So I improvise. I take pictures of myself. Using my laptop, as I don't have to hold it as I would a camera. I'm both the amateur photographer and the model. It helps me practice. I'm learning about lighting and angles, and even a little bit about editing (although very, very little... any editing I do is in iPhoto, which doesn't have a ton of functions).

Or, at least, that's what I tell myself.

The reason I didn't post a picture of me post-storm was because I didn't have a camera on me then. If I had one at the time, I'm sure a picture would've been taken. And who knows, maybe it would've been posted. It would, after all, have illustrated the story rather nicely.

And I have put a lot of candid pictures on here. Even a few in which I don't think I look particularly attractive.

But maybe not.

I take so many pictures. So, so, so many. And most of them get deleted before anyone other than me sees them. Any picture you ever see of me that I took? It has gone through a strenuous approval process. I have hemmed and hawed over whether it's good enough. I've hit delete on so many pictures. Ones that are blurry. Ones with bad lighting. Ones where I don't look like myself. Ones with bad angles that make me look like I have a double chin (my greatest fear).

I paced around my apartment trying to figure out why that is until I found an answer that is, at least in part, true.

Sometimes I'm afraid that people will see me the way I see myself.

*her vulnerability clicks into place*

It's true. You know how people say you can be whomever you want to be? Sometimes I wonder if I'm only pretending. I like the idea of being the quirky, light-hearted, smiley girl. But am I embracing who I am? Or am I pretending to be something I'm not and taking on this persona as some sort of facade? Maybe my entire being is a lie. Maybe I don't want people to see that I'm really just normal. And boring. And not special in the least.

I see the bad things about myself before I see the good things. I see how thirsty my dry skin is, and how badly it breaks out and taunts me when I over-moisturize it. I see the disorder in my eyebrows. I see the gaps reforming between my teeth because I stopped wearing my retainers once a month like the orthodontist said I should. I see my loathsome neck and the double-chin effect that it has been producing for the last 10 months in photographs and mirrors alike. I see my pathetic, bony wrists. I see the features that seem too big for my face. I scrutinize every detail. I'm sure I've worked myself up over problems with parts of my face and body that other people wouldn't look at twice. But then, why would they? These things are my burden, not theirs.

There are days when I think I'm attractive. And there are days when I don't. You may have noticed that two of the posts I put up recently had photos that were clearly taken on the same day. I stockpile them sometimes. Whenever I have a day when I feel cute, I take a bunch of pictures. Because I know there will be days when I don't feel cute. And I want to have those pictures. They make me feel like maybe I was once. And maybe I could be again.

God, that makes me sound so... fake. And manufactured. Maybe I am to some extent. Maybe I only allow people to see the parts of me that I approve first. Maybe I need that level of control.

You know what, fine. Here.



This is what I look like right now, at this very moment. I'm lying down, typing, with all the lights off. I'm wearing a truly hideous nightgown and am not wearing a stitch of makeup. And the sunset in the background is far more interesting than I am.

When I look in the mirror, I see me. I see all the flaws that come with me. And not just physically. I see the tenacity. I see the fear. The loneliness. The indecision. The manipulation. All of it.

Sometimes I have conversations with myself in the mirror. I will literally ask myself questions and answer them. All aloud. And sometimes I surprise myself with the answers. Sometimes I say things that I didn't know were underneath the surface until I say them.

(Note: I just started typing out one of these conversations, and then realized just how inexcusably dumb it sounds.)

There's a line from the movie The Truth about Cats and Dogs that Uma Thurman's character delivers... "Did you ever look in the mirror so long that your face didn't make sense anymore? It just becomes all these shapes. Just shapes. Not good or bad."

I do that. My face has lost a lot of meaning to me. I look at the pieces instead of at the whole. Sometimes I stare at my reflection until I'm near tears. And what's really horrifying and embarrassing about it is that I don't know why. Maybe it's just to see if I still can.

Do other people do this? Is there something wrong with me? Shouldn't I have grown out of this by now?

But I haven't. I have flaws. I have fears. I have insecurities. I have more boundaries and barriers than international travel. I can try to work through them as much as I like, but they'll never be completely gone. They're a part of me... Take it or leave it.

So you know what, while I'm in this vulnerable, uncovered sort of mood, I'm opening it up. I'm blatantly ripping off an idea from my blogging buddy Tipp (hope you don't mind).

Leave a question for me in the comments.

Please.

And, barring anything that might make it possible for an online stalker to track me down or a person I know in real life to find me via Google, I'll answer it. Honestly. Openly. Vulnerably. Longiloquently. And to the best of my ability.

Seriously. Anything. Even if it's something stupid. It'll give me something to think about other than the thoughts that are currently rolling around in my head. And that would be a welcome distraction. And it'll remind me that someone, somewhere, wonders what I look like on the inside.

ETA: Hey, lurkers! Come out, come out, whomever you are!

I hope it'll be a learning experience for all of us.


May you step back from the mirror and try to see yourself another way.

~A~


P.S. Please don't go paying me obligatory compliments and trying to build up my self-esteem or something. I wasn't fishing for niceties with this. And frankly, knowing that you've read what I've just written, it would be hard for me to believe them anyway.

P.P.S. Maybe that's what was supposed to happen today. Maybe that was my fluke. Having a weird psychoanalysis in my apartment alone, with no outside stimulus. Happy April 29 to me.

P.P.P.S. I'm sorry, Bri.

Nobody Knows Me at All

I know this is technically late, but you got two last weekend, so I think we're even.

Happy February.

My S.A.D. (Seasonal Affected Disorder) started a little early. I almost started crying at work on Wednesday. And I snapped at two coworkers on Thursday morning when they were making fun of me. But I'm sick of being the butt of their jokes, even though I know they don't mean anything by them. I hate being teased.

I don't know how I'm going to make it through this month. I hate February.

Last night, I went to yet another coaching session with Susan and Jeffrey (the 4th time I've worked with them in 7 days, by the way). Jeffrey recently told me thinks that I have what it takes to get into Julliard (which is where he went). He says I have a "great instrument", that I'm "very talented" and seem "driven and passionate" (that last part was after giving him my "theatre can change the world" speech in the middle of a bar). I looked into it. Their auditions are this coming week, but you had to have sent your application in back in November. Jeffrey said to call them today to see if they'll let me audition anyway. So I might.

I worked on Juliet's vial speech last night. And I had a complete emotional breakdown. It felt great to be that vulnerable. And then I had several glasses of wine (which is something that I never, ever do. I don't think I've ever had more than a half a glass in my life before last night. I think I finished off more than half a bottle by myself. And for someone who doesn't drink... Well, let's just say I may have made some dumber decisions if I hadn't gone straight home after class. And as it was, I made three facebook videos for people.)

But that sort of vulnerability is something I don't feel a lot in life. Really, I feel it most in my acting and in my writing.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone really knows me. Maybe I head people off at the pass too often. And there are so many things that run through my head that I've never verbalized.

I talked out the early stages of this entry with a new friend of mine (from Shakespeare classes... what else?). She said it might be a good idea to leave some things out. I guess it's because of the adage, "never in writing." But I don't know. Stupid as this may be, and as much as I may regret it, it feels right in the moment. And if there's anything that acting teaches you, it's living in the moment.

And I'm in a truth-serumed sort of mood, so here goes. Here are a bunch of things that you probably don't know about me...


- I assume that I'm smarter than at least 85% of the people I meet. Maybe 90%.

- Whenever I look at my results on the application "Compare People" on Facebook, I ignore all the really positive responses I've gotten (100% wins for Most Naturally Talented, ranked #1 Most Creative... etc.) and instead look at the negatives (why does no one think I'm sexy? And they don't think I'm smart? Or that I have a good body?). And I develop complexes as a result.

- As often as I talk about the possibility of never settling down and having a family, there is a part of me that wants to follow exactly in my mother's footsteps. Because my mom is awesome, and being just like her would not be a bad fate. And since three of my coworkers have been pregnant simultaneously, I think I've got a light case of what Megan would call "baby fever". But it's very, very, very mild. Mostly, I'm still terrified by the idea of actually having to raise children.

- No matter how good I am at something, I never think I'm good enough.

- I honestly believe that I'm fascinating.

- I have a hard time imagining anyone ever loving me enough to want to marry me.

- Even though it's commercial and cheesy, every time I hear the song "To the Moon and Back" by Savage Garden, I come close to tears. Same for my favorite song, "I Want to Save You" by Something Corporate (what does it say about me that my favorite song makes me want to cry?)

- If I don't think I can do a good job at something, then I probably won't do it at all.

- I dance down the sidewalk on my way home from work every day when I think no one's watching. And sometimes when people are watching. And I mouth the lyrics to whatever is playing on my iPod. Last week, a homeless man came up to me while I was dancing on the corner waiting for a car to pass and started dancing with me.

- Sometimes, I think I'm the coolest person on the planet (and that I have more fun than anyone else), but that no one knows it but me. (Case in point: I dance while I'm walking home. What's more awesome than that?)

- As soon as I find out that someone is an actor, I make a snap-judgement attempting to gauge their abilities. And I've been proven wrong many, many times.

- Other than judging abilities, my first impressions of people are usually pretty good. But I rarely trust my gut instincts, as I think it's unfair to do so. And then it takes me long periods of time to rediscover what I knew at the very beginning.

- Whenever I'm really stressed out, I consider cutting off all of my hair. Sort of like Deb in Empire Records, but not quite that drastic. About a week ago, I actually picked up a pair of scissors, held it up to my ponytail, and fully intended to cut it all off. But I chickened out when I remembered grad school auditions and the fact that my head shots show me with long hair.

- Sometimes I feel as though I play a character in my life more than I play myself.

- When I can't sleep, I put a pillow at my back and try to imagine that it's a person. And that I'm not alone. Some nights, that's the only way I get any rest at all. Other nights, I fall asleep hugging a pillow. Clearly, I hate sleeping alone. And I don't mean that in a sexual way in the least. I just really like the idea of another person in the bed. But, as I talk (and apparently sing) in my sleep, and I have a twin-sized bed, and I'm a horrible cover hog, no one ever shares a bed with me. So it's all just in my imagination. *sigh*

-I think that my tastes in music/movies/television/books/etc. are far superior to everyone else's.

- I honestly believe that I am immune to the flu.

- When someone hurts me, I'm bitter about it for a very long time. I thought I was going to see a person earlier this week who hurt me quite badly a couple of years ago and is apparently unaware of that fact. And I was gritting my teeth just thinking about it.

- I love walking around in my underwear and a t-shirt. Even now that it's winter and my apartment is often cold. But I never walk around naked. I just don't.

- Every time I step on my new scale, I write down the date, the time, and my weight. For no good reason.

- I hide cash around my apartment. Just in case.

- I have an intense fear of being raped.

- I think I'm a great story-teller. And no one can tell me otherwise.

- Running seems like a punishment to me. Therefore, I generally only run when chased. Or if I'm really late for something.

- The thing that hurts me most is when people say, "oh, well you don't count." Usually this happens when I am an exception to a rule they're trying to prove, and they're saying that I don't count because of how quirky and generally against the norm I am. As though I'm considered an out-lier because I'm close to the edge of the bell curve. It makes me feel like a freak every time. And I hate that.

- I once tried to convince my mother that I was a lesbian so that she'd stop trying to imagine (or create, or force) relationships between me and every male I mentioned from school. It didn't work out well.

- I sent in like four postcards to PostSecret. None of them ever showed up on the website. I was fully disappointed. My secrets were way better than some of the stuff I've seen on there.

- Whenever I don't fully know the lyrics to a song I'm singing, I use those moments to take a sip of my drink. Or I'll turn away from people and just sort of mumble through those parts. And act as though I know the lyrics when I clearly don't. I don't think I'm fooling anyone.

- Every time I make a bet, I lose. Seriously, every time.

- I sucked my thumb when I was a kid. Every once in awhile I wonder if I'll gain the same sense of comfort from sucking it again. So I try. But it never quite works.

- The first thing I notice about guys physically is generally their teeth. A good smile can really win me over. Or biceps. I have a weakness for good arms. Like Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity. *drool*

- I rarely go without a bra. And I NEVER go commando. It's just uncomfortable.

- When people go by their full names, I have a strange need to nickname them. And when they go by nicknames, I desire to call them by their full names.

- The concept of sex is stressful to me. Seriously, just thinking about it freaks me out.

- There is a part of me that assumes I'll be famous someday for something. I think about how I'll deal with all the media attention, and the autograph signing, and being swamped with fan mail and friend requests from strangers on facebook.

- I have a friend who ruins everything she tries to introduce me to. She's not a great story teller. She explains things badly. She spoils endings of things (or important aspects of them) when trying to convince you that they're worth watching/reading. And I always end up disliking the things she talks about just from their descriptions (or songs she thinks I'd like based on her a cappella renditions of them). But then, if I actually experience those things while separated from her, it turns out that they were right up my alley. So we actually have similar tastes. And she just really sucks at the way she recommends stuff. But I would never tell her that.


So that's all for now.

May you find a way to feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable.
May you discover something that you want to do for the rest of your life.
May you learn to trust that people won't use information to hurt you.
May you make it through February (and help me make it through as well).

~A~

P.S. You should listen to "The Way I Am" by Ingrid Michaelson on my ProjectPlaylist. Because it's full of lovely thoughts. And I can't listen to it just once. It's currently an 8-times-in-a-row song for me.

ETA: Here's a lovely quotation I picked up in Shakespeare class:

"Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction."
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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.

Honestly Sincere

When I was in fourth grade, I wanted to be Harriet the Spy. For those of you unfamiliar with the character, she was a young girl who kept journals of everything she encountered because of her desire to be a writer. She watched people whenever she could, and she wrote down her observations in a harshly opinionated manner. Of course, eventually, her secrets got out. Her journal winds up in the hands of her peers, who were quite rightly furious. She inadvertently attacked every one of her classmates with her honesty. They formed an alliance against her, and made her life miserable. Eventually, they forgave her, but it was a painful journey.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea from that. I’m not sick. I didn’t want to be Harriet because of this friendless, isolated, and tormented existence (although I think I identified with her because of it). I wanted to be able to experience the world as she did. I’ve always had a lively imagination, a love of writing, and a strong sense of curiosity (some would call it being nosy; it’s a subtle distinction, along the lines of whether I’m gullible or trusting… “curious & trusting” is far preferable to “nosy & gullible”). What I didn’t have was her boldness and her courage. For example, she hid in a dumbwaiter in order to get a closer peek into the life an eccentric rich woman. That takes guts.

There is one other thing that I have in common with Harriet. My honesty has a way of getting me into trouble. It’s been happening a great deal recently. I hurt one friend because I was too blunt with my words, and came off sounding like a nasty person who was lecturing her (that was today, actually). I hurt a relationship because I gave a friend information that he would’ve rather not known. I hurt another friendship because I shared something about myself that he wasn’t ready to handle. And I’ve hurt myself by saying the things I’m thinking, when it would be far better for me if they remained thoughts.

I’ve been in awkward situations more than once because I told one of my male friends that I had a crush on him (I used to carry around a card in my wallet that said “Never Fall in Love with Your Guy Friends.” I kept it for years, until I actually started dating one of my guy friends. I don’t know what happened to it after that). That ended up failing particularly badly in the instance when the male in question was dating my best friend (I was in middle school. And I had a crush on him long before she did. She was just the one with enough Harriet-the-Spy gusto to ask him out).

I manage to hurt myself and others with my honest nature more often than you’d think. I embody the antithesis to the adage “honesty is the best policy.” It’s not true. Silence is the best policy. If you can’t be silent, then omission is a good way to go. And if you can’t omit, then as a last resort you should go with honesty. Lying almost never works out (if you don’t believe me, rent a season of Seinfeld, Friends, Frasier, or any other 1990s sitcom, and I’m sure you’ll see a multitude of fictional examples that will back me up. You can learn a lot from watching characters fail miserably), so it’s best to avoid it all together.

I would also like to quote the character of Cal from the movie The 40 Year Old Virgin on this matter: “Yeah, you should definitely tell her, because I saw this movie called Liar, Liar, and the message was ‘don’t lie.’ And that was a smart movie.”

Another reason I’m honest is because I’m a lousy liar. No one believes me when I say that (it does sound like the sort of thing a habitual liar would say), but it’s sadly true. And for an actor, I’m extraordinarily horrible (I mention this only because people use the fact that I’m an actor as some sort of proof that I must be an expert in the field of lying. It’s completely different from being in character. The two really have nothing to do with each other). I wear my emotions on my face, and it’s very easy to figure out that there’s something going on.

I have recently discovered that my most successful poker face is a smile, as I have a tendency to smile through many different emotions. I smile when I’m frustrated. I smile when I’m happy. When I’m frightened, I smile. When I’m relieved, I smile. I smile when I’m pissed as hell at you. I smile when I’m about to cry. I smile when I’m offended (when I’m extremely offended, I start to laugh… Don’t ask me why. Beats me). I smile buckets full when I’m really depressed (so far only one person has been able to see through the smile-mask and ask me what was wrong, and he only did it once. I think I broke down into hysterical sobbing as soon as he asked). And I smile when I’m lying (or omitting). See? It’s the perfect poker face (just like Kenneth on 30 Rock). Okay, so not perfect. I have a lot of different smiles. If you were to pay attention, you’d probably be able to sort out which is which.

Anyway. Since I am learning that I would benefit from holding my tongue more, I’m attempting to do just that. I’ve started censoring myself to prevent undesirable effects from occurring. While I’m still figuring it out, it makes for some strange conversations. I’ll often start to say something, then think the better of it and cut myself off mid-sentence. Of course, all that serves to do is intrigue whomever I’m speaking with and make them think that what I was about to say was incredibly important. Or they take it as some sort of challenge to discover what I’d both spurred and stopped. Often, it’s just something that I’ve determined, after consideration, doesn’t need to be said. Sometimes I decide that it would be less embarrassing for me not to say it. Or, after thinking too much about it, I worry that there could be some other potential negative consequence that might result from it. If ever you are engaged in such a conversation with me, just know that if I’ve stopped saying something, it’s probably for the best. And try not to get offended.

Another trick I’ve learned is to be able to blame honesty on something else, such as a “bad day” or “lack of sleep”. I find that alcohol is particularly good for this. I’m not much of a drinker, so I only recently discovered something that most of my peers have known for quite some time: drinking is a fantastic excuse. Seriously. It’s hard to come up with something else that’s an equivalent cure-all for bad social situations. That stupid thing you said last night? You’d been drinking. Calling your ex to find out why he dumped you? You were obviously drunk. Trying to proposition your friend? You don’t remember it because you were so wasted.

I’ve only used the alcohol thing a couple of times. Like when I tried to tell a friend to break up with a significant other… The next day it was a non-issue. The friend didn’t seem to remember it, and I figured if it ever came up in conversation I would chalk up my actions to the Stoli-and-Sevens I’d had immediately prior to our chat.

Alcohol has certainly facilitated some important discussions in my life, though. I wasn’t anywhere near drunk, mind you. But somehow, when both you and the person you’re talking with have it in your system, alcohol makes conversations more acceptable. A recent exchange I had was one I would’ve been comfortable having sober, but the person I was speaking with needed a few beers before the possibly offensive subject was broached. Thank you, beer, for being the excuse we needed to get that topic off the ground.

I’m willing to have a lot of strange conversations without any aid, though. In fact, I ask people things on a regular basis that they’re not comfortable with, mostly because I’m too naïve to know that I shouldn’t be asking them. Like in a recent phone call to a male friend when I asked what sort of underwear he preferred. Despite his generally forthcoming nature, he seemed flustered for a good fifteen seconds out of sheer surprise that I had asked him something of that nature so casually. I didn’t understand what the problem was… I was just curious/nosy/being a good spy.

The flip side of this is that I’m willing to answer most questions without getting too self-conscious. I have recently responded to questions that are EXTREMELY personal. I won’t be doing that in this blog (there are some things about myself that I just don’t want on the internet). But I understand curiosity. And I’d rather be asked and answer than volunteer information that might prove awkward. It’s easier to share things if they are prompted by another action or solicited by a pointed question.

There are some things, though, that I don’t share. They’re the sorts of things that don’t come up in daily chats, and that I would never go out of my way to bring them up. And so today, I mailed them to Post Secret. I mailed four postcards. One of them I made over a year ago. Two I made in February. I made the final one a couple of days ago. And I finally decided it was time to mail them. I doubt any of them will get put online, but I know that the guy who does Post Secret does exhibits at museums on occasion. I like to think that someday, somewhere, someone out there might end up reading these things that I hold so close. Does that make me some warped form of exhibitionist? I hope not. It’s more like a Dear Mr. Henshaw thing (see previous blog entry).

Back to the problems with my honesty… A friend pointed out to me today that I meddle. This is true. It’s part of that Savior Complex I mentioned previously. I tell people exactly what I think they should do (just another form of being too honest). I feel like people will be better off if I’m there to help facilitate the right sorts of events in their lives. Like Dolly Levi (please tell me you’ve seen “Hello, Dolly!”), “I put my hand in there.”

A friend of mine once said she wanted a job as a “professional realist.” She thought that she should be paid to help stage interventions involving people who were not seeing the world in a rational way. She could tell a screechy tone-deaf girl that she’ll never be a jazz singer, and that she should keep her day job. She could tell the guy who spends all his time playing video games that he’s 32 years old and it’s time to move out of his parents’ basement and get a job. That sort of thing. And frankly, she’d be rather good at it. If she were to tell me that I am wasting my time writing blog entries, I might just listen.

Maybe that’s the sort of job I should get as well. I’d be able to put all this truth-telling and hip-shooting to good use. Until I find a dream job such as this, I’m going to continue to censor, consider, and reconsider some of the things I say before I say them (well, more realistically, as I say them. I’ll learn eventually).

May your days be filled with comfortable silence.

Sincerely,

~A~

P.S. Yes, the title is a Bye, Bye Birdie! reference, and you win points with me if you caught that.