Tipping the Scale

(Me and my classmate Iceman performing at Drunken Shakespeare last week.)

After much research, I reworked my American résumé into a more British-looking CV. Then I sent it off to a friend of Phil's who is some sort of headhunter for advice on how to make it better. And what she sent me back were basically instructions on how to turn this CV into something that was nearly identical to the résumé that I had initially. (Is that irony? I'm always so afraid of using -- or, really, misusing -- that word... It's a combination of funny and frustrating, I suppose.)

But there are bits of progress on this road.

- I had a job interview that would give me a three-month, part-time internship. It seemed to go well. It's exactly the sort of thing that I'm qualified for, thanks to my years in Chicago doing database work at a desk. *fingers crossed*

- A really, really awesome internship position opened up at an acting agency. I wouldn't be acting, of course, but I've heard it's a good idea for actors to intern at agencies, to try to learn the ins and outs of a different side of the business. There are only two spots, and I'm guessing it's going to be super competitive... But if I got it, it would be perfection.

- Mom seems to have gotten some positive news regarding the Italian citizenship whatnot. We're still a long ways off from anything actually happening, but this is a start.


So maybe I'm getting closer.

Long distance relationships are, as one might imagine, fraught with difficulties. They are a breeding ground for anxiety. They eat large chunks of time out of your day, during which you sit around waiting and waiting for a Skype call that could come at any time within a vague three-hour span. They force you to sacrifice attending social events with real live people whom you could actually touch if you so chose. They plant seeds of doubt in your mind, making you question over and over again whether this complicated relationship -- and all of the turmoil, work, stress, loneliness, and heartache it brings you -- is worth it. And if you're doing it right, you have to believe with every part of your being that it is.

Each passing day brings with it the painful knowledge of a longer separation, making it harder to recall what the other person smells like, or how it feels when they touch your face. But the passing days also bring with them the knowledge that you are one day closer to being reunited (which doesn't provide a great deal of comfort, truth be told, but you have to gather strength wherever and whenever you can).

I don't know why I've had so many long distance relationships in my life. Just unlucky, I guess. Or maybe so foolhardy that I think it's best to date whomever I want to date, regardless of how separated our present locales may be. Of course, in the past, there has always come a day when the cons of the relationship have outweighed the pros.

I won't lie: the con side of the scale is very heavy at the moment.

(*whiny teen moment* This is really, really hard, you guys.)

But it doesn't matter. I can't imagine not being with him. So those cons, as heavy as they may be, are irrelevant. They are given circumstances, and I accept them.

I will find a way to get to London. I will tip the scale, emptying the con tray in one motion. I will.


May you know how to tip the scale in your own favor.

~A~

My Love Lives in London

Phil came to visit at the end of January. For the first time, he was in my world instead of me being in his. And it was surreal, in the best way possible. It was marvelous.

We went to Universal Studios. (Including the Harry Potter World, which aside from the ButterBeer was COMPLETELY DISAPPOINTING.)




We went to the Jungle Gardens where we fed flamingoes (including Adrian, the baby I studied my first year for an acting observation assignment) and he held an alligator (named Peter Pan).






We played mini-golf (and I won). And we shopped. And we hung out in the tourist-y part of town.


He met my parents. They came down to Florida to meet him. At the first moment I had with them without Phil...

Mom: Oh, Angela! We LOVE Phil!!! Phil is just great! [Dad's name], Angela wants to know how much we love Phil.

Dad: Did she say that?

Angela: No.

Dad: Well. He seems like a nice, polite, hard-working, ambitious, intelligent young man, and he cares about you very much. We're very happy for you.

We had a picnic on the beach.




We went to the Dali museum.


He saw me act for the first time.






We explored the banyan trees and the Ringling grounds.






We put up a reading of a play he wrote (which was a massive success!!!) and hung out at a bar with the cast afterward.






We had an early Valentine's day.


We felt good and right and happy and comfortable and normal and wonderful.


Since he's been gone, it's been tough. The first week apart felt horrible. Far worse than the previous times we've been separated.

Maybe it's because we're deeper in this than we were before. Maybe it's because we don't know when we're going to see each other again. Maybe it's because once you get to a point where being with someone is normal, it's hard to feel normal without them.

I applied to a job in London that would grant me a 6-month internship visa. I could use some prayers, if you're the praying sort. Or I'll take some good vibes and well wishes if you're not.

If I don't get it... I don't know what we'll do.

The German citizenship isn't happening, and now it looks like Italian may be out as well. The Tier 1 Work Visa for highly skilled migrants (like people with MFAs) has now been discontinued for "overseas applicants" like me.

If we got engaged, I could live in the U.K. for 6 months, but I wouldn't be able to work... and I can't afford that. Which means we'd have to get married super-fast, and I'm not okay with that.

Phil is the man I want to marry. But I don't want my marriage to start as a result of a worst case scenario. "Well this didn't work, that didn't work, and this other thing didn't work. Darn it, I guess we'll have to get married." It just doesn't seem right.



So if anyone out there knows anyone that could help me, please let me know. In particular, I am looking for:
- Immigration solicitors/lawyers
- Members of Parliament, or other officials in the British government
- Anyone in the Royal Family
- Anyone in London who might be able to offer me a job that could get me a work visa
- Anyone in London who might be able to offer me an internship (either paid or with free housing) that could get me an internship visa
- Anyone who is a US citizen who is currently living in the UK on some sort of visa.
- Italian government officials
- Anyone who works in the Italian embassy, even as a secretary
- Con artists, mafiosos, or other unsavory characters who might be able to finagle a way for me to get into the U.K. with the ability to work


That's how desperate I am to get back to this boy.



May you not have to resort to illegalities to get what you want.

~A~

I've Been Meaning to Blog...

But I just don't have the interest these days.

I went and visited Phil. It rocked. I met his friends. I met his parents. I got a lot of good cuddling time in. And he brought so much joy into my world, I can't tell you.

When I got back to the USA, it felt wrong. Home isn't a place anymore; home is a person. I'm home when I'm with Phil.

I've had a cold/cough since December 7th. It just won't quit, even though I've had a Z-pack, two nasal sprays, and have been taking Mucinex-DM. I'm going back to the doctor tomorrow.

I finished out the year of 2010 in a room with 3 people over the age of 65, and 5 gay men I met that night. It should've been lonely. And strange. But it's alright. I celebrated with Phil over Skype at midnight GMT (7pm my time).

2010 was supposed to be The Year of the Crimson Diva. But what 2010 actually became was so much more than that. It was the year when I learned to accept and love myself as I am. And it was the year that I found someone else whom I love.

Maybe 2011 should be The Year When I Learn to Be a Lady. But that seems like too much of an undertaking. So instead it will be the year when I try to pare down on my things... and perhaps the year when I start being more organized.

To be honest, I like being a messy person. It's a lifestyle choice. I feel more in control of my space when I can take over and throw stuff everywhere. I like that.

But Phil is neat and organized. He's somewhat OCD about it. So we're both going to have to learn to compromise. I'm going to learn how to not hate organization. And he's going to have to learn how to deal with things not being in perfect order (because if he lines up the remote controls in a parallel manner, God help me, I may have to strangle him).

I wouldn't change on my own. But I'm going to try to change for him. I guess this must be getting serious.

Oh, who am I kidding. I think you all know this is serious. I love him. And I can't imagine my life without him.

This is the guy. This is it.

Of course, now I have to find a way to be with him.

I'm applying for a job in London that would give me a 6-month internship Visa. It would work out perfectly for my life goals. If you're a praying sort of person, I could use a little back-up on this one.

I'm also applying for Italian citizenship. And applying for a Tier 1 work Visa. And looking into other internships in the UK.

I have to get to him.

But in the meanwhile, he's coming to me.

I'm in rehearsals for a play right now. I have a great role. I'm having fun. It opens on January 21st.

On January 23rd, Phil lands in Florida. He'll be here for 10 days.

On January 28th, my parents land in Florida. They'll be able to see my play AND meet Phil.

It's a big couple of weeks for me. I'm excited. And scared.

And I really need to start cleaning my room.



May what your goals be great, and your accomplishments greater.

~A~

Happily Sleepless

I can't sleep. Not that the inability to sleep is unusual for an insomniac like me. But this is different.

I can't sleep because I'm excited.

On Saturday, I fly to London.

On Sunday (around 2:20am EST, or 7:20am GMT), I will be in London.

That's about 50 hours from the time I'm writing this.

Phil is meeting me at the airport.

...

Guys, have I mentioned how crazy about him I am?

(I like him a completely normal amount.)

I'm so happy that I'm about ready to cry.

I can't wait.

:)


May you find someone who makes you feel complete.

~A~

Clearing the Mixed Signals

After writing that angry blog post of mine, I went over to All-The-Way & Killer's house in tears. All-The-Way calmed me down. She assured me that I WOULD be going to London. And that she would do everything in her power to make it so. She even suggested that she could understudy the roles I'm assigned in addition to her own, so that they'd be covered if I left town. (She is leaving town in November as well, so I could return that favor pretty easily.)

I woke up yesterday morning and Skyped Phil. I had explained the Equity weeks terror of the day before in an e-mail, and had encouraged him to pray about it. He was upset, but trying to be positive. I had decided to try to talk with the head of the program. Phil coached me on what to say in order to try to get positive responses.

Remind him that I asked for permission.
Don't mention that I'm leaving the country.
Mention that they weren't originally going to have understudies for this production at all.
Don't mention that I'm upset because I really, really, really want to see my boyfriend.

So, taking a cue from Cher in Clueless, I put on my most capable-looking outfit, and I went to school.

I knocked on Head-of-Program's door... He was actually down the hall, but he saw me and came to meet me. He actually seemed happier to see me than he usually did. I'm guessing it had something to do with the fact that he thought he was solving my Equity problem with his understudy plan, and that he could be my big hero that morning.

Head of Program: Good morning, Angela. What can I do for you?

Angela: Hey [HoP]. I heard that the way we are getting the rest of our Equity weeks might be from understudying [Big Broadway-Bound Musical].

HoP: (grinning) Yes. You will be.

Angela: Okay. That's great. If you remember, I have a trip scheduled (HoP puts on stern expression) during the period of time that [Big Broadway-Bound Musical] is in performances, (HoP stares at me without changing expression, so I tiptoe carefully), and I was wondering... if that will... affect things... with my understudying.

HoP: It'll affect things a lot. (vaguely threatening) You DO want your Equity card, don't you?

Angela: Yes, of course.

HoP: Then you can't go on your trip.

Angela: Would it be possible to be an understudy for only part of the run? I only need two weeks.

HoP: I just really don't think that would be allowed by Equity.

Angela: Well, I know that [All-the-Way] has a trip scheduled during the same time period. Would it be possible for us to take on each other's understudy roles in addition to our own and...

HoP: I just don't know, Angela. (sternly) See, this is exactly why we tell you not to make travel arrangements without asking us, because the schedule changes and...

A: But I did ask you.

HoP: (puzzled, but still stern) Which trip are we talking about?

A: The one I scheduled for the beginning of December, which you said I could go on because I wasn't in rehearsals or understudying anything at that time.

HoP: (defensive) Well, I really don't know. We're still figuring all of this out. This all just thrown at us. I really don't know. I'm working on it...



And then he literally walked out of his own office, leaving me standing there.

Honestly, I think he was most spooked by the fact that he, himself, in person, and in an e-mail, had granted me permission to go on this trip. I have four (yes, FOUR) other classmates who booked trips in November thinking that we had nothing scheduled... But THEY didn't ask permission. So he knew he could escape their anger by hopping through his own conveniently placed loop-hole (he rarely grants permission for trips if he can avoid it in order to eke out of situations like this one... It took weeks, multiple e-mails, and a scheduled, in-person meeting in order to get him to give me an answer about my trip).

But with me, he given a rare grant of permission. (One that my classmates originally said I shouldn't ask for... They said it was totally fine to leave if I had no commitments, that it wasn't a big deal to miss our totally-pointless-and-often-cancelled class, and that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission anyway). He might not have been able to remember it, but he knows that I am not a rule-breaker (usually). And I think he knew I would hold him accountable for that.

I hopped in the tour van and went on the road with my cast, completely unsettled.

I sent the above conversation to Phil (thank goodness my cell phone has e-mail capabilities). Phil was angry with HoP, threw out some insults, and suggested that I try to go over his head.

Then HoP sent an e-mail asking us to all tell him how many Equity weeks we had acquired thus far (not including our upcoming season). So we called Equity, passed around my cell phone, and each of us had them look up our weeks. And then I e-mailed everyone's hours to him via cell-phone (seriously, what did people do before modern technology?).

With the exceptions of Killer (who had weeks before he got here) and Newbie (who did her 1st-year twice, and had weeks from both times), we all had 26 weeks. D-Train, despite this, was going to be fine for weeks, as he is cast in [Big Broadway-Bound Musical], and thus has a 30-week season this year.

So our next e-mail from HoP stated that the other 7 of us (All-The-Way, Iceman, O.D., Thrill, Two-Shots-Up, Wifey, and Me) would be understudying [Big Broadway-Bound Musical].

And then he wrote:

We will decide how to make use of you in the next few weeks, but you should plan on being around in order to provide support in the production when needed. Stay tuned. At the very least it’s chance to observe and be a part of this production.

As to travel issues, we can work them out.

To me, that last sentence meant one thing...

I'm going to London.

I know that's not a guarantee of any sort as to how this is all going to play out. They might decide that they, in fact, cannot work it out. Or they might be angry when they find out that the amount of time I originally requested to leave and the amount of time I will actually be gone don't line up...

But at this point, even if they don't want me to go, I don't think they have a good enough case to stop me.

Also, my classmates totally owe me... because if I hadn't asked for permission, they wouldn't be able to go on their trips in November. See? Sometimes it pays to be a rule-follower.

And sometimes, it means that things like this get to happen:

See all that happiness?

We'll be revisiting that in about 39 days.

And we're pretty ecstatic about that.

May things work out in the end.

~A~

When Angela Gets to Hug Phil

(If you're on Google Reader, click through to see the countdown)

The State of the Angela Address

(In a crazy get-up to go out dancing with Two-Shots-Up in September.)


I have this strange feeling going through me right now. A need to cry. And I have no idea why.

So, as I often do when I have feelings that I can't explain, I'm going to talk it out with myself. And today, I've decided to do that in writing form. I have no idea what's about to come out. Honestly. So hang on, because this could be a weird ride.

I've been touring a show with my classmates. We do up to 3 performances a day. In our first 6 days of performances, we had 10 shows... which is a worse schedule than Broadway performers have (they do 8 shows in 6 days). We're traveling in two vans. One carries 2 actors, 9 chairs, 9 costumes, 1 sound system, 1 microphone & stand, 1 crate of random whatnot, and occasionally some lighting equipment (depending on the venue). The other van contains 1 stage manager and 7 actors. Some of our performance venues are up to 2 hours away. Then we get there, load-in everything ourselves, set up the show, get into costumes and make-up, perform, do a talk back, get out of costumes and make-up, load-out everything into the vans, and then drive to the next performance venue. (And sometimes, depending on the schedule, they give us each $7 for a less-than-healthy fast-food lunch.)

As you can imagine, it's insane. Most of the time, it's fun. We entertain ourselves backstage by making weird videos. Sometimes, it's really stressful. Sometimes I love my classmates. Sometimes I think they hate me. Sometimes I get sick of them complaining about everything (and each other).

But what makes it worthwhile are the kids. Most of our performances are in high schools. We've had a couple of rude audiences (like one that started verbally mocking us as we performed... or that time a kid in the front row was playing with a metal slinky during the ENTIRE PERFORMANCE, and we all wanted to strangle him with it). But for the most part, they've been great. We've come across a lot of students who are in awe of us. Or have learned more about this Greek play from our modernized production than they did from reading the classical text. And some kids have asked about how they can get into grad school like we did. And it's... great. I LOVE answering their questions. I love feeling like an expert. An authority. A scholar.

Of course, sometimes the schedule really blows. We did three shows yesterday. Which meant I was away from home for 11 hours. Which meant I didn't get to talk with Phil.

I talked to him today for, literally, 6 minutes. Between shows. As he was waiting to go into a work-related meeting. Thank God he has Skype on his phone, or we wouldn't have even gotten that. But it's frustrating to talk in that situation sometimes, just because he's in public and can't really tell me the things he wants to tell me. He doesn't want to get into his personal life in public. So instead he tells me about how he just re-watched Tropic Thunder and thinks it's brilliant, and then I tell him that I thought Tropic Thunder was barely watchable (except for Robert Downey Jr., who was actually pretty great). And then we mentally add it to the growing list of movies that we disagree about. And that's pretty much the whole conversation.

In case you missed it in my Twitter feed a while back, I'm going to see him.

Actually, that story was kind of a big deal in and of itself...

I'm doing something rather uncharacteristic of me...

I'm breaking a rule.

I'm skipping a class.

*GASP*

In two years of grad school, I have never missed a class, rehearsal, or performance. I was 20 minutes late to a class once during my 2nd-year because I somehow convinced myself that it was the weekend (whoops). But other than that, I have pretty great attendance. Actually, I might be the only person in my class who has never missed a class. *goes off to sift through memory* Okay, I don't remember Iceman missing any classes... but he's going to be missing one in November, so we're even.

I don't actually HAVE to miss class... I was originally going to go see Phil from December 2-9 (because I have class on the 2nd and the 10th... but I wouldn't land in the UK until the 3rd and would have to leave early on the 9th, so that's really only 6 days). But I found great airfare on the 27th... So I'm skipping class on the 2nd to have a few more days with Phil.

I am going to get in trouble for this. I am going to be yelled at. I might cry. I'm terrified to tell the head of my program (who is also directing me in a show that begins rehearsing on December 14th... so I hope he gets over his anger by then). Send prayers and good vibes that he's not too harsh on me. Because I do NOT handle confrontation and/or conflict well.

I think it's important, though. As a result of going earlier, I get to go to a wedding with Phil (well, actually, I get to go to the reception, and not the ceremony... But I get to meet a lot of his friends, which is cool). And I also get to travel with him to meet his parents. (EEK!)

When I officially bought my tickets (round-trip to London for under $600... Thank you Student Universe!), Phil was so, so, so happy. It might have been the happiest that I have ever made someone as a direct result of one of my actions. As for me, I was pretty elated as well. And I've been counting down the days.

He's going to try to come see me in the last week of January/first week of February. My parents are going to try to plan a visit that overlaps his, so that they can meet him.

Phil goes back and forth on how serious he's comfortable with this relationship being. Which I understand. I do it, too... I just do it more in my head. This relationship is a dangerous situation. But it still feels like I'm still accruing more happiness and positivity than frustration and fear. And whenever I get frustrated, it's because of the situation, not because of Phil. He's great. I just wish he lived within driving distance.

But other than that, things are going well. I'm still crazy about him. He's still crazy about me. And he's cool with me referring to him as my boyfriend now. :)

My classmates have started giving me advice on how far the physical part of my relationship with Phil should go. Some is positive, some is negative. Some is completely unsolicited, and some arises as part of discussions. Not all of it is helpful. But if nothing else, it's nice to know that people care about me and want what's best for me (whether it be protecting myself from things, or exposing myself to them). And that's all I'm going to say about that.

You know what actually kind of upset me today? Like three celebrity couples that I saw were splitting up. Should one be surprised when celebrity couples split? No, of course not. Fame puts a lot of stress on a relationship. But it still makes me feel uneasy.

Maybe it's because I've only recently started to think of myself as the marrying type... But I am TERRIFIED of the possibility of divorce. In my head, divorce is one of the worst things that I could possibly go through. That, and, like, pregnancy out of wedlock (which is, of course, one of the main reasons that I haven't had sex yet). In my head, those fates are worse than incurable diseases and house fires. Ridiculous? Probably. But that's where I am right now.

Okay, let's go on a random tangent:

My self-esteem is in a pretty good place right now. Which is unusual for me (and for artists in general). I feel more attractive than I ever have before (which is the combination of losing weight after tracking calories on SparkPeople, getting half-naked for a play, and having a man in my life who tells me how beautiful he thinks I am on a daily basis). I feel good about my art (and a couple of high-schoolers came up to me yesterday after a performance to tell me that I was their favorite actor in the show... which is amazing, considering that I'm a random member of the chorus). I'm good.

I'm still nervous about the citizenship whatnot. A friend of mine who said she wanted to move to London with me changed her mind this week. It's too hard to do it with visas. And that was a frightening reminder that I'm in a tough spot if I can't get dual-citizenship.

I haven't had time to blog. In any of the places that I'm supposed to. (And note how now that I have time, I'm blogging here... and not on one of the blogs that I'm expected to blog on for professional reasons. I am such a slacker.)

I sort of got a job. I do assistant-type work for a guy who lives in my town once a week for a couple of hours. He was born in 1931, but his two most recent ex-girlfriends were born in 1955. He's a hilarious, dirty old man, who tells me incredible stories. I love talking to him. He seems truly grateful for everything I do for him, which feels lovely. And he recently CC:ed me on an e-mail that he sent, in which he used the following sentence: "Angela is a jewel."

I had my first costume fitting for the upcoming season yesterday. I play an Italian flight attendant ("air hostess") in the 1960s. I'm going to look like the Italian flag vomited on me (green dress, white and red striped tights, white hat, green and red neck scarf). I'm wearing a tight (TIGHT!) low-cut dress, with a hemline that looks like a shirt when I raise my arms. They want to push up my boobs to Salma Hayek proportions. I'll be wearing a sassy black wig and -- my favorite part -- white go-go boots. I could not be more excited.

(So with the wig and the boobs, we're looking at something like this... Which, by the way, is one of my costumes for when I played a Dutch prostitute in a show in September.)

Okay, I've been writing for nearly an hour, and I still don't know why I'm upset.

Maybe I should just blame it on the dramatic emotional tendencies that come along with being an actor.

Or maybe I haven't gotten to the bottom of this yet.



May you know why you're feeling what you're feeling.

~A~

Minding the Gap: Part IV

Future Tense and Present Perfect

It wasn't long before Phil started talking about the future. On a fairly regular basis.

Not just the vague sense of a future that we might potentially share, as he had suggested in an e-mail he sent to me. No. The future. Talk of why we should get a pet turtle instead of a dog. Or why he wants to name his first-born son after Ridley Scott (I'll let you imagine how the Name Geek in me reacted to that little morsel of disturbing news). And how we should get a house with a garden (you know, so that the turtle can be free-roaming).

He told me that he was going to go home to see his parents for a weekend. And it was partly because he wanted to tell them about me. He wanted them to know that this was the direction that he believed his life was now headed.

And I squirmed.

He was not following the proper Order-of-Operations.

He's not the first guy I've dated who has strayed a bit from typical relationship protocol. One guy used the L-word after we'd been dating for two weeks. Another used it before we'd had our first kiss (and never wanted to be known as my boyfriend). One started referring to me as his girlfriend despite knowing full well that I considered the situation casual and had gone on dates with other people.

And now, Phil.

He didn't understand why I would squirm at his verbalizations of the life that he had imagined for us. He didn't understand why I wasn't as gung-ho on future plans as he was. He said that he'd started to avoid bringing them up, because he thought they freaked me out. And I recognized that I hadn't given him a proper explanation of the problem.

I told him that I wasn't freaked out; I was confused, because I was getting two sets of messages from him.

I pointed out that I find it a little strange that he wants to talk about the future, and marriage, and children... but he's uncomfortable with the idea that we might be in a relationship, or calling it "exclusive" or "committed". I explained to him that it was screwing with my head.

He wants to make a life with me.

He wants to get a pet turtle.

He wants kids.

He wants a garden.

He wants this beautiful future...

But he can't commit to next week.

He seemed stunned. He'd never noticed that his behavior might be befuddling.

I didn't really know whether we were on the same page, because it felt like he flipping back and forth between chapters. I told him I was willing to meet him on several different pages, but I needed to know where he was in order to do that.

I told him that I was in an incredibly vulnerable position. He said that he was, too. And while I know that's true, it's really nothing in comparison to mine. First of all, as I said before, I've jumped in with both feet, while he still hasn't.

And second, look at our worst case scenarios... Let's say something happens that prevents me from moving to London. Phil suffers heartbreak, but ultimately not much else changes for him. I suffer heartbreak, and the course of my life, my career, and my finances are all drastically altered.

Or let's say I do move to London, and then we break up. Phil suffers heartbreak, but moves on with his already-established lifestyle. I suffer heartbreak in a foreign country, with no support system, on a 5-hour time difference from anyone who can comfort me... And ultimately, realistically, there's a pretty good chance that it would result in me moving back to the USA (as much as I don't like to admit that, it is a possibility). And also a good chance that I'd be dejected, broke, and depressed.

Look, I'm not trying to be a man-trapper. I don't need labels and definitions. I don't want him to feel like he's in a cage and can't get out (because a guy did that to me once, and I resented him greatly for it).

He seemed confused and overwhelmed at first. He tried to give me explanations and defenses. I told him that they weren't necessary. I told him he wasn't on trial. I wasn't trying to pull a guilt trip. I wasn't trying to pressure him into (or out of) anything. I just wanted to bring everything to his attention.

I know he's trying to protect himself because of how badly he's been hurt in the past. I know it's hard to commit to someone when you're uncertain about whether you'll ever be in the same country (despite efforts to make that happen). I know that long distance comes with more uncertainty than the average relationship.

He said that more than anything, he wants to be in an exclusive, committed, serious relationship with me... But that's he's too afraid to do it until it's 100% definite that I'll be able to move there. He said that he has to get to things in his own way. He said it's hard for him to explain, but if I'll just trust him for a bit, that when he can he'll give me everything. He kept saying things like, "trust me," and "have faith in me."

I told him there's no rush. There's no deadline. No ultimatum of, "if you don't agree that we're in a relationship by this date, then I'm going off to see other people." I'd be in a far less vulnerable position if I did, of course... but I'm not interested in that sort of game. (Sorry, author of Why Men Love Bitches. I have to make my own rules.)

He said, "Well, I have called you my girlfriend to some people. I guess I don't really have any right to do that."

I said he can call me that if he wants to. I just need him to let me know if that's where we are. I asked, "Are we in a relationship?"

"Er... yes. I mean... Are we?"

"I'd like to be," I said, "but I wasn't sure where you stood."

"Then... oh... uh... yes?... I mean,..."

He seemed terrified at the prospect.

So we reached a compromise. For the moment, we would cut down talk about the future, and we would stay in this middle ground where he felt comfortable.

It didn't take long for me to realize that he's committed to this, whether he's willing to use relationship terminology or not. The words don't mean as much to me as actions, anyway. So I loosened up a little on how harshly I react to his hypothetical future plans.

And a couple of weeks later, we reached another compromise...

We would name the turtle Ridley Scott, and spare the child.

You know... hypothetically.

May you find a way to get on the same page.

~A~

Minding the Gap: Part III

And we're back... ;)

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

All or Nothing

Luckily, I didn't respond right away to the e-mail that Phil sent me on August 14th, in which he was freaking out in my general direction. I received it within a minute of him sending it. And I wanted to write him. But in a rare moment of emotional intelligence and clarity of forethought, I decided to wait. I needed a little time before responding so that I wouldn't say anything that I would later regret. Instead, I wrote that last blog post and left it in my "Drafts" folder.

Thank God I didn't write him.

About two hours after that e-mail, he sent this one:

And then I see your face on your facebook profile and I fall for you all over again.

I just want to with you so badly, this is so hard.

xxx

And then I got three more. Apologizing for freaking out. Saying he wished I were there. Assuring me that what he ultimately wants is for things between us to work out. Explaining that his friends were concerned that he was getting into the same situation all over again. They didn't want him to be destroyed again, as he was the last time.

It's not about me. It's not about us. He's freaking out because he's afraid of getting hurt again. I know that. And I understand that.

Things went temporarily back to normal.

On the night of August 17th, I was doing pretty much what I'm always doing the day before I take a plane somewhere: packing late at night. I had to leave for the airport at 4:45am on the 18th (to head back to Florida for the school year), so naturally I began packing around midnight. And then my computer started ringing

By ringing, I mean Skype. Phil was calling. At 12:30am. I remind you that he is in a different time zone, meaning that he was actually calling at 5:30am, his time. Needless to say, I was surprised to hear from him.

He said he was calling because he couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about me. And freaking out.

He thought that maybe the reason that he was freaking out was because we were in this weird undefined limbo relationship zone. He said maybe it would best to go all or nothing. Either be an exclusive, committed, boyfriend-girlfriend labeled, facebook-declared couple, or decide once and for all that this ultimately was not going to work out and turn our connection into occasional international online pen-pals who neither flirt nor expect anything from each other.

He asked me what I thought.

I told him I didn't really understand the question.

Going the "All" route wouldn't change much for me. Whether we were calling ourselves "exclusive" or not, I didn't want anyone but him. Whether we were calling ourselves "committed" or not, I was very much committed to this. If he needed/wanted labels, then that was fine. But it was up to him.

I also said that if he needed to go the other direction, the "Nothing" route, then that was fine, too. This situation was (is) a voluntary one. I just needed him to let me know. Preferably sooner rather than later.

We spoke for a little while longer before I was able to convince him that he should get off the phone. He said that he thought he was comforted enough to get to sleep.

I had a feeling when I spoke to him that night that what he needed from me was reassurance that I wasn't going to abandon him.

So I gave him that.

In retrospect, it wasn't exactly the smartest relationship move I've ever made.

Why? Because it put me in an incredibly vulnerable position. I jumped in with both feet, while he was still playing the hokey-pokey with his right foot. I told him that I'm not dating anyone else, without requesting or requiring the same exclusivity from him. I laid all my cards on the table.

He can go date other people, and he knows I won't. He could stop taking this seriously, and he knows I still would be.

In other words, I did pretty much what every self-help dating book warns women against. (I mean, not like I've read those... or own any of them... Well... only, like, four). I inadvertently gave him all the power in the relationship (or whatever it is that this non-defined non-relationship that we're in should be called).

Why did I do that?

I think it's because I finally felt safe in this. Somehow, his clearly fearful, wishy-washy behavior from the week had actually made me MORE secure. Maybe stupidly so. But that's how I felt. And I wanted him to feel that way, too.

[Side note: I made the mistake of reading the book Why Men Love Bitches not long after this (I purchased it for a friend about a year ago, but never actually got the chance to give it to her... and I was bored...). And then I beat myself up about being the exact sort of stereotypical female that I pride myself on not being. And then I called Brian, and he talked me down for like an hour. And I remembered something that I once knew: that no two relationships are the same, and that no book can tell you how to live your life.]

I went back to talking with Phil as much as possible. We Skyped every day. We even had a streak in which we were Skyping for at least 2.5 hours a day over 5 days straight.

We talk about everything, as you often do with people with whom you share a deep connection. I've helped him with his writing, being the Muse that I love to be. He told me about his busy days. I told him about how frightfully boring mine were. We talked about the possibility of seeing each other.

We were hoping that he'd be able to come here in October, but that started to look like less of a realistic possibility when his work schedule changed. I started looking into going out there in November (a month during which I was supposed to have large expanses of spare time), but then found out that I'm being required to stay in town for a few things. And so I started looking into traveling to see him during the first week of December (which, at the moment, still looks like our best bet... but I have not yet been able to obtain permission from my school/theatre to book the trip).

And things felt right.

Maybe I had to give up some power so that I wouldn't have to give up him.

To be continued...

May you find the benefits in choosing "All" over "Nothing".

~A~

Minding the Gap: Part II

As I said before, I decided not to blog while I was doing my "Whirled World" series. But one day I became quite emotional, and decided to write a post.

I landed in the USA on July 1st. I believe I wrote this post on August 14th, in case you wanted to get a mental timeline going.

So here's a bit more of the past, before I catch you up on the present.



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


Unpublished Heartbreak


I'm in too deep.

Things have been going really well. We Skype all the time. He's going to try to visit me in October.

And I'm looking into the possibility of moving to London.

Seriously.

As in, I'm about 70% sure that's what I want to do when I'm out of grad school. And I swear, it's not entirely because of him.

Yesterday, I said something that upset him in a conversation. He didn't acknowledge it at the time, but he sent me an e-mail after the fact saying basically, "Hey, this isn't a big deal, but so that we can be clear in our communication..."

And I respected him for sending it. And I was grateful. It's important to be clear in communication in relationships of any sort... ESPECIALLY long distance ones.

I apologized via e-mail. And I spent most of yesterday feeling terrible about things and wanting to apologize verbally over the marvelous medium that is Skype.

But nothing.

Until this morning. When I got an e-mail from him.

"I've been thinking a lot about our situation over the last day or so. Am I always battling with the realism of it."

I've jumped into this a little more readily than he has, if only because I'm not focused on the future in the same way that he is. I really, really, really like him. I want to talk to him, write to him, read his e-mails, etc. It's fun. It feels good. It feels right. And it brings me joy.

But he's on another mental plane:

"More than anything, I want us to be in the same place to try and make a real go of things. I want us to be in a fully committed relationship. I would like to have a future with you."

Here's what he's thinking: Is she moving here? Could this be it? Could we get married? Could we raise a family?

He talks about the future. He talks about us living together in a house with a yard. He talks about coaching his son's football (soccer) team.

I thought that girls were supposed to be the crazy marriage-fantasizing day-dreamers.

I guess I'm not really that sort of girl. But I do seem to attract that sort of guy.

He mentions frequently that he has this huge debate going between his head and his heart. And then he generally follows it with a comment about how his heart seems to be winning.

Today the e-mail was a little more in favor of his head.

"Don't get me wrong, if I knew for definite that you were going to be moving to London (even though I know that's not going to be about me, nor should it be), then that would change things. You are worth waiting for. You are worth the risk."

Yes, perhaps it's excessive that we sometimes Skype twice in the same day. But other days we don't Skype at all...

He thinks we need to "dial down" things emotionally for a bit.

"I want you so much. But I need to protect myself a little. I still want to speak to you and everything, obviously, but I wonder if we should perhaps dial down the emotional intensity until we have a better idea of our circumstances, otherwise it could lead to painful heartache for both of us."

He still wants to speak to me? HE STILL WANTS TO SPEAK TO ME??? Is that supposed to be comforting?

The funny thing is, if you read the e-mail in its entirety (and not the copied, pasted, rearranged version that I'm posting to at least make some attempt at protecting his privacy), that line comes out of NO WHERE. The e-mail is like "I want to be with you/but this is hard/but I want to be with you even though it's hard"... and then THAT.

He's getting his hopes up, and he wants to protect himself.

He hates the idea that he might put all this energy into me for the next nine months, and then a stick could be thrown in the wheels of me moving there. And he feels like he's too old to waste any time.

"I don't want to be realistic. I want to believe that our fairy-tale romance is going to result in a life of happiness for both of us. But I am worried that I am holding out for something that may not happen. As you know I've been down this route before and it has not worked out well for me."

He has been down this route. I don't know if I've mentioned this, so I will now...



The Story of Phil's American Heartbreak

Once upon a time, Phil was dating a girl. She was an American. She was an actress. She lived in New York City. They mostly communicated using Skype.

After dating for a couple of years, the girl decided to move to London to be with him. Phil was thrilled.

Being the hopeless romantic that he was, he daydreamed about their life together. In his head, he started making plans. He thought that when her visa ran out (in a year), then he would propose. She'd have a fiancée visa for 6 months. Then they'd get married, and she'd have a spousal visa. And then a couple of years after that they'd start having children...

He sketched it all out in his mind. He daydreamed about it. He was head-over-heels in love with her. He was happy.

She made plans to move. She figured out the logistics of moving. She had a plane ticket.

The day before she was supposed to get on the plane to move there, the girl sent Phil an e-mail. It said she wouldn't be on the plane the next day. She wasn't moving. She realized that she didn't love him. It was over.

He was shocked and confused. He flew to New York and tried to talk to her. He tried to change her mind. He couldn't. She was done with him.

He was heartbroken. The whole happy future he'd planned out had disappeared without any warning. And he's been afraid of getting hurt ever since.

The End


You understand now, of course, why being with me terrifies him. I'm an American. I'm an actress. I'm in another country, making lofty plans to move towards him. I'm exactly the sort of thing that his brain warns him about.

He has a lot of scar tissue. It has very little to do with me. He's in a vulnerable position again. He needs to guard his heart.

And I get it. I do.

But it still hurts.

It sucks.

I have someone in my life that makes me really happy. And he wants to pull back. And that sucks.

Talking to him is the best part of my day. (Talking about him is my second favorite part.)

But I think he's right, though I hate to admit it.

Because I'm getting dependent on him.

Yes. Dependent on someone who is thousands of miles away. Someone who lives in tomorrow for five hours before it becomes today for me.

Now everything seems so uncertain.

And maybe this is going too far, but part of me thinks that I should mentally treat this like a break-up.

Because then I'll know if I really want to go to London for me and my career, or if I'm going for him.

I WILL NOT go just for him.

I WILL NOT go just for him.

I will do what is best for ME.

You know what? I don't care. With or without him, I still want to move to London. It'll be more difficult without his help. It'll be more difficult without him as an incentive. But I loved London before I met Phil. I don't need him for it to be a happy place for me.

I need to tell him that being with me is a voluntary position. I don't want to be with him if he doesn't want to be with me. And this waffling of his isn't exactly making me feel confident.

May your fear of heartbreak not prevent you from being happy.

~A~



P.S.
"'Cause I'm not her
I'm not the one who left you wild and feeling sorry
And I'm not her
I'm not the one who broke your heart
No, I'm not them
Though I may as well have been
'Cause you already wrote our story
But I'm not her
I'm just me"
- The Chenille Sisters, Roadmaps

Minding the Gap: Part I

It took me two months to write my Whirled World series. And during that time, life went on. You know, like life tends to do.

I didn't want to interrupt the series with the present day (which is, now, the past). So I guess it's time to begin that process now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Finding My Happiest Future


I flew down to Florida for a few days and moved in to my room. All by myself. And I realized that I'm not ready mentally to be where I am in my grad school career.

Brian came to visit me in Connecticut, and it was fantastic. I wish I'd written a post about it at the time. We did awesome things. Like seeing Kristin Chenoweth and Sean Hayes in Promises, Promises. And rotating three different kinds of Frrrozen Hot Chocolate at Serendipity3 with his friend Erika. So much fun.

It's rare in life to find people that you connect with on the level that I connect with Brian, and I feel lucky to have him in my life. It's strange to think of everything that happened between us in the past, because it has so little to do with our present. He's one of the best friends I've ever had, and I love him dearly.

My brother Peter came to Connecticut for a bit to hang out with the rest of us. I missed him. I miss him now, too. (Even though he sent me an e-mail recently telling me to tone down how much I write about Phil on Twitter and Facebook... But I guess that's just him trying to be a helpful brother.) It was nice to have my family in one place. There's a good chance that won't happen again until... next May, I think.

I got to meet my long-time internet friend Barry, which was fantastic. He's one of the closest friends I've had that I hadn't ever met. How close are we?
1. I've proposed to him. More than once.
2. After my first PG-13 rated encounter, I remember using Google Chat to ask Barry all sorts of incredibly graphic questions.

So really, it felt more like seeing a friend after a long time than it felt like we were meeting for the first time. We ate in Little Italy. I brought him to New York's TopShop (which is a British store) and we shopped. It was great.

I also visited with a couple of my former roommates who have since moved to NYC. I love them dearly and it was great to see them. I just wish they could be met with more success in the city than they're currently finding.

Phil and I started Skyping regularly as soon as I got home from London. Sometimes twice a day. I worked in the afternoons this summer, so we'd Skype around 12pm/5pm (our respective time zones) and 6pm/11pm. A couple of times, when I had work in the morning, we'd even do 7am/12pm. And it was lovely.

I mailed him the letter I had started writing on the plane. And a couple more letters after that. He seemed to genuinely appreciate them, despite his occasional difficulty in deciphering my handwriting.

One day (July 17th, if you need a mental timeline), Phil wrote me an e-mail. One of those things that I would post here in its entirety if I didn't think he'd hate that. He wrote about how just talking with me put his head at odds with his heart. He wrote that he had two voices in his head: one dreamt of a life with me, the other said to be realistic/cynical/pragmatic and not get in too deep. He wrote that he was scared that he's going to screw things up. He wrote that he was seriously considering coming to visit me in Florida in October, if his work schedule allowed.

And he wrote:

I am thinking about the future we could have. it is scaring me. and it is exciting me.

I just wanted to tell you these things. I hope that's ok.

you are in my thoughts. constantly.

xxx

I won't lie: I cried.

I don't know what happened that turned me into a wet, weepy, blubbery, stereotypical mess of a female... But I am one. I would blame it on being an actor (which, actually, is a darn good reason), but that's not it.

I'm not always a mess. It comes and goes. I cried a lot with Brian (both while we were dating, and in the aftermath of our break-up). But I didn't cry with the Filmmaker. I remember crying when my casting for 2nd-year sucked. I remember crying when I was freaking out about whether I'd get cast in any decent roles this season (which, by the way, I did). I cried when my classmate was getting kicked out of my program.

And now, with Phil... I cry. I cried with him a couple of days after I met him. I cried when I saw him after two weeks. I've cried at so many good things with him. And I've cried at a couple of rough ones. I cry because I break with concepts, and atmospheres, and emotions that I am ill-equipped to handle.

In this particular instance, I the tears were based in that sense of being overwhelmed. After only about 6 weeks of knowing him (and the majority of that time being spent in different countries), he was thinking about a future. And I... wasn't. Not yet.

He's not the first guy who has thought about a future with me while I'm still most definitely focused on the present. The Filmmaker was the same way.

But I wasn't pushed into my tear-laden oblivion because he was pushing me towards a future I wasn't prepared to deal with. Well, at least, that wasn't the only reason. It had more to do with the fact that he wanted me enough to dare to think of me in that light. In that "forever" way. Not that he was signing on for that with that e-mail (far from it; he seemed frightened of his own thoughts and words)... But even that the thought had crossed his mind seemed... touching.

I've talked myself into and out of wanting many things in my life. I've talked myself out of wanting children when I thought I might not be able to have them. I talked myself out of wanting romance because I didn't have the opportunity to date until I was 20. And I had talked myself out of the idea of marriage, because I thought there was no way I could have it.

I don't know where my crazy actor life is going to take me. And, to be honest, there are days when the idea of trying to pursue acting as a profession terrifies me. I don't know how/if this is going to work. But I know for certain that if I were to get married and stop being an actor (in favor of a career where I could live in a single city and have a steady paycheck), I would regret it. And I would end up resenting the person I married. And I would most certainly blame any children I had for my lack of success in life. Yes, deservedly or not, I would blame them. And I know that makes me less than perfect, and probably not the greatest candidate for parenthood.

I wrote him back. I thanked him for the email, and for allowing me to see that he was vulnerable. Most of what I wrote was incoherent babble, looking back at it now. But here's one part:

Being with you is the easy part. And I think that's as it should be. (If being away from you and pining after you were favorable to being with you, then I think we'd be stock characters from Commedia Dell'Arte... but that's another story.)

I don't remember when I did this next part...

I wrote him a letter back. Daydreaming about moving to London.

And he Skyped me as soon as he'd read it, all excited. He wanted to know how serious I'd been.

(To be honest, not all that serious. And I couldn't really remember what I'd written. It must've been one of those random things that I did at 2am when I couldn't sleep.)

But I started thinking about my post-grad-school plans (of which, I had none).

And that's when I began to consider becoming an ex-pat.

He, of course, was hugely supportive of the idea.

But I insisted that I would not (WOULD NOT) move for him. If I were going to move, it would be because it was the best possible choice for me. For my life. For my career. For my happiness.

I made a long list of all of my possible futures. Some of them realistic. Some fanciful. Some absolutely preposterous. They included:

- Move back to Chicago
- Move in with parents in Connecticut as a pit-stop on my way to NYC
- Move directly to NYC
- Move to L.A.
- Stay in Florida.
- Get an offer from my theatre to do a year contract (which is pretty darn unlikely, let me tell you)
- Get an offer from some other random theatre (that I have not yet auditioned for) to be in their summer stock/show/season/company and move wherever that might take me.
- Try to get hired by The Guthrie, The Old Globe, or somewhere else that does mostly classics.
- Move to London

(Not a comprehensive list, but the other options were so out in left field that I can't even remember them now.)

This got narrowed down to four "real" options.

- Chicago
- New York
- Los Angeles
- London

There are major pros and cons to each, of course.

Ranking by feasibility:
1. New York (my parents are close, I know tons of people there... It's easy.)
2. Chicago (I've lived there before. I know the lay of the land. It's the cheapest major city in the world to live in. Piece of cake to go back there.)
3. Los Angeles (I've never even BEEN there. I don't know what's going on there. I know few people there. It's a different world to me.)
4. London (Major legal issues. Visas? Citizenship? And how the heck could I possibly afford it?)


Ranking by desirability:
1. London (I love it there. I've never felt more at peace with myself. I've never been happier in my surroundings.)
2. Chicago (I still think of it as home. And I do have lots of connections there.)
3. Los Angeles (There's something exciting about it.)
4. New York (It just feels wrong. I don't think I'm meant to be there. And everyone I know who is there is struggling, broke, and miserable.)


Ranking by career prospects:
1. Los Angeles (so much more work being done there than anywhere else. Literally more than 4x as many roles being cast for in London than NYC)
2. London (Here, I'm just another 20-something white girl. There, I'm an American, with a built in natural dialect. This makes me a minority, a commodity, and a specialist. And right now, there's a HUGE resurgence of classic American theatre across the pond. During the 6 weeks I was in London, there were 2 Arthur Miller plays, 2 Tennessee Williams play, and 1 Eugene O'Neill play being performed. Additionally, I saw productions of Enron, Eurydice, and Hair that were fully American dialects. And Legally Blonde, Sister Act, Jersey Boys, and the like are all hits over there as well.)
3. New York (I know some very talented people living there, and they're not having any luck.)
4. Chicago (It's just not as good of a place to be in for an Equity actor -- which I'll be when I graduate.)


After I ran all that information through my brain (and more that I haven't bothered to type, being the incessant over-thinker that I am), I decided that it's okay to have lofty goals.

I thought about all the times in my life that I've really taken steps forward in my life, and all of them seemed like times when I was thrown into something new and foreign. I went to a college where I knew no one. I moved to Chicago on two weeks notice, only knowing one of my roommates, not having a job, and having no other friends in the city. I came to grad school not knowing a soul in all of Florida.

Chicago and New York are places where I have friends. I have connections. I have networks. But I think that would make me complacent more than it would help me.

So my list started looking like this:
1. London
2. Los Angeles
3. Chicago
4. New York

Ultimately, even though it's a super-safe, easy route to go, my heart does not want to end up in New York. So I decided to take it off the list. For the moment, at least.

Then I realized that, as much as I love Chicago, something about going back there doesn't feel right. It feels like regression.

So my list became:
1. London
2. Los Angeles
3. Chicago
4. New York


And really, putting London next to Los Angeles, there's just no comparison.

London is easily my happiest potential future.

(And that math had nothing to do with Phil.)


Now, of course, Phil is a writer. And his career could take him to several places. But his list of his possible futures (at the time) was looking like this:
1. Los Angeles
2. London
3. New York

Wouldn't it be just my luck to try to move to London at the same time that Phil was trying to move to the USA?

"But this isn't about Phil," I thought. "This is about me."

I told Phil. He was, in his own words, "chuffed". (It's a positive thing.) I informed him that I would NOT be moving for him. And that even if I could get visas and whatnot in order, it was NOT a guarantee that I would move. I was merely keeping as many doors open to opportunity as possible. He said he understood. Moreover, he said that he would be disappointed in me if he thought I were moving for him. It was lovely. :)

So I started researching. Visas. Internships. Citizenship. I tried to wrap my brain around it, but it's all insane. I started looking into jobs that I could apply for that might get me a work visa. And internships that I can get within a year of graduating that would get me a student internship visa.

And then my dad had a brilliant idea...

My father's parents came over to the USA about a year before my dad was born. And they didn't become US citizens until he was 5. Which means, when he was born, they were still most likely citizens of a country that is now part of the European Union. And therefore, my dad probably qualifies for dual-citizenship. And if my dad becomes a dual-citizen, then I can become a dual-citizen.

You might be asking, "Wait, why does it help her to be an EU citizen?"

Because, my dear friends: the UK is part of the European Union. They don't use the Euro, but it doesn't matter. If you are a citizen of any country in the EU, then you can live and work in the UK without a visa.

In other words: jackpot.

Here's the problem: My father's parents weren't born in a country. They were born in an area that wouldn't become Yugoslavia until several years later. My grandfather's family moved to Germany sometime in the 1940s. I know that my grandmother was hiding out in Vienna, Austria in World War II. But we didn't know if they were German citizens or Austrian citizens. Or neither. And, additionally, historical documents in Germany and Austria right after WWII aren't exactly well-recorded.

My dad started researching that.

And then, on a whim, I started looking into the other side of my family.

All four of my mother's grandparents were born in Italy, and then came to the USA. As it turns out, this means that I am qualified for dual-citizenship with Italy. Unfortunately, it's really difficult. I'd have to acquire 14 different legal documents as proof of this. Some of them (like my birth certificate) are easy to come by. Others (like my great-grandfather and great-grandmother's marriage certificate) will be tough to track down. Obtaining them would cost several hundreds of dollars, and will most likely take about a year.

Still, it's a pretty darn good back-up plan.

So the wheels started rolling. London became more than a dream. It became a serious possibility.


To be continued...


May you find your happiest future,

~A~

Whirled World, Part VI: London

The Romantic I Was Meant to Be

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, & Part V)

I knew that I wouldn't have a lot of time to spend with Phil when I returned to London. I was getting back late on June 29th, and was leaving early on July 1st. And unfortunately, he had a writing deadline: the draft of the television episode he was writing was due on the 1st. So June 30th -- our one day together -- would be the day when he'd be hurrying to implement all of the last minute notes handed to him by the production company. And additionally, Phil's new roommate was moving in on the morning of the 1st, around the time I was supposed to be heading for the airport.

Phil seemed stressed. It was clear that my visit was happening at the worst possible time for him. I told him not to worry. After all, I know my way around the city, and I'm rather self-sufficient. I'd take as much of him as I could get, but I didn't want to make any demands on him that would throw off his world.

The truth, of course, was that I'd already said my goodbyes to London. More than anything, the reason I was excited to return was that I'd have more time to say goodbye to him.

My flight from Milan to Gatwick mysteriously got in twenty minutes early. Around 8:00pm. I texted Phil to let him know. He seemed ecstatic. But I told him that we had some things to take care of before we left the airport, and it would still be a while before I was on my way.

Two-Shots-Up and I had taken turns paying for our reservations to things like hostels and boats (some in pounds, some in euros, and some in dollars), and had to get everything evened out. In order to do this, we had to pay for the internet at side-by-side airport computers, and trust each other's math. It took awhile, but it seemed like a good idea to get it all out of the way. In the end, I think she owed me about 3 Euro, and I told her to just forget about it.

But then the second problem: somewhere in Greece, Two-Shots-Up had lost her mobile phone. And she was going to be staying in her friend's flat in London while said friend was out of town. And she couldn't get in touch with the friend's flatmates (any of the ten -- yes, ten -- of them). And my mobile, which we were both relying on, was low on both batteries and credit (I had a pay-as-you-go phone). She was worried about getting to the place and being locked out. I said I'd go with her if necessary, or that she might be able to come with me. She felt guilty for keeping me away from Phil. But eventually, she got in touch with the right person, and I began the tube journey to Phil's place alone... two hours after I'd landed.

He said he'd meet me at Angel station. I got there first. I'd taken a train, a train, a Milan subway, a bus, a plane, the Gatwick Express, and a couple of tube lines to get to him. The last water that had touched my hair was the Mediterranean Sea. I was frustrated from the stressed conversations with Two-Shots-Up. Sweaty. Dirty. Tired.

And then he walked down the street. And I nearly cried.

He had dressed up to meet me. He looked incredibly handsome, even more than I remembered. And when he hugged me, I breathed deeply. He smelled so nice.

And I felt like I was home. My journey had led me back to him. Back to his arms.

I don't think I knew how much I'd missed him until I saw him.

He helped me with the luggage that I'd managed all over Europe. Part of me felt silly for that, but mostly grateful. As we walked to his flat, I just kept staring at him. I had to keep noticing the moments as they were happening. I had to make sure they were real.

He kissed me in the elevator. And he led me into his flat.

I put down my suitcase in the hallway. And I saw rose petals.

Yes, rose petals.

The kind of thing I'd normally laugh at. I've never been a romantic. I roll my eyes at cheesy things. I don't watch chick flicks and yearn for a man to treat me like a princess. I actually told my first boyfriend about how I thought it was condescending that he insisted on opening doors for me. And I usually forget when it's Valentine's Day.

But in that moment...

I realized that I am a romantic.

I just never knew it.

Maybe it's one more example of me talking myself into wanting things I have, and talking myself out of things I think I won't have. Maybe the reason I never wanted romance is because I thought I'd never had it.

But I had it. And I hugged him. And I cried.

The rose petals were everywhere. And roses around his room. An ice bucket with champagne, and two champagne flutes (all of which he had purchased that morning in preparation for my arrival). And a plate of strawberries (echoing the memory of grapes that he had once suggested we should feed to each other in a park "in a decadent manner").

I thanked him. He held me. And he said he had one more surprise for me.

He had finished the draft of his episode early so that he'd get to spend more time with me.

And I felt... lucky.

He told me that we didn't have to do the whole champagne and strawberries thing if I didn't want to. He had a feeling I'd be tired, and I could just go to bed if I wanted. Or we could watch a movie. Or talk. Whatever I wanted to do. It was up to me.

So I told him that I wanted to take a shower. (Seriously, it sucks to feel gross when someone is pouring affection over you.)

Once clean, we talked. And ate strawberries. And I gave him at least one of his presents from my travels.

I don't remember what I gave him when, in retrospect. (It's been two months since this happened... can you blame me for being foggy on the details?)

I know I gave him a small elephant statue from Delphi (a reference to the movie Frankie and Johnny, which we had discussed). And a snow globe from Riomaggiore (which is quite funny, as it doesn't snow there... and was a reference to the play we'd met at, The Real Thing). And a silly hat. And some Italian pesto. And a funny postcard I found that blended political sentiment with a safe sex message: "YES WE CONDOM!" (He put it on his fridge.)

In the morning, we went and got breakfast at a little café down the street from his place. We sat outside. I was happy. And simultaneously calm and excited.

We went to the Study Centre to retrieve the two bags I'd left there during my travels. I saw Deron (one of the men whom I thought was interested in me... but I did not reciprocate feelings for). I tried to rush Phil out of that situation, grabbing my own suitcase and saying, "No, I can get it. I'm stronger than you." I meant it jokingly, but realized my error as soon as it had come out of my mouth. (Word to the wise: NEVER emasculate a man like that. I apologized profusely, but Phil is still giving me a hard time about that one...) But at least I got us away from Deron before Phil and I had to have the "who are we to each other" explanatory exchange... We hadn't had it with each other yet, and I seriously didn't want to have to answer the awkward question that I felt coming from Deron.

I said goodbye to Blake as Phil waited downstairs. I brought him olive paté from Cinque Terre, which he seemed pleased with. I gave him an awkward hug, and told him I was sure I'd see him in Florida.

After dragging myself back to his place, Phil and I got sandwiches at a Caffé Nero to eat on our way. He told me that the strange soft electric violet-blue on the bags was his favorite color (so I saved the bag and took it with me back to the States to try to identify it, which is NOT the blue on the website... the closest I've come so far is Majorelle Blue). We ate on a bench by the Millennium Bridge as he complained about work. It felt very couple-y.



We walked over the bridge and went to the Tate Modern at my request. I had been in 2003, but somehow had not made it in the six weeks of this summer. I got to visit my favorite Dalí. Phil made friends with a strange sculpture. We saw great some Jackson Pollocks and a Monet. And we were both thoroughly confused by some of the art. (read: "art")

(Me with "Metamorphosis of Narcissus" by Salvador Dalí)

(Phil being goofy with a sculpture he liked.)

We ended up in an exhibit called "EXPOSED: Voyeurism, Surveillance and the Camera". It was seriously cool. I loved the celebrity room, which did a great job of showing how sick and obsessive we are as a culture. The room about sexual voyeurism was a bit of a turn-on, but Phil went off missing around that point, so I never made any move toward becoming an exhibitionist in a room of voyeurs. I found him around the war surveillance tapes and photographs.

(Stupid accidental photo-bomber guy ruining a perfectly good picture.)

On the way back we stopped at a cute milkshake place. I can't remember what candy-bar concoction I ended up with. It might've been Snickers. I just remember that it wasn't as good as Phil's cookie dough shake.

And then the calls and e-mails started coming. Despite his efforts with getting the draft in early, Phil was being harassed by the Big Bad Company. They began bombarding him with notes about the script. I told him not to worry. I had to repack my suitcases in a way that would make them all under the plane weight limits, and this would give me time to do that. He seemed amazed that I was okay with him having to work. But I was.

I dressed sexy that night. I kept on the blue and white polka-dotted dress that I'd acquired from the Hot Topic-inspired section of Camdentown that I'd been wearing all day. I added thigh-high hold-up stockings with a sexy open weave pattern in the back and lace tops. I put on glamorous makeup. I held back my hair with a white rose pin. And I put on the killer lace-up heels that I'd been dying to wear. I looked seriously hot.

Phil wanted to go out to a restaurant initially. I can't remember why we didn't. (Maybe I looked too hot?) I remember ordering a pizza online, and then going out to get mixers for the Raspberry Stoli I'd gotten at an airport duty-free shop. We chatted with his roommates. We watched an episode of 30 Rock. We ate pizza.

We played some sort of drinking game version of Scrabble. I got a bingo on my first play, making the score about 15 to 75. Phil wasn't thrilled. I'm not an expert in Scrabble, but I played online with my coworkers in Chicago a lot as a way of making the day go by faster. So on an on average play, I aim to get 20-40 points. Phil was aiming to get over 10. We quit about halfway through the game due to his increasing frustration. Luckily, he was in a pretty good mood despite that.

We had considered going to a bar or a club, but we never did. We just stayed in and enjoyed each other's company.

Eventually, we had a conversation. A "let's be realistic" conversation. A "this isn't going to work" conversation. An "it's been fun while it's lasted" conversation. While we lay next to each other on his bed.

I didn't cry. I knew it was coming. I couldn't help but thinking of the conversation I'd had with Brian, while laying next to him on his bed, in which he said he didn't love me anymore. Or the conversation where Michael came to my place, sat on my bed, and promptly dumped me.

(I really need to stop having relationship conversations on beds. They don't turn out well for me.)

He was right, and I knew it. This couldn't be. It was too hard. It was too scary. It was too unlikely. It would end in heartbreak. So I smiled and said it was alright, and that I knew this had to be how it ended. I was glad that I'd gotten to spend as much time with him as I had.

My subconscious brain took it out on him with a vicious attack of flying fists in my sleep.

We got up in the morning. We ate cereal with bananas. He made me one last cup of tea.

Phil let his new roommate into the building with his belongings in tow. And he escorted me out of it, lugging half of mine.

We stopped at the post office so that I could get stamps for the postcards I'd been writing one at a time on my trip, but had as of yet to send. Phil promised to mail them for me. He asked permission to read them on his way back home. I granted it, feeling silly... After all, I had quoted him on a couple of the postcards without crediting him. I had quoted the text message he sent me the day after we met.

Phil
06/06/2010
8:28pm
Wouldnt it be nice to bottle this feeling ... X

That is, after all, what I wanted: to bottle the feeling of London, and take it with me. Not just Phil, but all of it. The circus friends who gave me hope. The liberation I got from seeing Hair. The sense of culture everywhere, and the appreciation for art that everyone seemed to have. The history and the ambience. The cold rainy days, and the sweaty summer ones. The chaos of the markets, and the solitude of the river. City-watching from Greenwich, and people-watching on the Tube. I want to drink it, inhale it, and bathe in it. I want to carry it with me wherever I am.

He brought me to Paddington station so that I could catch the Heathrow Express to the airport. We hugged. We kissed. We thanked each other. We stared into each others eyes with the kind of silence that says more than words. The train was there waiting for me with open doors. I knew I could take a later one. I could postpone this and drag it out. But I knew it would be just as hard to say goodbye in another 15 minutes as it was then. Besides, he had more notes on his script from the Back-Breaking Creeps, and they wanted him to get in touch with them ASAP.

We got my bags on board. I stood on the train saying a last goodbye as he stood on the platform, inches away from me.

And suddenly, I felt lightness. I looked at him, and I wasn't afraid or sad anymore. I smiled. And I laughed. And I felt hope.

"This isn't the end," I told him, still smiling. "I know there's more."

The sliding door closed between us.

He waved. I walked to a seat. I watched him walk up the stairs, texting. He stopped on the landing and looked back at the train. I wondered which of his editors he was writing, although I secretly hoped that he was actually writing to me. As the train pulled out of the station, he stood there waving to me.

And then I got his text message.

Phil
07/01/2010
12:12pm
We just had a battlestar moment! Like the episode with starbuck interrogating that cylon at the end. But you got it. I will miss you so much. Im supposed to be a writer but words have failed me. you are a beautiful human being and my life has been so enriched because of you. X

And I cried.

I don't know why I turned into such an insane crying lunatic over this whole situation. Crying over a boy whom I'd known for three weeks and had in reality spent very little time with. But he watched Battlestar Galactica at my recommendation and referenced an episode in his text (proving that he's the very sort of geeky, awkward Sci-Fi lover that I adore). And he just... *sigh*

Angela (to Phil)
07/01/2010
12:22pm
You have made me the sentimental romantic that I never thought I'd be. You are the magic that I thought movies lied about. I found a piece of myself in you.

I made it to the airport. I got through security. I noticed that I had a long, long time before my flight was taking off. And then I sat down on the floor near the entrance of the British Airways exclusive-sounding club, and bummed Wi-Fi long enough to write an e-mail to Phil.

Why e-mails are better than text messages:

1. They don't cost 10p every time you want to send one. (which is a pain when you're down to 76p in credit on your mobile)
2. You can send them even in airports with no mobile phone reception. (if you can bum Wi-Fi off of the neighboring Galleries Lounge with your handy dandy laptop)
3. You're not limited to 160 characters (or whatever ridiculous amount they put on there).
4. You can type with your eyes closed and let your brain do the talking, instead of trying to hunt down which numbers correspond to various letters and pieces of punctuation, and calculate how many times you have to press them (or wait between pressing them).
5. You can attach songs. :)
5. Less guilt if there's lag time between the received message and the response to it.

That said, even now that I have a better medium on which to communicate my emotions, I don't really know what to say.

Part of me wants to say goodbye, but I think we've taken care of that.

Part of me wants to say all the things that I almost did and said, but didn't... Like how I considered making some grand gesture, like jumping off the train, interrupting the text message you were composing as you smiled and paced on the stairs, kissing you until time didn't matter any more, and not caring if all my luggage went off to Heathrow without me. (That idea, by the way, is insanely uncharacteristic of an OCD worrier like me... so the fact that it even went through my head shows how much of an effect you've had on my psyche.)

Part of me wants to express joy over every text message and e-mail you've sent me, including (and especially) that last one.

Part of me wants to type up every moment I've spent with you, just so that there's a more permanent record of our time together than the memories I keep in my heart (which will surely grow more idealized and hazy with time).

Part of me wants to recite every thing about you that I think is wonderful. Not only because I want you to know what you are to me, but also because I think you need someone to tell you how fantastic you are. As much as you say that you're big, busy and important, and as many times as you slide remarks into conversations about your being intelligent and talented, I still think my conviction regarding your favorable qualities is stronger than yours.

Most of me wants to thank you. But that almost seems silly. You know how much happiness you've brought me over the last couple of weeks. If you don't know, then you haven't been paying attention.

By the time the woman came to check my ticket, my cheeks were tear-stained. But they weren't tears of sorrow; rather, they were tears of joy. And I thanked God for bringing us together.

I wasn't wrong that night when I said that I thought my life had just changed. You have changed me. You have made me feel interesting, intelligent, lovable, and beautiful. You have opened me up, given me hope, and showed me that sometimes life really does play out in a romantic and cinematic fashion. My life was good before I met you, but you turned it into something magical. I'm the protagonist at the very beginning of a story, and I've been waking up every morning excited for the next chapter.

Today wasn't really a goodbye. I couldn't possibly say goodbye that easily to someone who has infiltrated my life the way that you have. We will meet again. We will speak soon. We will be able to write whenever we wish. And we will continue to help each other out on our journeys through life. I'm sure of all of that.

Good luck with the script. Good luck with the new roommate. Good luck with the Ball-Busting Cankers, Big Bad Criminals, Beastly Barbaric Cannibals, Bane Belligerent Cows, and the Brow-Beating Cursed.

I wish you all good things.
All good things come to an end.

~A~

I attached Shawn Colvin's cover of "Every Little Thing He Does Is Magic". He had been magic to me from the beginning. It seemed fitting.

I sat on the floor of Heathrow and pouted for awhile. I decided I wanted a fun, silly, pointless chick lit book to cheer me up on the flight, so I went through the (frequently warned against, but actually usually successful) process of choosing one by its cover. I ate a banana. I goofed off on the internet. I wrote a couple more postcards. I consoled myself. I started reading my chick lit book. And I nearly missed my plane, because it turned out I was in the completely wrong terminal, and ended up running like a madwoman even though I'd gotten to the airport with hours to spare.

As I ran with my luggage, part of me wanted to miss the plane. Have an excuse to stay just a little bit longer. But no. I'd inconvenienced him enough. He had work to do. He had a life to live. And I had... Connecticut, I guess.

The line to get on the plane was long and going at the speed of honey, so I made it in plenty of time. I saw my classmate O.D. on the plane, already asleep, two rows ahead of me.

I couldn't stop thinking about Phil. Would it be overkill to send a text (with some of the last remaining change on my phone) to tell him I had sent an e-mail? Was that stereotypical over-reacting girl stalker behavior?

Angela (to Phil)
07/01/2010
3:39pm
Boarded. Sent you a frivolous, superfluous, sappy, pretentious, honest email. Still not wholly convinced that I'll be waking up without you tomorrow.

Probably stereotypical over-reacting girl stalker behavior. But I decided I didn't care. I sent it. And my phone buzzed quickly with a text from him.

Phil
07/01/2010
3:39pm
Have read it and replied with an equally if not more sappy response. bon voyage my darling. x

I felt better.

I pulled out my book with the cute cover art and generically chick-lit title. The one that I thought would be a light-hearted read for my trans-Atlantic journey. As it turns out, Single in the City is about a 26-year-old who moves from Connecticut to London, and then falls in love. I might've known that if I had picked it for something other than the cover art, but as it was, I had picked it up by coincidence. Having woken up in London that morning, and knowing I'd be going to bed in Connecticut that night, nearly-26-year-old Angela got a little emotional.

It's actually an entertaining book. But it wasn't ideal timing for me to be reading about adventures in the place that I was unhappily leaving.

So I put the book down and turned on the television implanted in the seat-back in front of me. I found a limited selection of mediocre entertainment to choose from. (Yes, I'm aware how spoiled that complaint makes me sound.) And since I wasn't in the mood to watch the anime that had taken over several channels (or to watch the latter half of the movie Valentine's Day, which, by the way, seems to be just as bad as you might imagine), I ended up tuning in to Dear John.

I don’t watch a lot of films in that über-chick sappy romance genre. It’s not my thing. If it’s a romantic comedy (especially one that’s mostly comedy), that’s one thing (e.g. The 40 Year Old Virgin). Dramas that contain romantic elements would also be on the list of exceptions (e.g. Atonement). I’ll even accept musical theatre (e.g. Moulin Rouge). But romance for romance sake? Not something I seek out.

Additionally, I find Amanda Seyfried overrated. And I had heard nothing but bad things about Channing Tatum.

So really the only situation in which there would be a chance of me seeing this movie was the scenario involving me being strapped into a seat of a pressure-controlled cabin for 9 hours with limited options for entertainment.

In spite of my preconceived notions of how much of a disaster this movie would surely turn out to be, I watched the entire thing (minus the first few minutes, during which I was desperately seeking a better alternative on the other 12 channels, to no avail).

Why?

Because it was about two people who met, spent two weeks together, and were separated.

(Direct quotation from the movie: “Two weeks together. That’s all it took. Two weeks for me to fall for you.”)

If I had seen that movie a month ago, I would’ve either laughed or rolled my eyes before turning off the television and choosing to attempt the impossible act of sleeping on an airplane seat.

It’s too cheesy. Too naïve. Too Hollywood. Too romantic-movie-plot. Too unrealistic.

But sometimes the universe laughs at us, and life becomes like the movies. After the time I’d spent with Phil, I couldn’t turn that movie off. It was too connected to my immediate experience. It was one more coincidence in the collection that had surrounded my time with him. So I watched it.

(Also, the movie contains a conversation in which the girl says that she doesn’t smoke, rarely drinks, avoids cursing, and implies that she might very well be a virgin. After that, there was no way I could stop watching.)

I know I wrote this in my e-mail to him, but I think it bears repeating: being around Phil turned me into more of a romantic than I ever remember being in the past.

I won't pretend it was a good movie. It wasn't. And I won't pretend the story told in the movie was ours. But it did make me want to write him a letter. I started composing one on the plane.

And as I wrote, I realized how much of myself I had discovered in my time abroad. I found a little piece of myself in the mountains of Delphi. I found a little piece of myself as I wept at the Parthenon. I found a piece with Stratos the Greek man, who gave me wisdom and confidence. A piece in Santorini, where I found my sense of adventure and lost my fear. A piece in Cinque Terre, where I learned how to vacation. As I'd said in my text to him, I found a piece of myself in Phil: the romantic that I never knew was there.

And then, there's London... I found more of myself in London than I knew was lost. In fact, there was so much of me over there that I couldn't fit it all into my suitcases that night when I sat rearranging their contents on Phil's living room floor as he worked. I took a lot from London, but I think I need to go back and be with the rest of my pieces. I think going back to London might be the only way to be whole.

Eventually, the plane landed. I had an awkward conversation with O.D. at baggage claim (during which he failed to mention that he had gotten engaged since the last time I'd seen him). I got in the car with my parents. And I talked about Phil the whole way home. And the whole time, I kept reminding them that Phil and I were not dating. We were not doing the long-distance thing. Even though we fit so well together. Even though I was crazy about him. Even though he was my favorite thing in the world at that very moment.

I only half-believed myself.

When I got back to my parents' house, I read the e-mail Phil had mentioned in his text. He had sent me his blog post about the day we met.

He warned me that it might be uncomfortable or weird to read it, just as it had been when I'd read him a few posts from my own blog a couple of weeks before. But that he was sending it in its entirety anyway, as it was the truth of his experience.

I don't think he'd like me attaching it here in its entirety, as he's a far more private person than I am. But here's a little tiny bit of it:

It was a hot June day and in the lobby I noticed a stunning woman in an elegant blue summer dress. She looked stunningly glamorous – dark flowing hair, strikingly beautiful features, terrific figure…there was an air of the exotic about. I thought that she was perhaps Brazilian, Mexican or Spanish. She reminded me a little of the girl that Chandler meets (again, ironically, at the Theatre, to see Joey in the musical Freud!) in the first season of Friends, and whom he is convinced is a million miles out of his league. She seemed to be from another entirely more glamorous universe. There was I in my khaki combat shorts and cheap checked shirt, looking like a German tourist.

Anyway, when I eventually took my seat (on the aisle, naturally) to my great surprise this stunning creature was in the seat next to mine. Futhermore, somewhat astonishingly, she was on her own (I would imagine her to be accompanied at all times by some Greek God type figure, some bronzed Adonis called Marco who has been her boyfriend since birth). Despite her good looks, she seemed warm and friendly. At the interval, she even sparked up a conversation with me about the play. (On a side note, ‘The Real Thing’ is one of my favourites, and appropriately enough it deals with the various romantic entanglements of a passionate playwright – [...] art and life bleed into one another). I discover – of course – that she was

A) An actress

B) American

C) Going back to the USA in less than two weeks

(For the record, he did not look like a German tourist.)

He was right: he had written some things that were hard for me to read. That it was an adjustment for him to be dating a virgin. That he's learned his lesson about long-distance relationships. That he'd be an idiot to not have spotted a pattern in his love-life (of dating Americans and the heartbreak that follows).

But there were other parts that made me melt.

"It was like the world stopped. She leant over to me, a stunned look in her eye, and told me that she felt like her life just changed. It was one of the best days of my life. My romantic streak [...] had been re-awakened."

After reading it, my heart fluttered. I wanted to get on a plane and go right back. I wanted to Skype him right that very moment. Even though the difficulties were there and there was an ocean between us, it still seemed like maybe things could work.

I had hope.

Maybe it was silly. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was dangerous.

But it was there. Hope.

I guess that's just the romantic in me.

May you find the hopeful romantic in you,

~A~

P.S. I love you all. Thank you for reading. Thank you for the comments and encouragement. Thank you for your love.

P.P.S. The Whirled World series is over, but this story certainly isn't. I have so much to tell you. Some good, some bad, and all of it surely to be long-winded.