They were out of moxie at the store

So, I've been putting off dealing with the fact that I have some general auditions next week.  I always claim to like auditions - and I do, I feel like often they are my only chance to act anymore, and on the rare occasion I can surprise even myself, I feel connected, I feel capable.

But to be honest, my recent track record with auditions is frighteningly bad.  I haven't booked a job from an audition in over two years.  And the last audition I did I thought, hey, it'll be great!  I work with this company every year, they have to cast me!  I went in, hoping to break my streak, and felt pretty good about what I did.  Then I got a special phone call from the producer, saying, hey, we just want to check that you'll still do the season with us, after we tell you the tiny little roles we cast you in.   So even when a company has to cast me from the audition, they will make sure to give me as little as possible to do, just so I don't ruin the plays for them.

General auditions are just that, general, and often phoned in by the companies that are seeing you.  As in, they have to hold general auditions, but they have already cast their entire season from people they already know.   But surprise!  I have just this evening realized I am scared out of my mind.  Possible crying jag coming up.

First, before I get into details, let me explain that I figured out I am terrified when I noticed I had made a batch of buttercream icing with almond flavoring from scratch.  And ate it.  Licked it right off the spoon.  I think this is a pretty good indicator that I am stressed. 

So, what's different?

Because an audition is an opportunity to show someone what you've got and I have nearly run out of belief that I have anything to show.  I feel like I'm going to market with an empty truck, how am I going to sell air? 

Just...I don't want to sound all woe-is-me, I mean this quite baldly: the fact that I have not been chosen so many times in a row seems to me an indicator that I have no ability in this field.  There are lots of hints - a theatre where I did a bunch of shows has stopped calling me to audition, the theatre I work with every summer has me playing almost nothing, the cabaret review I've been involved in for three years didn't ask me to do year 4...  When do I catch on to what everyone else already knows?

But I LOVE it.  I love it so much.  I love doing it so much I'll do bad plays with bad actors and love it.  And the chance to be seen by theatres I would really love to work for, it's overwhelming, it's terrifying, it's a death sentence if I screw it up.

Ok, death sentence sounds dramatic, I know.  But I'm out of moxie.  I've got no belief left - I haven't surprised myself at an audition in so long.  Maybe the reason I continue to fail is that I haven't got the talent you need to succeed.  And if I get to the point that I truly believe that, that not an ounce of me thinks I can do it, I'm finished, kaput.  If that happens, how on earth do I survive it?  I won't do anything dramatic like kill myself, but in a way, that's worse, you know?  I'd just be mostly dead inside for another, what, thirty, forty years? 

Or, hey, yes, I could find something else I like to do, sure.  Something I like, not love.  But even then, even shunted into some minor path of least resistance, I'll think of myself as a failure.

This is why I'm so scared.  I don't WANT to fail.  I don't want to be the person I'm describing.  If this were a film, I would feel so very scared, this would be the entry into the third act, the dark night of the soul, and next week I'd be brilliant in my auditions and everything would turn around!  I want to triumph, I want to get to do the thing I love and I want to be good at it.

Right now that seems like a pipe dream, I'll admit.  My life isn't a film. 

Worrying

Certain experiences and ideas are so deep seated (deep seeded?) that no amount of reprogramming can correct them.

Hmmm.  I write that and it sounds true-ish but unconvincing.

I don't have anything new to report, and suddenly that feels like my fault entirely - have I tried hard enough?  Have I made any real attempt to get the things I actually want since last I whined or complained? Have I even taken the time to see outside of my little bubble recently?

And how am I planning to earn $600 to pay for these tickets I just bought to go visit my family?

But I also feel a deep failure of creativity - I feel like if I truly had anything to offer the world, I have given it the old college try and the world has said, repeatedly and clearly, no thank you, we've had better.

Oh, right....

I managed to walk right into the sharp oven door today (sharp because it's missing its cover, ow) and I was cursing and making arghy noises and my husband rushed in (the way he does when I make these noises, because as he confessed to me today, I sound as if I have chopped off my finger).  He put his arms around me and made kind soothing sounds and as I stood there, feeling pissy and in pain and pitiful, I actually said out loud....

"I know, I know.  I need to be in a play."

Because none of this raging bear in the woods act goes down when I feel actualized.  When I feel my soul is being used.  When I have worth because my energy is going into something I care about.

It sounds as if I am saying I wouldn't have walked into the oven door if I were in a play.  Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.  I wouldn't have.  Sound crazy?  Yes.  Held up by historical fact?  Yup.

You watch - all this self-pity and whining...it may not evaporate, but it will lighten considerably come June 6.  Well, I think.  I might not be quite excited enough for that project, but I think even a bit part in something will flip my switch to the "on" position.

I certainly hope so.  It's like having to wait for weeks between fixes.  One gets the DTs.

Adventure

I had an adventure!  I went somewhere new!  I talked to fun and intriguing people, saw beautiful and crazy things, ate way too much fantastic food, and got no sleep.

I also found a new drink of choice - the Moscow Mule.  I like it.  Give me another!

But now I have that back-from-a-magical-land-with-no-hope-of-return feeling (which feeling is trademarked and reserved for a friend's project).  Hopeless end-of-second-act, dark-night-of-the-soul music plays as I type.

And the ants, my mortal enemies, are back.  Argh.  It will be a long summer.

Funny story quickly becoming legend:

While I was in line for coffee one morning, a woman interuppted the ordering process to complain to the barista - she had an accent, French maybe?  Perhaps Austrian or Swiss?  "This sandwich," she was brandishing a plastic container full of sandwich, "it has come on a crossaint.  I don't eat crossaints.  I asked for bread." 

The barista replies, apologectically, "We don't have bread.  That's the way it comes ma'am.  That's normal."

Her reply, said with utter scorn, "For you.  I do not eat crossaints."

There was more to the conversation, but the plain, flat-out statement that such a thing was clearly not normal was so outrageously fantastic, so "It's the pictures that got small..." that we've begun to adopt the phrase elsewhere.  Try it - it's enormously satisfying.

Overshare

I have always been an oversharer.  I come from a family that keeps a lot of useless secrets, in an extremely self-editing fashion, and it's exhausting, so I try as much as possible to keep information truthful and consistent.  It seems easier.

For instance, when my parents bought a BMW, my mother initially didn't want to drive it home to her family's house.  She didn't want anyone to think they had so much money they were buying BMWs. 

There are plenty of other, smaller instances - I find them baffling and obfuscating in the extreme.  I try to avoid them.

Yet, I find myself in a situation...well, technically a trio of situations...in which I must keep certain things to myself.  Partly to keep from offending or hurting others, but mostly out of sheer self-preservation.  It's odd. I found myself saying about one of these, "If there was anything to say, we would have said it."  And now that I think about it, this is a complete and utter lie.  Precisely because there is something to say, I have left it alone. 

Now, granted, what there is to say is not USEFUL.  It's being left unsaid for several reasons, one of which is because it would sound insane if it got said aloud.  And another - it (and by "it" I refer to several different unrelated things at once) would damage assumptions I have about my life that I need to keep in place.  Or it would disturb the precarious balance I've developed.

I know this must sound impenetrable.  The reason I'm writing about it is in an effort to examine whether I'm turning into my mother yet. 

You want an example?  Sure.  Here's a completely true instance:

My amazing husband is the bees knees.  Given the choice, however, he would never ever move again - we would stay in this admittedly lovely apartment forever.  Now, me, I have never lived anywhere as long as I have lived in Chicago...and I am getting antsy. 

I keep this to myself, because right now there's nothing to head to instead.  Unlike some folks I know, my husband is never going to roll the dice and decide to pull up stakes and wander off to the west coast or even further.  Ironically, that's one of the things I love about him - he gives me roots, gives me a home. 

So I keep my wanderlust under wraps.  I don't discuss it, I rarely mention it, it's just one of those things that gets tabled because there's no use taking about it.

But it doesn't go away.  I just keep not choosing it.

In all fairness, if I did sit down with my husband and talk to him about wanderlust or moving, he would try to make someting happen.  He'd let me go traveling or he'd move to Iowa or he'd find a way to make me happy.  But he'd be miserable doing it, and making him miserable would take most of the fun out of it.  I don't want to ask for things like that.  I don't want him to change his nature.

Not to make it all about my husband - I have similar problems with myself and my own assumptions.  I decided a long time ago not to become an academic so I could pursue being an actor.  So far my success has been limited, and I wonder if I'd have been happier being an academic who acts for fun.  But mostly I choose not to think about that, because thinking about it jangles the compromises I have made and leaves me upset and disappointed.

Now, none of the above are the things I really shouldn't talk about, though the above are true.  But there are such things, and I am trying to figure out if I am being a coward or a genius by keeping them to myself. 

Or am I just turning into my mother?  Her side of the family, I've said time and time again, have an inexhaustible capacity for selective self-awareness. 

I am not immune.

Soundtrack

I miss being possible.  I feel like as I am getting older, I'm less possible.  As if I'm walking down a hallway in one direction, so all the doors I've passed are closed forever.

But this is a misperception, surely?  I pass different doors nowadays, certainly, but the supply of them is neverending, or at least, is only limited by my own imagination.

I can tell myself that, and it holds true when I look at other people's lives.  I can witness all around me the people who at any age, are ageless and fantastic because they explore life no matter what.  No matter what they explore, it brings them energy.  And I can see people who got old just because they sank into their lives, like sandcastles washed away by the tide.  I can SEE it and my mind believes it.

My heart is infected with doubt, though, and in the dark, late hours of the night, all I hear is the doubt.

Right now I'm trying to find a really great soundtrack for my life, and crank it up, so I drown out that doubt.  Any suggestions? 

No One Complained

There are lots of times in my life I've walked out on a limb and it has broken off the tree.  Naturally, the mere idea of trees is enough to leave me swimming in regret. 

But, as I've been saying, I don't seem to be able to learn from my incessant failure, so here's another poem for the three people who stop by.  You don't have to like it, but no one's making you read it, so don't be unkind.

18 March 2011

Cavities, Rachel realized, could be growing for years

undetected, unfelt, no one the wiser.

By the time you knew you had a cavity it was

too late, time for a root canal or worse.

But they weren't really a surprise, you could

have found them any time, just let a dentist

poke around, take a picture or two.

Why, then, thought Rachel,

since it was your mouth, after all,

should you be the last to know?  Why not

wake up and feel the empty space growing in you?

That your body kept such things secret from you,

Rachel didn't feel they were on the same side anymore,

she and her teeth.  Or gums?  She wasn't sure.

It gnawed at her.

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

So, I can tell you're bored, because of the way you've been messing with me.  In the past month, you've given me more surprises than I thought I was equipped to handle, made me question things I thought were rock solid and exploded myths I've held on to for years.  Congratulations.  I AM thoroughly confused, and find myself capable of all sorts of things I never imagined, while still without the opportunities to make the life changes I've been planning.

I'll say this for you, Universe - you have a great and quirky sense of humor, and I've always liked that in a person.  Thought you may be bored enough to play around with me and my future, I have Not Been Bored At All.  I've been buying lots of high heels and short dresses and makeup, too, just to make sure I'm ready for whatever you have next in mind.

You should know that I've learned absolutely nothing yet, so if you have a specific point, I haven't grasped it. 

But I'm not down.  Now I'm just waiting.

Your move, universe.

Short-lived

Wow.  No matter what happens to you as an actor, there is no way to safeguard against feeling like shit when you don't get cast.  You could win a Tony, and still feel like shit the next day when someone else gets cast instead of you.  Well, I suppose that may not be true - since I *clearly* haven't won a Tony, I don't really know. 

This is one of those moments when I think, why, why do I do this?  Why not just hang it up and go make money? 

No, that's bullshit.  I know I why I do it.  But I wish there would be a huge thunderstorm, and I could go out in the middle of a field, and scream for a while that it is some kind of sick sick joke when someone is given the desire and the determination, but not the luck or the talent for success.

You know what I miss?  Not the money, not seeing my family, not good weather, not QUITE living in the UK, not hearing rain on the tin roof, not childhood or my first love, not having a house, not having fantastic clothes, not being rail thin, not being Thumbelina in the school play, not all the friends I've lost.

I miss being good at something.  I know this sounds like self-pity, and to some extent I'm sure it's born of that, but I miss being good at something.  I'd say "anything", but I'm still good at working the copy machine, for instance, and that's not getting it done for me.

Being good at something feels like flying in a dream, and right now it feels like I know that I'll never be able to dream that again.  And how sad would you be if you thought you could Never Ever dream about flying? 

Well, good-bye, incredibly short-lived three weeks of confidence.  Hello, alcohol.  We've never really gotten to know each other, and that seems like a shame.  I hear you're good at making people forget.

Yeah...

You know when you do something and later all you can think is, "Well, that wasn't me."  I think they call that compartmentalizing.

Also, when you do something you shouldn't but somehow you expect not only will you get away with it, but you will have no ill effects whatsoever? 

I think they call that "hubris."

Of course, there's always the case where you do something a little bit shady to avoid doing something clearly insane and destructive.  I'm not sure there's a term for it, but I'm going to go with calling it "innoculation..."  (Though wikipedia seems to think the idea I'm going for is called variolation.)

Several Disparate Things

First, I'm working in...a really tall Chicago Building today and the fog has moved in so all you see out the window is fog. It is eerie and beautiful, if dizzying, I feel like I'm in Brigadoon and the mist is shifting in to take me into the clouds for a hundred years.

(I had the name of the building, then I thought it might be like catnip to my stalker. My hours at this job are random and untrackable, so I am probably safe, but why make it easy?)

Second, there's a TON of wacky stuff happening that I either don't know what the facts are or I'm stuck keeping other people's secrets. People getting fired, having affairs, taking drugs... It's crazy town! Every part of it is bugging me and making me want to write about it on this blog, and every part of it would be stupid to have in print on a blog, even this one that no one reads. Dilemma.

Third, I am working on the no fear policy, right? The first step always comes out defensive, right? Like the time I bought a backless dress - the first time I wore it I spent the night saying, yeah, yeah, I know I never wear stuff like this but dammit, I like this dress! And then I finally firgured out no one cared and the next time I could just wear the dress without constantly commenting on the fact I was wearing the dress.

So, forgive me when I have to preface this today with: the hell with it...you stopped by, here's a poem for you. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it. (Eventually I can do without the disclaimer, but baby steps, ok?)


========================================================

14. (9 August 2010)

I wanted to howl at the moon
but Larry kept saying that was the last thing my momma needed to hear
the phone ringing late with policemen and their mumbled apologies for waking her.
He was rolling joints and soon we were arguing
cause he said that rusted out barrier was a levee.
"This one? This? I think it's just a big gate
stuck in what amounts to a pond."
Larry said what did I think a levee was anyway
(about then I noticed how the moonlight hit his mustache
how it looked greasy, how his hair looked greasy,
and it made me wonder when was the last time Larry had showered).
All of the crime of the night drained out of a sudden,
and it came to me how different the night would have been
if I could have loved Larry, or not even love,
maybe nothing as grand or complicated, but if I could look at him
and see more than just a two-bit hoodlum in training,
more than all the layers of filth he couldn't wash off.

The night felt absent, like it had just moved out
before Larry and I got there, like an empty apartment
and we were pretending the dust and flotsam left behind by the last tenant
were their furnishings, their nick-nacks.

So I did howl, loud, like a wolf in a horror film,
deep in the throat, letting it tear out of me like a rocket,
and in the distance, some animal barked back
and for a spilt second that night was full of night.
Some animal in the dark had heard me.

Das Loop

My life is currently on some strange feedback loop where I get to examine the past and who I was there and the choices I've made. The universe is fucking with me, I can tell.

Naturally, I see everything a little differently from fifteen, twelve, eight years later. But I look for themes, so I find them. Our computer age means that in theory, I don't have to recall the situations from memory, I could just go find the emails and chats I saved and get a sense of how certain things went down.

Except that I went through and threw away a lot of supporting material at some point in an attempt to free myself of its effects. Which I find odd because I normally save everything. So now what is interesting is to read the handful of things I actually did save, think about why I saved those few messages, and ruthlessly dissect the few remaining clues.

Oh, by the way, the themes I noticed? I get obsessed with things easily, and I've been far far too afraid of making a mistake.

The obsession tendency...I have it with songs, people, food, clothing. I'll find something I like and play it to death or wear it out or eat it all the time. And then sometimes I'm just done with it, and I never listen to that song again, after having played it a million times before. With people, I concentrate on a few, and I try to know them well. Sometimes very very well. I get immersed, emmeshed, fascinated.

In general, the people I care about remain important, as opposed to getting tossed aside when I've worn through them. I'm finding, sometimes inconveniently, that once I've loved you, there's always a pocket of that feeling left. Maybe it would be more accurate to say, once I've trusted you, there's always a spare bedroom of care you can crash in. I'm thinking of friends as much as romances. My closest friend today I knew in high school.

I guess the downside of the above is I don't always let things go. Which in turn leads to some very stalker-like tendencies. (Yes, Michael P, that time I "ran into" you in your office building? I was pretty much looking for you, even though I pretended it was total coincidence. But you knew that. Thanks for playing along.) Which is why I was pleasantly surprised that I managed to toss whole reams of internet interaction from my past. Although next time I go home to my parents' house I bet I find at least one folder of things I kept. But still, hey, it's not around! I don't look at it all the time! For a stalker, that's growth.

Theme Two: Fear. Wow. I wish I could time travel and set myself straight on some of this. I would love to see what would have happened to me if I'd had true audacity to go with my big mouth. I would have gone to Sarah Lawrence. I would have gotten drunk more. I would have made a lot more mistakes. I would have better stories.

I know the answer is to start living with no fear NOW. I'd like to. Habits are strong, and there's more at risk now, more to lose. Still.

Still.


All right, then. I'm getting used to wearing three inch heels and getting my way.


Maybe it's time to buy my own pin-striped suit and start kicking some ass. I threw all that stuff away to have room for what's NEXT.


Bring it, universe. Bring it.

Uncomfortable

So, two things, and quickly, because I need to go to bed.

One is that looking at the "stats" has ruined me, because I feel extra conscious of the hitherto throw away titles. A lot of people end up clicking to the blog because of the title about unemployment and its ups and downs. I doubt they stay, because clearly that's not the kind of thing they are looking for, but the point has been lodged in my brain that a chance comment could be a search string by accident. So now I'm overthinking the titles.

Two is that through an odd set of coincidences, I've spent much of today thinking about how my past actions might appear to someone else. Since I don't know, I can only imagine the worst, and the worst is pretty irritating, annoying, pitiful, and occasionally stalker-like. I have to hope that's not really how I come off, but it definitely makes me grateful to the people in my life who have looked past my sometimes odd behavior and forgiven me for some of it.

Also, I don't like looking back at situations where I cared more about someone than that person cared about me. But, hey, doesn't everyone have those?? Why do they seem so very embarrassing? Why can't it seem brave and noble to care about someone? Nope, it just seems pitiful.

In contrast, I often feel sad about the people who cared about me that I couldn't return the affection, but the truth is, I don't think about those people a lot. (Or maybe there aren't as many of them? I had a penchant for the impossible dream back in the day. I was good at pining, not so good at other woods.)

So, tomorrow I'm going looking for things I'm happy to remember, even if I remember them incorrectly.

Who are you, stalker??

So I've got some free time, and I've just written that no one ever reads this blog, which made me go check my stats, which made me realize that after months of really no one reading this blog, someone came by and read most of it. Yesterday.

Who is my stalker?? I have ideas but I'm sure to be wrong.

Also, Blogger lets you see how people are finding your blog and when I look at the history for all time, I find a search string that made me laugh my ass off:

actress "no one *** wants * to hear ***what I* think"

(The astericks aren't really there but I'm trying to confuse future search engines.)

As my husband said, "Do you really use that phrase a lot?" The answer is no, but apparently I use it often enough for someone to look for me that way. Which also makes me laugh my ass off.

Oh, stalker. I hope you come back so you can see you've brightened my day considerably. I typed leave a comment but I can't guarantee my stalker enjoyed any of my ranting.

Wow. Life is fun sometimes. This is one of those times.

Oh, and don't miss the new post below - TWO in one day after such a long drought! It's all for you, stalker! How you inspire.

Re: Your title here

So, I don't think anyone reads this - and I'm not complaining, I never write it, so the fault is mine, right? It was just a place for me to throw all sorts of thoughts that had no other place in my life. And send secret messages to men who weren't my husband. But two things happened to severely limit my blog time. One: I did finally accept that the men who weren't my husband that I was targeting were not receiving the messages (and that really, my husband was the man I was most interested in, full stop). Two: I got laid off from a desk job that paid me to sit in front of a computer.

But I have sort of a day job again, and sometimes it lets me sit in front of a computer and get paid. Rarely, but sometimes. Guess what tonight is.

And the fact that that most of the men I'd like to communicate with don't read this blog has turned out to be fortunate. Marriage, it turns out, doesn't mean every particle of your interest in the opposite sex has focused itself into one other human being. It means you don't act on any of those interests, but it doesn't mean you don't have them. I am lucky - I have realized that my husband isn't perfect, but no one else I meet could ever possibly give me the relationship we have. Three years in, I still feel lucky and loved. And that I made the right choice for me. Even his imperfections suit me.

But there are all these other men. Men from the past, men from right now, men I have yet to meet, and they are often Interesting. It's like looking back over a Choose Your Own Adventure Book at the turnings you didn't take.

I made a scattershot list the other day of Men I Should Have Slept With - it was surprisingly short, considering I didn't get around much, and there were notable omissions (the man I was totally, head over heels in love with for a year overseas? Not on it). Here's what's funny: I don't really mind not sleeping with them. Ok, well, there is ONE person that the universe and I agree I should have darn well slept with, but it's not who you might expect. Mostly it's a list of sweet men that I was too scared to trust, but would most likely have been very trustworthy.

Aw, side note. Susan - one of the people who made the list was that guy from Ireland, the one who had murdered someone in self-defense and you kept calling him "the murderer?" Thanks for messing that one up for me. He was sexy. That was one good time I really ought to have had.

But overall, I traded trying lots of people out for the privilege of being able to personally make a decision about who those people would be. No one ever forced me, no one ever guilted me into it, no one ever got me drunk.

While that may strike some as a shame, it makes me feel powerful.

It may also strike some (and rightly so) that I might have control issues. Hmmm.

See, this is where it helps that no one reads this. My mother would have a heart attack reading this.

Anyway, I've met men in the last month that I want to add to the list, but I can't really say I SHOULD have slept with them, since I'm married and some of them are also married, and that matters. I don't ever plan to cheat on my husband - it's not worth losing him. No, seriously, there is not a single person whose bedroom skills would be worth losing the best relationship I have ever had. And since it's true for my marriage, it's also never worth the karmic fallout of ruining someone else's relationship (for me).

But I'm not blind, deaf, or resistant to flattery. So there's a new list:

Men I Would Like to Have Slept With.

Are you on it? Probably not. Then again, some of you may be. It's a short list, but it does have room for growth.

I'll Know My Name As It's Called Again

It's autumn, and new things are happening. Not exactly the things I want, but good things, things that might get me to what I want. Maybe.

This is the time of year when everything seems more possible. I suppose spring feels that way, but autumn has more resonance of beginnings for me - echoes of a new school year, echoes of moving to Chicago, echoes of shaking off the excess and getting down to business.

I think I am the one in my own way. I am going to try to get out of it. I don't want to feel bitter or untalented or wasted, and I think I am the only person who can either escape that, rise above it, or just change my life back to feeling how I felt once - the luckiest person ever, with all of life's opportunities ahead.

And I should stretch more.

I'm listening to Chaka Khan sing, "Tell Me Something Good" and it IS. She is the living embodiment of sex and glory, and you just want to tackle the nearest person and take their clothes off. Slowly.

I keep getting opportunities that, if I could land them, would change everything for the better. And so far, I don't land them. But then more come along. And I don't land those either, but then a few more swan by. Law of averages, something has to stick, right? One of them will come through eventually?

I wrote an image down the other day: a box of old silverware, mostly forks. And I like it. I like thinking about that box. I like thinking that everyone stole the spoons and melted the knives down for jewelry, and there those forks are, hogging that box, finally it's all about them. Hurrah!

I have to get better at enjoying NOT being perfect. How do you enjoy the music if you're worried about how your dancing looks?

Been sick

I've been sick, sore throat, low fever, a little sniffles, aches and pains and general malaise.

Now I'm putting off going to the gym. I'm not sure I really feel up to it, but somehow I think I need to get my body back in gear, at least a little bit, regardless of the sore throat.

And I'm ... fretful? worried? anxious? I start a class today, feeling pretty untalented and physically out of it. It's an improv class, and while I can't say I was ever any good at improv, I used to love it, I used to feel so happy to be doing it, until I got scared off it by dismissive men.

So I want, naturally, to discover today that I am magically really good at it! Actually, after these past couple of months, I desperately want to discover I am good at pretty much anything, but I can see the danger here: I am unlikely to be magically good at improv, because like all things, it is a skill - one I have not spent any time developing.

Yet I've lost my mojo for all things - the veil of hubris has been removed and I am actually not good at ANYTHING I love. I want my veil back - well, honestly, I want to be proved good in reality, not just in my mind.

I would like to just show up to class ready to have fun and learn something - that's the point. But underneath all that reasonableness I am yearning for something cosmic, some proof that I have not wasted 15 years of my life.

And will I be disappointed when I don't get it? We'll see.

Into the Void

Ok. Got it. I am writing all of this into a void, because no one reads this page. It's hard to get tone right in type - I'm ok with that, since I only ever had...hmmm...I think about 5 or 6 people who stopped by on occasion, and I didn't post anything for nearly a year, so fair enough.

So it's like I'm writing in a diary that someone could stumble upon. Should this make me more cautious or less cautious?

I wanted to post that I'm back to learning things at this internship. I was in on Friday watching auditions and thinking about how to prepare for commercial auditions and how to decipher what the agent is telling you. I watched a lot of people struggle with the directions and with the spot in general, and a lot of people had prepared but were not able to take direction to change their preparation. They weren't able to think of anything off the cuff to improv further in the scene, and most of them seemed completely thrown by being asked for anything beyond the script.

I can appreciate that feeling of being on the spot, so it made me think about how I could prepare myself for such an eventuality. In the nervousness of the moment, a lot of your thinking shuts down. I guess you have to do your thinking early, and THAT'S the kind of preparation you have to do.

Also interesting, the phrase "go further with it" from an agent's lips never refers to going bigger, it refers to extending the text. The trend in tv spots is small and real, unerplayed, deadpan, etc. The bigger you get, the less real you seem for today's spots. I haven't seen an exception yet, but I bet I will. It's just a trend, not an absolute.

I still think personally I am not very good at this, but yesterday I was able to get back to trying to figure out how it works. Maybe I can get better...I'm definitely going to take a class soon. I'm still pretty disappointed in myself, and it's hard to shake the idea that I'm never going to book real work because I don't have the talent for it. But for the moment, I'm going to keep going, and see if I can improve.

I wish I had something more to show for the 9 years I've been at this. Oh, well.

Unexpected Twist

It's late, and I can't detail this development the way I'd like to, but I discovered something disturbing today.

I'm interning at a casting agency. One of the perks is that I can watch the dvds of some past auditions - even ones I auditioned for. Today was slow, so I took a look at some auditions.

I am not very good. Please understand, I'm not complaining so that someone will tell me how great I am. (I mean, no one will look at this blog for at least another couple of months, I'd starve to death waiting for that.)

I mean objectively, watching the tapes, I'm no good. I'm not embarrassingly horrific, but it's easy to see why I didn't book any of these jobs. I pull faces, I sound disconnected, and I currently look massive onscreen. The camera adds ten pounds, Christmas added ten pounds, at my lowest I still needed to kick off an extra five pounds - add that up, I'm wearing a flesh overcoat of at least an extra 25 pounds. I look ridiculous. I look like I had my skinnier self for a snack.


I have to go to bed now. But it's a shock to the system to discover that the reason I'm not getting more work is that I'm actually not good enough to get it. I've often said that just because I love acting doesn't mean I'm good at it, but it's still shocking to discover that I'm NOT good at it.

I'm not sure which is stranger or harder:

Giving it up because now I know why I won't get anywhere,

or considering keeping at it with the full knowledge that I'm not good.

I do realize there's an outside chance I could work at getting better, but I'm a good ten years into trying to make this a profession - it's a blow to find out I lack some basic skills.

I've often complained I don't feel like I'm good enough: this is a different statement. Today I looked at proof that I am indeed not good.

I'm off to sleep on it. Maybe I'm still good at theatre?? But somehow, it seems so unlikely...

Pros and Cons of Unemployment

I wish I could say that it has been an unalloyed joy finally to devote myself to auditioning and working in my chosen field. I also wish that I weren't unemployed at the very moment that most of the work in my field has dried up. Don't get me wrong - I would love to spend all my time being an actor. And for the past few months, I have to a degree. But the snag is that being an actor is not nearly as good as working as an actor.

Also, it costs money to be alive. I'm lucky because I'm used to living on the cheap. I resist beautiful clothes, don't get seduced by gadgets, and like cooking for myself. I was raised by a banker and a saver. I know all about budgets and while I've never made a lot of money, I know better than to spend money I don't have.

But being unemployed for a year is kicking my butt, money-wise. I have rent money, for now. I have money for groceries. I do a little bit of teaching and I collect enough unemployment that the basics are covered, for now. But I took certain things for granted when I was unhappily ensconced in my horrible office job.

Now I cannot:

• travel. Especially, I'm afraid, to a friend's wedding in CA in May. I suppose a miracle could occur, but so far... I got subsidized for holiday travel, but I still feel guilty about that. I'm 35, for goodness sake's.
• save. It seems like a small thing, and actually, I do still put miniscule amounts "away" every month, but it's demoralizing. My banker wouldn't LET me put money in my IRA a week or so ago. "Are you working again?" No, I explained, but this was surplus. "You need to hang on to that money - you don't know what will happen, and you may need it." He's right. I tried to explain I have money in savings that I would use for emergencies. But my financial future is such that I can't guarantee I won't need that money.
• have children. Seriously. Am I ready to have children? I don't know. Can I even consider children while having no money and no foreseeable source thereof? No. Am I swiftly passing my sell-by date to have children? Yup.
• go to parties that require gifts. This makes me feel chintzy, and is still rude, since you're supposed to give shower gifts to people even if you miss their parties, right? But I just don't know how the budget could handle shower gifts - or wedding gifts, for that matter! I got lucky a while back - a friend of mine had a shower, and one of her requests (thank you lord) was for home cooked meals that she could freeze. Hurrah.

Let's pretend for a moment that money is no object.

Life should be great. I am finally able to devote myself to being an actor. I can go sit in the Equity office endlessly, trying to been seen for equity auditions. I can go to every commercial audition that I'm called to do. I have no conflicts of any kind.

However...

Of all the auditions I have done since September 2009, I have booked exactly two of them. One was a voiceover for a Public Service Announcement, so it paid exactly $153. For the other, I spent two hours pretending to be a long-suffering patient for the camera. I'll get paid about $250.

The Pros: I had a great time doing both of those jobs. The VO was funny and the studio we recorded it in had a great view over Chicago. It was a blast. The filming folks were easy-going and friendly.

The Cons: In 5 months, I've worked for about 3 hours and made $403. It's not about the money - I keep auditioning for theatre that would perform in tiny spaces for a "stipend" - and I would love doing the shows. Would LOVE it. Sadly, I haven't gotten cast in anything.

So you may have guessed I'm getting downhearted. (As would appear in Pogo: "Are We Downhearted?" "Yes!")

The possible upside? If I break down and get an office job (presuming that I can, there are no guarantees in this job market), I'll bet I'd be back to blogging a lot. There's enticement for those four loyal readers out there.

Maybe four is pushing it.

Am I downhearted? Yes.

Heavy Like a Loaded Gun

I've been sunk in my own stew for a while, and it isn't interesting. I was listening to lovely music and was inspired to write something, but there is so much else to do and so much stuffiness in my head, I can't quite concentrate.

I noticed on April Fool's Day that I'm carrying a lot of bitterness, and I'd like to put it down. It isn't helping. Everything seems to take such a fight that I've gotten tired. I'd like to think of myself as a fighter. The only things I seem to be able to convince someone I'm good at are boring to me, and the things I love are currently out of reach. And worse, I thought my actions were previously bringing said things closer, when apparently...not.

Confusing? Sorry.

Here's an example: exercising. I've been running about 4 miles pretty much daily, and I suppose increasing my overall health level, only to find a) I seem to have done something odd to my left hip. Damn. b) despite so much more exercise than in years past, I seem to be losing no weight at all, and c) whatever improvement I noticed in my body (a general leanness) has been completely ruined by five days in Cancun drinking pina coladas. Seriously, 9 months of daily running ruined in 5 days. Really? I can't take a break?

Losing the job was a blow, not because I liked it but because that is how I had made my life work, how I had bridged the times between shows, by filling it with money. Not big money, perhaps, but enough money to save here and there. Now, I have a job where I work hard for very little money - true, most do, but it's a difficult transition. Now I can't save, and that's disheartening.

In addition, the firm I used to work for has denied my unemployment. (I'm not claiming any now, now I'm working again, but there are a couple of random weeks.) So that's a fight I am disliking immensely. To think I worked for the firm for 6 years and that's how they decide to behave, when THEY are the ones who let me go...it just feels so petty and mean-spirited.

Lastly, for now, is that my new job involves working with seniors (the almost elderly, not high schoolers) and they are equally a delight and a torture. Delight because they are all positive and talented people, and a joy to discover. Torture because every time we get to the "I'm an actor" part, we go through one of several by-now-familiar song and dances:

1. The proof game - "Well, what have you been in?" If it isn't anything they've heard of or seen, they tell me all about the things they have seen that I wasn't in (and usually wanted to be).

2. Proof game Part 2 - "Oh, do you know....?" I have only won this one once - someone's pilates teacher is a wonderful actress here in town who I like a great deal and know vaguely socially. Usually, no, I don't actually get to hang out with Gary Sinise or Bob Falls.

3. "What are you working on now?" Um, I'm auditioning for everyone's season of August Wilson plays and two-handers and not getting very far. It's a recession, and it turns out I am way in the back of the line for work. Theatres are canceling shows and putting on small cast plays...I'm out there, really, I am. If you want to cast me in something, I'm available.

4. My personal least favorite after #3 is the advice. Lots of advice about what I should be doing. Or who I should be auditioning for. Yep, did that. Yep, sang for them last week. Yep, sent them my headshot and resume. Yep, they know I exist and yet they don't care. And the no win of this conversation is that if you TELL them you've done these things they are suggesting, then the unavoidable assumption is that you are no good. Because if you were a good actor, these golden nuggets of advice would have helped you.

And that's what's getting old. If I were any good, would it be this hard a fight? I don't know right now. I'm losing the belief.

Actually, there's a story that makes me ridiculously happy, and it's apropos here. My husband met an actor friend of his out the other day who was commiserating about how tough it is for work right now. (So, hey, maybe it isn't just me!) This guy is maybe in his late 40s, early 50s, and he has worked consistently throughout his career - lots of industrial bookings amongst the theatre. Apparently, he was chatting about his current lack of work with his mother, and she piped up, "Well, you should have done the Wicked!" To which he said something like, sure, mom, I'll get riiiight on that and get into the cast of Wicked. Which makes me laugh my head off - this guy works all the time, and he's still getting grief from his mother for not getting the ONE HUGE sit-down Broadway show to play Chicago in years. I guess no matter how much you succeed, there's always something you haven't done.

Also to end on a high note - spell check wants my "colada" to be "collards". If that isn't metaphoric, I'm not sure what is.

Lastly, I should add that I have a terrific husband. It does help.

Peace out - have a butter lamb on me.

Ha

Oh, life. You're so funny.

So, I got laid off from my day job. I have many conflicting emotions about this.

I will not be homeless and will not starve. But my ability to save any money whatsoever has instantly disappeared in a blinding flash. In fact, depending on what happens next, I may find myself using money I so carefully saved.

Now, if I just had to have money, I'll bet I could get a full time job. It might not be simple, it might not pay really well, and it would almost certainly be something I disliked doing, but I feel sure that I could get a job. A job. Some job, of any kind.

But that was never the point. The only reason I've kept this current day job is because they allow me flexibility to pursue the things I really love. To take a job just to have a job and find myself without the time or flexibility to do any of the things I enjoy seems like...well, hell.

Truth be told, I haven't really enjoyed this job for years. It's a placeholder, it's comfortable because I know its irritations and limit my work time to contain them. However, there's no getting away from the fact that I enjoy knowing I'll get paid, and plan accordingly.

So in today's economy, how do I find work that will mean something to me? Well, the perfect answer would be book another equity show. But those efforts have not yet been successful.

I'm excited at the idea that I'd be free of this place. Just not excited to have so little money coming in.

I feel so many people are losing their jobs that I have to be grateful that a) I do have some savings, b) I do have some options, and c) I do have a tiny teaching job that will at least give me something to concentrate on while I make this transition.

Tricky - how do I shift my mindset away from squirrelling money in savings accounts and towards finding work I love, no matter what the pay cut?

What's in the Box?

I got fewer Christmas presents this year, and you know what, I'm thrilled. I mean, I like presents, naturally, but present giving at Christmas sets up this whole tit-for-tat that can lead to a lot of present giving just for form's sake. I can completely do without that kind of present giving and getting. It's worst at the office, where co-workers feel compelled to give you something, but either don't know anything about your likes and dislikes or just plain don't have the time or money to invest in a "great" gift for you - which is fair. I appreciate the difficulty, but my solution has been to give no presents at all. I participate in the Secret Santa, and call it a day. If I worked for an individual, I'd probably find him or her something, although honestly I've skipped that in the past as well.

Now, lest I come off like a Scrooge, I love to give presents to my near and dear. I love to come up with a really ideal present, something I know that person loves and will be excited to open. If I really can't find anything special, I go for practical, and make sure at least it could be used.

I normally get a slew of gifts, always from people who mean well, that I then have to find some way to re-gift into the world (because it really is a small apartment). Here are some items I would happily NEVER RECEIVE AGAIN:

• Stuffed animals. As a grown-up with little house space and no children, I have an exceptionally limited use for stuffed animals. Especially ones wearing Santa hats.
• Anything seasonally decorative. This decorative watering can filled with artificial poinsettias and a fake stuffed bird sitting on my desk - where do I put it? I have no storage in my apartment. Also, it isn't really my style. This goes for the decorative snowman I got last year from the same person.
• Candy canes. Nothing wrong with them, just, enh.
• Pierced earrings. I do not have pierced ears, which makes it awkward to wear them, and then I feel guilty. Boo.

I'm sure there are more, but my point is that this year, I got relatively few pointless gifts.

Interestingly, there are quite a few things that once were pointless that would finally come in handy: for instance, Christmas ornaments. My husband and I had our first tree at home this year, and happily he has a bunch of ornaments, but I was underrepresented on the tree. Don't tell me we could go out and buy ornaments. Sacrilege. In my house the tree is always decorated with all the ornaments you made as a kid or people gave you as presents, and they all have names and dates on them, and every ornament has a story. We always decorate the tree together as a family, and my mother tells all the stories, usually completely wrong. Nowadays the garbled stories are much funnier, because the dates on the ornaments often prove her completely incorrect. My personal favorite is the tiny wooden angel ornament she gave my Dad to tell him I would be born seven months later. Awww. But we have two ornaments that look very similar and she always tells the story while holding the one that is clearly dated three years after my birth.

Sadly, decorating the tree is one of my favorite family traditions that has been squashed by the move of Christmas to my brother's house, since he has two small children. But the small children are a good recompense, so I can take it.

Nevertheless, Christmas trees should be decorated with memories and personality. So where once I eschewed ornaments as gifts, now I'm loving them, building my own Christmas.

In the end, I think the perfect Christmas gift is a token of a memory or a reminder that someone cares enough about you to think of you specifically. Memories and Personality. It could be silly and inexpensive, it could be lavish and something you've always dreamed of, but it either gives you a story or a really warm feeling of love. Everything else is just trash weighing you down.

For me, I love the way the economy affected Christmas. Lots of that trash went away. Also, I love all the socks people gave me.

What about the rest of you? What was your favorite gift this year, and what did you get that you could have gone without?

If you try sometime, you just might find

So for the impact to make sense, you'll have to read the post under this one, but I found an article about Malcolm Gladwell's new book that made me reassess my moroseness:

“What’s surprising is how much work it takes. Ten thousand hours is a long time. It’s both a daunting and an empowering lesson. It says that, if you haven’t made it, it may not be because you don’t have what it takes. It may just be that you have misunderstood how extraordinarily long it takes for everyone. When you see how long the Beatles put in before they arrived in the USA in 1964 . . . There’s not a shortage of talent in the world. There’s a shortage of people willing to go to Hamburg to play eight-hour sets.” -Malcolm Gladwell

Oh.

Well, in that case, instead of holding my pity party, I've got some more hours to put in. Excuse me, I just remembered I'm lucky enough to be putting some of those in on a really lovely show off of Michigan Ave.

Sometimes, you gotta take your eyes off the horizon to see how far you've actually come. Because the horizon is always, always receeding in the distance. No matter how much ground you may have covered.

Lots

The adventure - lovely. The show - amazing. My current mood - abjectly morose.

It was bracing to be in London again. However stupid it may sound, it does feel like home, and it is a place of great magic for me. It was very odd having my husband along, because I've never been in the city with someone before - it's always been a place I explored basically alone. Of course I had friends and companions at different moments, but I was essentially wandering with only my own curiousity as a guide. Suddenly I had this other person, and this other person had no agenda but definitely got irritated and bored by following my agenda on occasion. It was like dragging the poor man to a 10 day college reunion. It's interesting to meet the people your spouse spent time with, but eventually it wears on you because it isn't your world you're catching up on.

Regardless, we had some glorious moments and no real blow outs, so I think that's pretty successful traveling. I was just reminded of how jealous of my time my husband can be - he gets saturated, and can handle our being apart, but overall he'd like us to hang out most of the time, and he doesn't want to come second to anyone else. (Fair enough, obviously.)

The trip was both a reminder that we are separate people as well as how much I have been absorbed into the "us-ness" we have. I have mixed feelings about that. I think more and more of the "us" as home base, and it's a great relief to have a place in the world that's home base. But there are parts of me I have put in storage for the moment, and I hope someday to unwrap them again.

I got back and started rehearsing for an equity show. It was fantastic and frightening, wonderful and woeful. I LOVE working where people do this for their living - they act in shows, and they get health insurance, and pension plans, and a support system, and a series of rules that makes their lives easier. I love the people I've met in this show - everyone is there to do a good job and I can respect everyone's work. Also, they make me laugh myself silly.

I am also completely overwhelmed with trying to be good enough, and deathly afraid this will be my only chance at acting in a world like this. It's taken so long, soooooo long to book this one show on this level, and now I don't want to go back, I want to stay here, and I'm afraid I don't have the chops for it. I've done a handful of auditions since we started, and none of them have been impressive, and I haven't booked a single one of those jobs.

I can't help but think, if I were any good, wouldn't I have already gotten on this level and stayed there? I mean, I've met people who came to town and in a year and a half have booked six months of an equity show and a reading at the Goodman. After seven years, I'm working equity....as a non-equity, non-dancing dancer and an understudy.

So here's the problem. Even if I'm actually not that talented, I can't stop. I love it. I LOVE it. It makes sense. I love 8 shows a week and rehearsal halls and silly backstage talk and TELLING A STORY. So even if I suck, I have to keep trying. Because I love it. But how sad it will be to know I suck and still keep trying? I want my love of it to make me talented, but it doesn't.

I'll be ok working non-equity - I still love theatre for telling a story, and that's something completely independent of union status. I just want so much for this to be my work, and there's not enough money in non-eq, even commercial non-eq, to keep me afloat. One of the best parts of these months have been the very few days I have had to spend working in an office, and now, with no more paid work on the horizon, it's back to the office, and that's hard to take. It's my Flowers for Algernon moment, and I'm worried I'll never get back.

I guess I'll have to work harder. Sigh. When I see Northwestern grads bounce from show to show, I can't help feeling a little bitter. Maybe someday I'll get there.

Adventure Ahoy

It's coming...in about ten days we hop an Air India flight to the UK. I am trying to juggle what I need to get done here with wanting to be there already and planning what needs to happen. My honey was asking me what we'd do, and I had to slightly make up what we'd do, because the truth is I'm going to want to wander around and show him stuff. And see people I adore. It's tricky to scheduled that exactly.

In the meantime, I'm happy because beyond the trip is a show, a show with actual paychecks and a union theatre and a group of people who DO THIS FOR A LIVING, which is after all what I've been after for years now. I only have ten days of office work scheduled for the months of November and December. Ten days! Ha! And that's just for extra money to stash for travel or a rainy day or Christmas presents. It may seem small, but the idea of doing what you love and getting paid a living wage is fantastic. It's a miniscule living wage - I couldn't buy a house on it, for instance, but it feels like the beginning of the right sort of thing.

We went to visit friends a few weeks ago who are quite wealthy, and on the way visited friends who may not be wealthy, but are doing really well. Both sets of friends ended up making us appreciate how much we like the little life we do have, and that we don't want more unless we can earn it doing what we love. Because at least one of each pair of folks does what they love, and all the things they have or have done come directly from that.

I'm not making sense. I would not be interested in having an enormous vacation house in the country if I had to give up acting and be a money manager in order to get it. I know several people who make huge salaries but don't seem to get any enjoyment out of what they do, and that seems like a crime to me. I do most of what I'd like to do on a comparable pittance per year. (In fact, I did the math, and one friend's yearly salary would last me six years.) Money is nice, and sure, there are times it would be very handy to have more of it, and I would quite like to buy a domicile one of these days, but I feel like working in an office AT ALL is enough of a sell out - I don't want to thrown away the things I love to sweat and slave at some profession I hate, or that (worse yet) bored me.

The holy grail of acting is that it is possible (if unlikely) that someday I could make a chunk of money at it. So as long as I'm sweating and slaving, I perfer it's in the service of a profession I not only enjoy, but feel passionate about. The passion and pleasure get me through the inevitable rough times. (I don't care what you do, sometimes it's rough.)

I just realized how hungry I am. Part Two will follow after lunch, I think.

Adventure

Me: "You know the internet joint account we set up, the one we called 'Wedding Expenses'"?

Husband: "Sure, why?"

Me: "Well, we don't have any wedding expenses anymore, so I renamed it today."

Husband: (after a slightly skeptical look): "Whatdja call it?"

Me: "Funtime Spending. It seemed much more...festive."

Husband: (admiringly) "You're right. That's much better. Funtime Spending. I might have to go buy something right away..."

It's time for an adventure, and we're actually going to have one. I'm not sure how it will turn out, as we're poor and money is a big issue for the moment, but someone else bought our tickets as a wedding present so we're going. To England. In about a month.

I don't even know where to start. Hubby's been (and I've lived there), so we don't have to do "Famous Britain", but there are so many places I'd like to show him and so many people I hope he can meet. I also wish we could spend weeks and weeks just wandering. Actually, I really do wish we could cycle across Europe. Is that unrealistic? Can it be done? What with our complete lack of any language besides English and lack of dough?

It's tricky. I'd like to live a little riskier but I no longer seem to make choices that lead me that direction. It's the reverse of a realization I had in my twenties. Back then, I was sitting on a train platform waiting, looking at the rafters and thinking how much I hate change, when it occurred to me how much change I had brought upon myself. I had intentionally sought out each and every change. "Bloody hell," I thought, "I must like change, really." And it seemed I did.

Now I suddenly realize I have stayed in the same place for nearly 7 years, making fairly safe choices. I have an IRA, for goodness sake, I pay for my own health insurance. I feel a little wrong-footed. I still like change - it's one of the best parts of being an actor, that each project is different. But I've cut myself off from some of the adventure. Maybe that's wise, maybe I'm being clever and grown up. I mean, if someone ran into me tomorrow while I was riding my bike to work, my insurance would be there for the big medical bills.

And I suppose getting married is a big change. I know it is for me.

So how do I keep the IRA and the health insurance and get back to risk? How do I stay on track to save money for a house and still backpack across Europe? Have I just plain run out of time for any more foolishness?

Food for thought.

Not Bad At All

I'm busy being an ordinary person, and it's ok. I don't love it -I miss working on a show, and I'd always rather be doing an acting gig than working in an office, but for now, it's fine. My one and only favorite lawyer came into the office today and I remembered what it's like to work for people you can actually like and respect. While yes, that means I normally don't work for people I can like and respect, it makes a nice change for today.

Further, since Michigan I am not as irritated. The lawyers are just as irritating, but for the moment I can handle it. I punch in, do my 9 to 5, go home, and wait for the paycheck.

It's a lot easier to do this because I know it is finite. In October I go into rehearsals for a big musical downtown. If I wanted to, I could probably live entirely off my paycheck and spend about two and a half months away from this law firm. I may try working two days a week instead, as then I can try to really get ahead in terms of rent and money and IRA and such. But even the idea of limiting this to two days a week while I spend the rest of my time doing 8 shows a week sounds grand.

So in the meantime I'm taking what they're givin' 'cause I'm working for a living. I'm a little embarrassed to be so practical, but at least my job-I-hate allows me to do the things I love.

In the meantime, the sweetie and I will be going to London in a few months. It feels very strange - London is a place I'd like to go back to live in someday, but right now all I can see is how much I've built this world in Chicago. I jumped around a lot in my twenties, and settling down felt like selling out. Now, however, I can see the advantage to staying put and grinding out what I'm trying to get.

More and more, I see the things I've done that succeeded have always been within my power but I didn't know how to access them before - like playing a video game where you have to know how to unlock secret aids - the aids are always there, but it takes some trial and error to unlock them. So for now, I have to keep playing this game over and over until I master it.

Sadly, I am slow to master it. But I creep forward, bit by bit. This month, I think I can be content with the progress and enjoy the fact that I get a new experience out of it starting in October.

And then, underneath it all, there's a lot more ambition. I want a lot more than this. I'm trying to enjoy what I do have while I get there.

I will get there, won't I?

Michigan and such

So, two weeks in Michigan doing Shakespeare outdoors - fantastic. I had one rough patch right in the middle where I got grumpy and pissy, but otherwise I had a beautiful time. I couldn't do this job all the time, because that part of Michigan is just vacation land, and this led to me eating way too much pie and other bad-for-me things. But aside from the unfortunate weight gain, it was the best acting job ever.

The theatre is a bandshell outdoors and the audience sits on a hillside and watches the show - gorgeous. Amazing to watch the sun go down over that hill. The audiences were lovely - so appreciative and so friendly. I couldn't help wishing I could be in the plays more so that I could entertain everyone more!

It was a very motley crew we took up, and I had (have) mixed feelings...not so much bad and good feelings, but affection mixed with utter caution. Some of these people are involved in dramas I want no part of. Some of them are involved in substances that increase the drama. I found myself wishing for a real grownup along - just one, because of course if everyone is a grownup the parties are no fun. But one real grownup would have waded in and settled some things definitively.

I'm being vague on purpose - I like (in many cases adore) these people, so I would hate to imagine one of them coming across this and getting the wrong idea.

Two weeks in Michigan made me realize again I'm not very good in group dynamics - I have less than a perfect track record in groups or with group mentalities. Fortunately, I was in this case able to just go along with the flow. I have had groups that I felt totally comfortable with and could completely be myself - maybe next year with these folks. Not that they aren't great, I just do better the second time around with these things.

Here's an example of my grumpy period. A woman came up from Chicago to visit, call her Sadie. For about four days, all I heard all day long was how fantastic she was. "Oh, Sadie's awesome, she's the best ever at everything and everyone likes her. She has no faults, she's both powerful and kind, and every one that meets her wants to fall down at her feet and worship her."

Maybe not those exact words, but that was the general sense. I was, of course, perversely irritated and had every intention of despising this angel.

Joke's on me - she really WAS a magnificent creature, with fascinating background and care for those around her. And I was delighted to meet her, and after that I kind of had to get over myself for a while.

Other than a few episodes of true jealousy, I really had a great time. Lots of water sports, we were staying on a lake and got to hang out on the dock during our copious free time. Most of what craziness there was didn't ruin anything for me. And I was exceptionally happy when my husband finally arrived...it was glorious to go exploring the terrain with him.

I gathered enough bliss from two weeks in Michigan to keep me calm during a weekend with my mother out in San Diego. We went out for my college roommate's wedding, which was absolutely lovely. For me it was a great combination of realizing how glad I was I got married and all the good things I can remember from the wedding (the unpleasantness is fading), and then on the other hand being jealous in moments that my roomie had managed to do x, y, or z that I didn't get around to during or for my wedding. It was a great time, though, and I think my mother was on her best behavior - not a single word about what I should or shouldn't wear, plunging necklines and all. Not a whipser of my needing to lose five pounds. (It's always five, even when it was more like 15-20 I needed to lose.)

My husband had hoped that I would get something along the lines of: "I'm so glad we did it our way at YOUR wedding," from my mother. But I predicted correctly that mom would have a great time and would have found such comments rude. However, I'm happy to note that she didn't stoop to "I wish you'd done it THIS way," which was a relief. I am trying to come to terms with never having my mother's approval, and it's a lot easier when I'm not getting blatant DISapproval.

We managed to stay cordial and Mom really had a great time - she had wanted to be there very badly, and I am glad I could assist. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and only wished I could have been more help to my roommate. All the details were done weeks or months ago, and the whole event was very well-planned. I just wish I could have made some part of the festivities easier or more fun for her.

Nonetheless, I am very happy I got to be a part of everything, and it was a lovely wedding.

Wow - nearly three weeks I enjoyed entirely! Yay!

Ugh

I nearly got past this total ugh I'm feeling right now. I went to a lunchtime concert at Millenium Park and for about five minutes there, I was really loving being able to rock out with Le Loup for my lunch.

And then I had to go back to work, where I have no motivation.

No one should have to work in the summer. And yet most of us do.

Oh.

While it's true that I eat a lot of very healthy, tasty vegetables and fruits, I have realized I supplement this with an enormous amount of sugar. I love me some cookies, cupcakes, sweet stuff in any form. Ironically, the very evening I was congratulating myself on such healthy evening, someone brought oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to rehearsal.

That were still warm.

I probably ate 9 or 10.

So, perhaps instead of being astonished that I can't lose the last 10 pounds, I should be thrilled that I don't weigh and extra 40. Eh?

Blueberry Pie

I had a fantastic evening yesterday - ran three miles on the lakefront, made a blueberry pie, tired to finish learning my lines (we're off book for two shows as of today). The pie....hmmm. While it is quite tasty, and a valiant effort, I am perfectly aware that I'm making blueberry pie to remind me of my grandma. Since I don't have access to huckleberries (wild blueberries) and don't have her recipe, I'm unlikely to hit the same taste. At least not on the first try.

But it is still very summery and kick-ass to make a pie with fresh blueberries.

However, this brings up a depressing thought. I've been trying to lose about ten pounds for a while now (three years?) - sometimes I get close, and then a special occasion comes around or free food is offered to me or my husband makes something truly amazing. Or, of course, I make myself a pie. (Or a coconut cake - see 2007.)

It's tricky - I eat pretty well, lots of salads, lots of vegetables and fruits, and when I'm not rehearsing 24/7, I exercise regularly. And yet my two modes of food are: eat whatever takes my fancy, or diet. Usually when I "diet", it's just a means of restricting myself. If I allow myself to eat cookies, I'm not capable of eating just one cookie. So unless I'm in diet mode, my food whims probably outweight my ideal caloric intake.

So here's the depressing thought. In order to truly lose the last ten pounds for all time, I basically always need to eat as if I'm on a diet. Forever. Because I'm cycling through eating too much and eating healthy, and the math never works out. I can't make up for huge overloads of calories by cutting down for a couple of weeks, only to load up again.

So technically, I should NEVER make a blueberry pie. Or eat a cheeseburger. Or have fries. Or bake chocolate chip cookies.

Or maybe, say, once a year I could eat those things. One each quarter.

If you look at what the food pyramid tells you, it's really all fruits, veggies, lean protein meats and whole wheat. There's not a lot of room for snack food or sweets or any of the really tasty stuff lots of us actually eat.

Ok, I might be exaggerating a bit. I just went and played around with the MyPyramid.gov menu planner, which is pretty cool. My diet plan is a very high-protein diet that I follow on advice from a personal trainer when I'm trying to lose weight. According to the MyPyramid site, I'm doing a great job eating fruits, vegetables and protein but I need more grains. Interesting. I'm going back to full-carb tortillas - the low carb ones just taste like cardboard.

So if my "diet" mode is well within guidelinesand should be losing me weight, that means that when I let myself go off the rails, I must eat a ton of junk.

Tricky...'cause you know I really like me a good cheeseburger.

Picnics are Nice

A wise person added a comment to my last post. I think it entirely meritorious, however, I think there are some larger issues at work in my case. Many of which I admit I don't understand, but I think my mother and I have already been through that phase where I realized she wasn't perfect and began to understand her as an adult and appreciate her as an adult. Whether she has ever figured out I'm an adult as well is a matter of debate in our family, and has been remarked upon by others.

I think between my mother and I there are some much, much larger disappointments going on. And fortunately for all of you, I'm not entirely free to discuss them in what is basically public.

Also, I am pretty much hardwired to assume everything is my fault. It's not always blame, per se, but it is always responsibility. I am responsible for all things that happen. It actually represents a step forward for me to say the following: I am entirely responsible for how I react to my mother, but I hereby cannot be responsible for how my mother reacts to life, or how she treats me.

So the post instantly made me regress to feeling as if all the anger, disappointment and conflict I'm having with my mother stems from my inability to appreciate her, to treat her as herself instead of what I want her to be.

I repudiate this suggestion.

On to something else:

Yesterday, my husband took me on a picnic. We went out by the lakefront and ate lots of yummy things and waved the gnats away and generally had a very fun time. And my wise husband said, "I bet we know lots of people who would never believe that we live in a city and just had that experience. Yes, we sat outside in nature where we couldn't hear cars and had a wonderful picnic and no one talked to us and we were perfectly safe. And we know lots of people who would never believe you could experience that in a city."

Interesting. We were safe, by the way, due to four incredibly savvy police on bikes. I prefer mounted policemen, myself, but I do like to see the cops on bikes.

Along the same lines, I had trouble convincing the woman cutting my hair on Monday that biking to work would be a safe and easy alternative to driving her SUV down to work every day and having to park it. A lone woman who doesn't have to haul anything at all drives an SUV to work every day. She also clearly didn't believe that biking would be faster than driving, which it could easily be, depending on exactly where she lives. My commute in the mornings is 15 minutes longer if I take the TRAIN, and the train doesn't have to deal with traffic. The bus probably takes an extra hour.

I sort of hate when it rains for that reason - I'm always late to work.

Inexplicable

I'm sad and I don't know why. It's a general sort of malaise, a nearness to tears. I'm missing my grandma, but I don't think that's entirely it. I'm hating my day job, but that's a constant. I'm frightened of impending failure, but that should inspire fear, not sadness.



My grandma. More and more I'm feeling I didn't really know who she was, but still missing spending time with her. She was a given, my grandma, and you take family for granted. You forget to ask the right questions to find out how this person ticks and what they love. Then you get old enough to wonder what's important to them and sometimes by then the person is lost in a fog of regret or dementia or self-centeredness or forgetfulness.



I loved going to see my grandma when I finally got old enough to do so by myself. What I loved is that I could make her happy. I'd drive over and take her to lunch and we'd talk and maybe I'd take her shopping or to visit someone. I wrote about our outings when she died in November and I don't want to repeat myself, but I've been thinking of those moments more and more.

Maybe I'm missing her because I loved her and knew she loved me and it wasn't complicated. As much as I say, oh, what a shame I didn't know her whole story, there's something wonderful about love without strings and without details. We enjoyed being together, and so we'd be together. Even towards the end, I saw her the Christmas before she died and as sad and frail as she was, she clearly perked up when I came in the room. The nurse even said, you must be one of her favorites. She's always been one of mine, I answered. I probably have written about that before, but it's that experience I miss - knowing that when you walk in a room, someone will perk up because your presence makes them happy.

I miss that, because every time I go home, I seem to make my mother unhappy. My relationship with her is more and more complicated, to the point that even when I do manage to enjoy her, she won't believe I enjoy her. She gets started on these long monologues sometimes on the phone, and I really love them. I love that she gets to talk about what's bothering her, because I can listen and that listening is one of the few things I can give her. And I love listening, because she's thoughful and personable and sometimes hysterical. But I can no longer convince her I enjoy listening. When I claim I do, she tells me I'm "laying it on too thick."

Also, I can't think of a single life choice I've made she actually approves. I don't make these choices for her, which is why I so often choose things she dislikes. It gets tiring, though, battling the distaste and disapproval. I'm frightened of her, of what she might say next. Because she's my mother, and I wish I could make her happy, but I can't.

Everything I need to do for myself seems to make her angry or disappointed. And she's the master at the pointed barb or, as my dad calls them, guilt arrows. A classic during my recent trip: "I know you don't like to spend time with me, but I don't suppose there's any way you can drive me to Sumter on your way to the airport?" There is no right answer. Even if you agree, it's not the right answer. Trust me, I tried.

I royally pissed her off with something that was ironically designed as a gift to her: cake. I ordered this huge birthday cake for all the different birthdays we were celebrating, and it turned out she had planned to make all these other birthday cakes, so she was mad that I interrupted her plan. (Of course, there is also the implied assertion that homemade, personalized cake is so much more valuable than anything storebought.) She did not, by the way, need to spend our entire vacation making cake, so I actually thought I'd be helping, but there is no helping my mother.

That's the killer: there is no help, no right answer, no way out of this maze of disapproval and anger. And I am disappointed in her. I am disappointed that she was so set on getting her way about the wedding and about everything subsequent to it that she was in no way emotionally there for me. Getting her way is becoming increasingly more important than any relationship we have. And I don't know how to get over that.

This may or may not be what is causing my blues, but it's clearly a factor.

Well. Have a good day, I guess. Go out and be brilliant and wonderful and hug the person who loves you absolutely.

And no, in case you're thinking it, my mother is not someone you can confront. You don't win, you only hurt and that hurt is never, never forgotten, even if the reason is eventually forgotten.

Progress

I updated my resume on breakdown express today, and it made me feel hopeful. Well, it helps that I booked a nice voiceover gig last minute this week that I basically did on my lunch break from the office job. Naturally, I'd rather give up the office job entirely, and in general would prefer to skip it in favor of any kind of acting job, but it's still nice to make an extra $700 during lunch.

But back to the resume. Normally, I feel having an acting career that pays drags on as a nearly endless battle in this city. However, this week when I added a bunch of credits to my resume, I thought, well, looky there, I'm working. Not, perhaps, as much as I want, or on the level I want, but working. This week I had enough happening that I could:

1) Create a whole new "film" section. I have previously done some tiny bits and pieces on-camera, but until I shot a commercial as a principal in early May and shot this student film last weekend, I didn't feel like I had enough to make it a category. Now the "FILM" category looks quite respectable, if short. It's nice to have some progress in that area, even if it's small.

2) Take some old things off. I saw a resume of a friend recently and she has every single one of the roles she played in school, even ones where I know she just did a scene, not the whole work. I was looking at everything she's been up to since school, and feeling a tad jealous when I realized that if she was up to a lot, those credits would have been dropped by now. I've actually dropped all but one of mine, because I have been in lots of shows in this town, and the names of those companies are more meaningful than a list of Restoration plays that no one in Chicago would ever do. Actualy, I had to drop older in-town stuff because I have stronger credits with bigger theatres. And I'm FINALLY doing some Shakespeare this summer, which feels great for lots of reasons.

It's funny - you can always want more, and why not? That's what drives us forward as human beings. And I definitely want more work that doesn't involve an office. But for just a moment, I can look backwards and ignore how quickly other people are progressing and say, you know, I'm moving forward and enjoying the journey.

For instance, I can't tell you how excited I am to work on the Shakespeare plays. The company is a cool crowd - I think everyone is in their 30's, mostly, and everyone is pretty chilled out and happy to be working together. Most of them/us knew each other before we got cast. Now we get to play for six weeks learning 2 shows, and then we go to Michigan and perform them. It's like a paid 2-week vacation. It is AWESOME. One show a night for two weeks? Sweet! So that will be a blast.

It was also a great time to record the voiceover this morning. Ridiculous text all in a sexy growl - completely over the top and hysterical. The studio consented to send me a clip for my husband...I'll see if this program lets me add it.

Apparently not. If it was a video, sure, but it's audio.

So, overall, if I'm not exactly as far as I'd like to be, at least I'm having fun, right? And where I want to be is in sight, sort of. I'm auditioning for companies I'd like to work for, at least.

In an effort towards full disclosure I should explain the following:

1) It's pay day.

2) I'm leaving tomorrow for a week at the beach in SC. Ahhhh.

3) I know when I get to SC there will be a glorious and wonderful cake waiting. I know because I ordered it.

I should not be so obsessed about cake. I know, I know. But I can't help it. I'm not sure why.

There, that's enough information to be getting on with. Anyone out there?? Hallooo??

Interesting

I filmed my first regional commercial two days ago, in the wilds of Indiana. Great time, nice people, a very lucky and good experience. Everyone was cordial - cast, crew, the people who owned the houses that served as locations.

The most fascinating part was to see people who DON'T normally interact with the industry of acting for commercials, and to watch those people get excited. I'm not immune to it - there's something kind of thrilling about knowing that I will actually be on tv in the next couple of months. Ok, in Indiana, but everybody starts somewhere.

But the folks who owned these houses were so excited. And want to know about you, in that they hope when you make it big, they can remember you were at their house.

In the meantime, of course, the crew has heard it alllll before, and could care less. It's a 30 second spot - everyone is professional, but the people who nit-pick over the details are the client (fair enough) and whoever the client hired to write and design the spot.

Now, the interesting thing is Indiana isn't a huge market, so the crew and even most of the actors have worked together before. This is business - we're all trained monkeys who move when our button is pushed because that's how we get food. And the "real" people are astonished we're nice. Of course we're nice - this is tedious work, not great art.

The girl who plays my daughter is beyond excited. I can tell because she says almost nothing, eats only fruit from the craft services table, and her eyes are as big as dinner plates. She's adorable, and she's working very hard to do everything she's told.

The guy who plays my husband shows up with his bluetooth in his ear and his sunglasses on and I think, oh, no, I wouldn't be married to that. But of course when he pulls the bluetooth out and gets into wardrobe, he turns out to be a person whose story I wish I could hear in full. Five years in LA, then gave it up to come back to Indy and be near he daughter he fathered in college and ran out on. He says, "Yeah, I'm that guy, that got a girl pregnant and then split." Now he's back and still does commercials, and misses LA but feels it sure is nice owning a house. He sells dental implants. No, seriously.

It was a great time. I'd make money like that any day. Although the snacks will kill me. I can't stop eating them.

Day 16, No crises since Day 4

Ok, marriage is improving, and though I have moments of fright, I am settling down. Day to day life is currently back to normal, which is comforting. We have to move soon, but we've found a place that may not be available until the middle or end of May, which to me feels much more manageable than moving in about a week.

We've also found a place with a maximum of harmony between us, which comforts me a great deal. My sweetness and I are on the same page about this: basically, at this point we'll sacrifice some space and some location in order to have a place we can afford - and not just afford at the top of our range, but afford even if we have a rough month or so. We are on the path to living within our means. It'll take the next six months before I know what money patterns we're developing, but at least hurdle one is toast: we can afford it.

I did have a moment's twinge of uh-oh when I discovered my partner for life HATES moving, so much that he longs for us to buy a place and live there forever.

As a recovering wanderer, I feel differently. I'm pretty jealous of the actors I know on tour and I am shocked to discover I have lived in the same city for 7 years. I have itchy feet. Now, I'd like to take my muffin top with me while I wander, but I still have a good bit of wander left in me.

I'm feeling stirrings of ambition again, as well. I'm thrilled I was able to return to commercial work almost immediately -I'm a recurring character in a traning manual, and I just found out today that after getting booked about 6 or 8 times (keep in mind, sometimes I can make $500-$600 in a day doing this), this company has only finished Volume 1 of their training. They plan 4 Volumes. I can't tell you what a jump that would mean to both my income and my day to day life. It's MUCH more fun to go to a photo shoot or a video shoot or a VO recording than it is to go to work. I think it would be a great step forward to do so much of this print/vo work that I get bored of it.

So all of this makes me think, ok, get a cheap apartment, sock the money away, and knuckle down to audition, audition, audition.

And in the meantime try to keep my husband happy. That may prove simple, or it may prove much harder than expected.

In general, though, the threat level for my mental health is back between yellow, high risk of freak out attack, and blue, general risk of freak out attack. I'm happy to report my let down about the wedding is starting to ease, and being replaced with happy memories, partly supplied by others, and partly recalled now that the stress is over.

We might stay married a whole three weeks. I'm beating Britney...well, her first, and I'll work up to the second.

Where to start...

I had no idea I was foreshawdowing my own self, but I'm here to tell you again that getting married does not solve even one of your problems.

The wedding - I was terrified. I shouldn't admit that, but I was, as the ceremony progressed, completely terrified. I'm even now just starting to process what happened and whether or not I can handle it. Someday I will probably look back on it with laughter and pleasure, though not today.

However, the past few days have pretty much trumped all of that. I'm sure more things could have gone wrong, but quite a few actually have. I got food poisoning the first night of our honeymoon, and then my new husband came down with something flu-like, with lots of coughing, and the weather never did give us a great sunny day to just lie on the beach. It was cool and windy and cloudy.

But none of that is as bad as the fact that my sweetie's brother had a stroke the Monday after the wedding, while he and his lovely wife were in South Carolina trying to sightsee. We were "honeymooning" (such as it was with both of us ill) about five miles away, and ended up spending an extra night in the area in hopes of being helpful. I'm not sure we were helpful, but we tried to be.

I have so many conflicting feelings towards so many different people for the moment that I really could cry at any moment, and I considered calling at least some of you on Wednesday when I was sobbing in the car on the way from Charleston to Charlotte. I feel a huge sense of anti-climax that the wedding is over and that so much of it didn't turn out the way I'd hoped. I feel so worried for H's brother, and so sad that this should happen at such a time so the wedding will always be "when Mark had a stroke" instead of just the wedding - for them as much as for me.

I feel like I made a thousand mistakes in the run up to the wedding. I feel terrified lest this whole thing has been a horrible mistake. I feel terrified that my family will never accept my husband, since AT THE WEDDING my mother apparently lamented to a friend of mine, "But he's not a southerner..." (Even though he grew up in Pensacola...)

I feel completely overwhelmed by the number of people who were at the wedding, and horribly guilty that so many of them left without even attempting to speak to me. I feel disappointed that it was nearly impossible to take pictures at any time, since either it was raining or people were talking to us or my mother wasn't even dressed yet or there just wasn't a good place to do it. I feel disappointed that I never got a picture with all of my aunts.

I feel worried about whether or not I can even DO this whole marriage thing, and still be myself. I'm keeping my name (for now), but even that doesn't stop how frightened I feel at losing my identity into this new "us".

I feel exhausted from driving 12 hours yesterday.

I feel entirely flawed for feeling any of these things, since most brides seem to be delirious with happiness and contentment. Well, surprise surprise, I screwed that up.

I feel a whole batch of other things I don't think I should write down, because now I have another family that I might offend. What if H's family ever came across this?? Now I have two sets of muzzles...

I feel incapable of telling entertaining stories about the wedding, but everyone at work was expecting me to do so. The "surprise" congrats they threw me was exhausting, and it only lasted about 15 minutes.

Despite my deep sadness that apparently I did nothing but disappoint my mother at the wedding, I feel incredibly proud of her for driving down to Charleston yesterday to visit Mark and his wife and be a resource for them in a strange land.

I feel I failed everyone in trying to keep everyone happy. But no one would have been at all happy had I tried to make myself happy - no win no matter what.

I feel so so so disappointed that it rained.

I feel like all the bad things that keep going wrong are the universe's way of telling me: you've made a terrible mistake.

I feel like I would like to run away. I think I would like to take my honey with me, but I would like to run away.

I think I need some sleep, a cookie, and probably a couple of sessions with our therapist, but sadly (for us, not her), she's out of town this week. I feel resentful that she picked this week to be off on a holiday.

The funny thing is, I didn't see any of this coming.

So much for being a well-adjusted adult.

Girlfriend has some things to SAY

I've had some things said to me recently and kept my response to myself because I didn't want to offend or it wasn't appropriate. But last night I did a performance that reanimated my ass-kicking part of myself and now I'd like to unload a few of these lingering comments.

The comments reference multiple discussions with multiple people. If you're reading this, I probably wasn't talking to you, though there's a chance I am talking about you.

***

First: I don't need you to feel bad for me to feel better. We're not playing stand-stoop-sit, where only one of us can be happy at a time and if it's me, that means you've got to be lowly. I'm just living my life - it doesn't need to effect your status. I might even be happier knowing that you're ok, too.

Second: Yeah, I was a serial want-what-I-can't-haver. It's plenty safe, and easy too - you don't have to change a thing about yourself and your lifestyle if you fall in love with someone you can't make progress with. It works with locations and jobs, too - spend your days knowing you're walking out the door, and it gets a lot easier to treat people poorly or just leave the essential courtesies undone. But don't expect life to deepen and grow if you're cheating yourself out of the possible next. Mine didn't for a long time.

Third: If you get a kick out of being unhappy, don't let me stop you. But don't make me commiserate if it's what you created and decided to keep.

Fourth: I can't speak for everyone, but I do not like to know we had the same experience with the same boy. I like to pretend to myself that I am a unique individual, and that I encounter others uniquely, that I bring some spark or fire that only I have. Frankly, it pisses me off that I wasted brain space on someone who opted out of the experience that is me, so I really don't like the idea that I was just pugged in to the same lame schtick he's been pulling on everyone else. I am not thrilled by the idea that we share that experience. Especially if yours was in high school and mine was 10 years later.

Let's be clear - it's fine that he opted out, that's his right, I just wish I'd been able to opt out right after that point. It's the time _I_ wasted that I mind.

Five: I am indeed getting married. But to make this perfectly clear, it does not actually solve any of my problems. I have company during them, perhaps, if it's a good marriage, but I don't get a get-out-of-unhappiness-free card. You see how all the married people are naturally happier than the non-married people? No? Exactly.

As well, I was single for a long, long, long time (about 10 years), and I was perfectly capable of living with just myself. Getting married now does not magically wipe that experience from my life.

Six: I cannot imagine not being able to spend time with myself. If I could not be in a room alone and read or watch tv or work on a project or otherwise just be fine coping with myself, I would not be in any shape to marry, let alone function.

Seven: I am indeed lucky in my fiance. He's great. But like any relationship, there are some tradeoffs. The things he offers are much greater than the things I have to relinquish, but there's no one out there who has everything in one other person.

I will never get him to reproduce the dance from the Thriller video at our wedding, for instance. And really, wouldn't that kick ass? I'm having trouble getting him to dance for 4 minutes with everyone watching. Don't get me started on the stubbornness either. It's a good thing he's so cute and such a champion snuggler.

Damn. I ruined the Damn Straight! tone right then, didn't I.