I feel sick

I feel sick. I feel like the second I get to next week (when I have very little work scheduled), I will find it impossible to get out of bed. I have to drug myself with books in order to get from hour to hour. Being awake and conscious right now feels unbearable.

Someone is dying. It's a long story. Not one I will tell - you're safe.

I am very close to sliding back into a dark dark place. I hope against hope to get some good news about getting cast in something awesome, but it's looking unlikely. Though a couple of months ago I thought I had been trapped in this dark place and I managed to wriggle back out, so maybe that will happen.

I need a yes instead of a no from something.

I may not get one. It may be a while before I can write another post. But hey, all four of you reading could use a break, I'm sure.

Someone told me once, bad days are good for the acting. Let's hope so. Let's hope so.

No Squirrels Up Here

I'm on the 86th floor of a building.  The view is incredible.  The sun is out, making the lake glow - I would say like the Bahamas but I've never been there.  The way I think the Bahamas looks?  Maybe.  This is so far up that I feel like I'm in a spaceship hovering above everything.

I'm filling in for someone in their office and hoping I'm not ruining anything.  I'm listening to Pandora and trying to come up with ways to trick it to play me something I like.  I'm sort of surprised that Pandora is not as apt at hitting the musical spot as I had hoped.  Weird...either I have exceptionally eclectic tastes, or Pandora is hamstrung by its silly requirements.  Look them up sometime - it's strange.  Hey, we can play you a bunch of stuff you'll probably like, as long as we don't play the song you say you actually like, or the artist you say you like more than a couple of times.  Strange.

Hilarious - I am in the gooey middle of a wash of sappy, sugary pop music, brought on by the satellite radio in a rental car, so the fact that I can even pretend that I have eclectic taste in music is delusional.  My poor sweetie is so tired of pop music he could throw up, and cracks jokes about the calories that I am burning with all my in-the-seat dancing.

And actually, I gave in and did some street dancing these past few days.  Sigh.  It is ludicrous that I think I am calm, rational and non-dramatic when I will literally dance in the street with my iPod on as if this is just how normal people behave.  Truth?  I'm a weirdo.  I was dancing at band rehearsal the other night!  And here's the thing - I am a bad dancer and yet I can't care.  I can't care about that when some peppy tune is plunking out string pizzacato notes to a funky beat. (pizzicato??  How can I not spell that?  Horrifying...)   

This is in direct contrast to my crying on the bus.  When I think about how little time separates those two events, I shudder and the word manic-depressive flashes through my mind.  You may not be surprised to find it runs in my crazy southern family, manic depression.  

Perhaps it would be better, on this fine, sunny day, to look out over the beautiful city of Chicago in the pearly sunlight and do some office chair dancing to, yes, I can admit it, Sara Bareilles' King of Anything.  Which I am obsessed with but cannot make Pandora play.  You have to approach it by trying to make it play something similiar.  It's like having to aim just slightly left of a target in order to hit it.  Hmmm...  

Oh, lastly, I think Pandora's super high-minded "bios" of everyone are irritating.  Those bios just tell you who the person you are listening to is "like", as if the purpose of the whole enterprise was to link every artist with another, as if music were a big color wheel and you could describe everyone by saying what two other artists combine to make them.  Not my favorite way of exploring people.  I just want to know about them, where they might be from, why they play music, etc.  

Clearly, Pandora has different goals than I do.  Fair, I suppose. 

You know what?

I had an audition last week (I was not particularly good) in which the character I was playing was described as starting sentences with "You know what?"  Sadly, I've noticed I've been doing it a lot since then.

I just looked up into the tree outside my picture window and a squirrel is staring at me.  Weird.

Still there.

It's like he's aiming a branch at me.

He hasn't moved.

I'm transfixed by a squirrel.  What will happen?  Find out in the next post...if there is one...

Delete

Sometimes I hold onto things longer than I should.  But in a moment, I'm going to go delete something out of my phone and I think I'm honestly done with it, absolutely, without a doubt.  It's a bittersweet feeling, to be sure.  And of course, I think I'm done with it now, but I could be wrong.

There.  Done.  Erased.  Just some gossipy text messages from when a friend went out drinking with someone I went out with once.  The messages were from almost six months ago.  The person I went out with (much much longer ago), well, it just never really felt finished.  But today at lunch I was talking to a friend about the difference between meeting someone and being enthralled with them and then having to actually build a day to day life with them.  (Technically, I was talking about it as it concerned my friend, but extrapolation can be made.)  And that situation I think of so fondly from my past...would have been a complete mess had it extended any farther, instead of just an unfinished fizzling out.  I really should have just had my one night stand and been done with it.  Not that I was capable of such a thing at the time, but that's what never got finished, not some great love affair.

The bittersweet part reveals I'm a romantic.  I like the idea of the unfinished, the yet-to-come fulfillment.  In putting that daydream down and getting on with life as it is and would have been, I lose the fun mental side-trip, the boondoggle.  But someday you have to stop kidding yourself.  Today I managed to stop kidding myself about one thing.  It's not much, but it's progress.

So long, you.  I'll just be over here in the corner with this pile of long-cherished illusions.  Hey, just because I junked one doesn't mean I'm free of them...

The weeping must stop

I thought this post would be about the really frustrating kids I am teaching this week.  But I just whined on facebook about that, so, no.

Instead I'd like to mark in print for myself that I couldn't stop weeping on the bus today, which is worrying.  Low-level weeping, not totally uncontrollable - tears but not shoulder shaking.  And yes, lots of things could be behind this - I mean I have reasons to weep, sure, who doesn't?  Death is a good reason, and letting something or someone go, and tiredness and frustration.  Disappointment, anger, being passed over - all good reasons.

But these are things I'd like to imagine I have the stamina to withstand.  Or maybe normally these things, which we all deal with at different times and at different measures, are balanced by the good things.  Don't get me wrong!  I have some good things!  If I didn't, I'd probably not be able to get out of bed.

Which is my point.  I seem to be lacking a fundamental ability to cope on an ordinary, regular level with much of my own bitterness and disappointment and sadness.  If I had any money at all, I would start investigating medical solutions.  Though, tricky - medicine could improve my mood (maybe), but can never make me a better actor, which, truth be told, is what I really want.

Which is my underlying query to myself these days - is happiness overrated?  Is discontent the driving force toward action, or improvement?  If I medically took the edge off of my sadness (presuming I could afford to do so - not a given, as I'm not sure where next month's rent is coming from because a check is late from my print job in APRIL), would I be stuck at this point forever, or will my dissatisfaction with my present state eventually galvanize me toward a better conclusion?

Which brings me to a different question:  do I want more than I have the talent to achieve? 

What's orange and sounds like a parrot?

A carrot.  I know, great, right? 

So, this week I'm teaching a "talent camp".  Who-hoo. It surprises me how much better life gets when I am making some money, however little it may be.

The kids are 5 to 7 years old.  While they are, of course, talented, their "talent show" may not be stellar.  But the jokes, whoo, boy!!

More soon.

New Mantra

I just found out an actress I think of as my nemesis has been cast in a new play I ADORED in the reading...a new play I had no opportunity to audition for.

Let it go.  Let it go.  Let it go let it go.  Let it go let it go let it go let it go.  Let it go.  Let it go let it go.

I'll be at this a while. 

Let it go.  Let it go.  Let it go.  Let it go.....

Ballet Flats

I got to this audition about 5 pm.  It's now 11:15 pm.  Gah.

So, it's hard not to feel like cattle at this point, and in addition, not to be truly repulsed by actors in general, and how needy and irritating and self-centered we all are.  (There's no way I'm immune.)

And, not to be rude, but this particular audition is full of very young people, mostly just starting out, and they have that "everything is possible" sheen on them, and dammit, everything probably is possible for them.  But many of them currently lack a certain focus, clarity or self-awareness.  They're throwing themselves at the text and music without regard to detail or subtlety.

Well, and also there are about 40 people here, reading in endless combinations.  It's a LOT of people.

There's no getting away from the fact that this is a certain tier of work, and it's not the tier I want to be on.  I'm not ashamed of it, I just want more.  So if they cast me, and certain indicators make it seem likely they will, I would happily do the show as long as none of the other projects I'm interested in come to pass.  As in, it's better to do something than nothing, but there are things I would rather do instead of this.

They are all so young and eager!!!  Oh my god! If I hear one more story about the hilarious thing that happened to someone while they were playing some tiny part in a huge musical...

Also, there's a level of effort right now that I feel certain I wouldn't see at an equity audition - lots of performing to impress those of us in the lobby, instead of saving it for the audition room.

I'm tired of these little girls in their sundresses and ballet flats.  Does that make me a bitter middle-aged woman who spews venom at those who will succeed where she has failed?

I think so.  Damn.  Ok, Elsbeth....let it go.  Let it go.  Let it go. Let it go.

Endings

We leave Michigan tomorrow.  It's been a weird year for this gig for me (this was my fourth year with this Shakespeare company), so leaving has its positives, but it's bittersweet nonetheless.  I feel...ah, who cares what I feel, I'm just ricocheting between extremes these days, right?


It has been exceptionally easy to waste time here, and in fact I should head off to the beach momentarily to have one more shot at loafing.  There are all sorts of things I've not been getting around to - phone calls and writing and general work that should be done. (I owe some of you phone calls...sorry, it is true that I don't get good phone reception where I'm staying right now.)  It's hard to feel like any of the things I'm delaying are important.  And technically, yes, I guess none of it is important.  Or all of it is.

I don't seem to have anything to say, so I'll just stop abruptly.  Happy summer, all.

So proud

The interns I directed performed their scenes tonight and they were so awesome!!!  Ok, maybe they wouldn't be ready to star in a Royal Shakespeare Company production or a Hollywood picture, but they were clear, and funny, and knew exactly what they were saying in real words and had a blast.  I was especially pleased about how clear they were - they were making choices!  Thinking things through!!  It was great.

I'm so very proud of their work, and thrilled that I got a chance to work on scenes with them.  It's been work, more just arranging everyone's schedule to allow for rehearsal, but the good kind of work, the kind I like doing.

I still prefer acting myself, and I discovered more about what I wanted to direct them to do (or not do) when I walked the script with them, but it was a very gentle, easy introduction to directing.  Or really, coaching, I guess.

Yay!  No more Macbeth.  I may miss Midsummer, but I don't think I'll miss Macbeth.  Fake blood is really sticky.  Ugh.

Thunder, lightning, and in rain

It rained last night on Macbeth, which was sort of awesome, and ended up getting me home at a reasonable hour.  I was in my pajamas reading by 11:30 pm, and in bed one serving of cherry pie later.  Ah.

I know shortly I have to go back to the real world and to real work, and also to really being broke, but for the next three days, it's all books and food and music.  One of my friends has promised to teach me some new songs and I know tonight we'll all get to wail on a few good country numbers - pre-show of Midsummer Night's Dream, there are 3 guitars, a banjo, a harmonica, and occasionally a vibraphone that mix in different combinations to play country versions of Dead Flowers, California Stars (that one is totally awesome), Jolene, Took a Lot of Pills and Died, I'll Fly Away, This Land is Your Land, and a few others I can't remember.  I love it.  We tried to work up Patty Griffin's Long Ride Home, but it's too complicated to master quickly, and no one knows it well enough to put it in performance.

But it's really nice to sing like a banshee, and add the harmonies in for some of those tunes.  I can be pretty happy, knowing that's coming.

Now, to nap.  Ahhh. 

Some silence

I had the rental house to myself this morning, and it was lovely.  Well, really afternoon, since I slept until about 11:30, necessary after getting to bed at 3-4 am. (Completely worth it, as that involved getting to sing along with 4 guitars at once last night - wow.)

At the house, I cleaned, I folded laundry, I rearranged the refrigerator, I made some lunch, I took everything out of my bag, cleaned the bag, and put everything back in.  Mostly in an intense silence - this house is in the woods and far enough away from other houses to be isolated.  I liked it, although it got even better when I finally figured out I could set up my computer to play some background music and sing along. 

It feels good to be alone right now.  And I am happy that being alone makes me feel stronger instead of scared and weak.  I feel returned to myself, I feel like there's a center there somewhere that I might still like if I can get back to it.  I'm happy I'm not scared by silence.  It means I have a reservoir of peace somewhere.

And the house is really beautiful.  It's a pleasure to clean it - though I did get burned because the "cleaner" left in the house is actually watered down bleach, which has now quasi-ruined one of my favorite shirts.  Oh, well.  I seem to destroy clothes whether I want to or not, so maybe I should just accept I won't ever be able to wear anything "favorite" for long.

Ok, off to work with interns on their scenes. 

Clearing

You know what I like?  Books. 

You know what else I like?  Being in plays.

You know what I'm doing for the next eight or nine days?  Reading books and being in plays. 

So, it turns out I can enjoy myself after all. No, I don't have big parts and that's still hard to deal with, but I'm still having fun and there are fun people around.  It is really beautiful to have my whole job be just being in plays, though.  I'd forgotten how much I like that.

In other news, I am both happy and frustrated to report I got a request to audition for one of the theatres I did a general audition for back a few weeks ago.  I'm absolutely thrilled to get the request - I feel like I must be doing something right, finally, or the company would never bother.  Sadly, I am still here in Michigan when the audition takes place, dammit.  So I can't currently go.  Grrr.  It's so irritating to find my timing is so off.  But on the whole, the request still makes me feel much more positive.  And there's always a chance that I'll be able to make an audition on another day - I'm not sure what their schedule is.

I would love for everything to turn around for me...would LOVE to get back to being permanently gleeful.  Or at least getting to do what I love and feeling like the path to making money at doing what I love is open, not closed.

In the meantime, I went to the farmer's market today and had a wonderful time chatting with my friend.  One of the stands had breakfast for sale, actual farm eggs and farm bacon cooked to order and it was delicious.  Then I bought raspberries and blueberries and beans and black cherries.  And I came back to the tiny little place I am staying and made myself a cup of tea.  The next time I'm required to do something will be tonight at 5 pm.  Right now, in this moment, life is utterly blissful: I'm going to go sit on the porch, eat cherries and read silly books.  Then, tonight, I'll strap on a broadsword and run around the woods pretending stuff.  It's great!

Not bad

"I demand that you put that book down, turn off the lights in there, and come out here to look at the stars with me!"

You know, there are a lot of things that ease when someone is kind to you.  To one.  To me.  And a sky full of stars doubles as a net to hold in camaraderie.  I still feel old and mostly untalented, and I still feel on the fringe of this experience because I just don't do quite enough in these plays to take hold somehow, but on the whole, doing something artistic always feels better than doing nothing, and if I don't get to do much acting, at least the people around me are worth watching.

I might find a door back into my life in the next ten days.  The sun shines across the harbour as I ride my bike to rehearsals in the morning, and wildflowers splash over the paths.  I think life is rough sometimes, and saying goodbye to people permanently is hard, and I want to think about it and don't want to think about it in equal meaures.  At least, as I run on the hamster wheel that is my brain and my heart trying to process loss, I can get off long enough to look out over the lake.  There are blessings.  There are joys.  And kindness is being offered to me from many different sources right now.

Thanks, kind people.

Now, give me the blessing of a nap, and I might start acting human again.

Change of Scene

So, we've arrived in Michigan, me amongst this merry band of Shakespeare players, and I'm happy to report that at least the change of scene is a great benefit.  I'm shaking off some of the worst of the hopelessness and trying to get on with enjoying what I can.  After all, it's beautiful up here, and every one is pretty nice, and no matter what, it's fun to perform here. 

We're in the midst of tech, which can be a hassle but usually runs more smoothly than we expect.  I'm installed in a corner of a tiny room on a bed that's not even an actual bed (it's a sofa over which a small mattress has been laid), in a room with two other women, and it is cramped, definitely, but at least both women are nice and we're all working to make it as comfortable as possible for each other. 

I've been to the grocery store, so I finally have fruits and vegetables to eat instead of just endless burgers and sandwiches from the diner-like place next door (it's got great food but not the kind that will make your body feel better), and I may even have time for a short nap. 

While I'm still pretty removed from the vacationy, life-is-good mentality I often get up here, I am glad for some small mercies and I know I'll enjoy slinging on a sword tonight and tromping around the woods in my army boots.  And there's no one up here I can't stand - or rather, I can find a way to enjoy some part of every person who surrounds me.  That's a relief.

Now, if I can keep away from the Crescent Bakery and stay focused on the tasks at hand, or at the very least focus on reading all the novels I brought (and not on my continuing failure as a human being), I'll get a real vacation from myself.

That would be nice. Ahh.

Low

I'm balanced right in between losing it and keeping it together.  I'm not sure which one I want more.  Of course, yes, I'd like to be strong and fierce and fight off despair in some heroic way, but there's something to be said for just plain losing your mind - when you're done you're exhausted and low and you collapse.  You can expend all your grief and fury all at once, a typhoon, whirling dervish, tasmanian devil.  Then you sleep, empty of everything, and start climbing back from the lowest point.

I'm tired of bad news, and being graceful and accepting in defeat.  Well, attempting to be graceful in defeat.  (I think I tend towards bitterness and whininess and miss graceful entirely, but I do try.)

 I'm really tired of being last choice for all the things I want.  Even if I could keep my mind off of past and future and fix it firmly to the moment, I'm tired of being useless in this moment.  I just realized I am supposed to be in the scene that went by - turns out, I've missed it the last few times, and no one has noticed.  That's how much I'm getting done onstage this summer.

I'm tired of feeling like I've failed at every career goal I've ever had.

I'm tired of being underemployed. I don't mind working hard for my money, and I don't mind not having piles of it, but not being able to earn enough to keep ahead of the rent is starting to make me panic.

I'm tired of being a disappointment to my family.

I'm especially tired of being a disappointment to myself.

And of course, you gracious four, somedays five, people who occasionally stop by to read this, I'm tired of not having better news for you.  Trust me, no one misses me being joyful more than I do, and I hate that shame and disappointment is all I have to offer.

Come on, wheel of fortune, turn.  TURN.

A Three Legged Dog

I saw a three legged dog today.  A three legged golden retriever.  This may sound odd, but I bet if you think of the phrase "three-legged dog" the image that leaps to mind is either some sort of Jack Russell terrier or a mutt so ugly its momma had trouble loving it.

Though maybe that's just me with that set of associations.

So this particular dog was not tiny, or a mutt.  It was a beautiful purebred golden, the head cheerleader of dog breeds, only with three legs.  And damn it, that dog looked happy.  Gleeful.  Like it had caught a squirrel.  Or outstriped a dalmation in a race.  Or found a particularly amazing stick.  ("Look, I have a stick!" dogs always seem to say when they have a stick, so proud of themselves.)

Three legs, no problems.  Love it.  Now, if only I could have given that dog a stick...

Change of pace

So much death talk around here!  Let's change it up. 

Today, an open letter to the many Matts in my life.

Dear Matts I-III, which in my own parlance I'd label Earth Angel, Jug Ears, and Floppy Hair:

You know, thanks.  All three of you tried to be my friend, in different ways, and though I was really lobbying for you to love me (or in a few cases, just care enough to snog me on sight), all three of you tried to let me down as easily as possible.  And I was a mess with all three of you - I took it personally, I whined, I made accusations, I acted childishly.  All of which behavior I'M CERTAIN confirmed that you were absolutely right to move ahead and find someone more sane to date, or kiss, or romance.

Dear Matt IV (we'll call you "Steve"):

Thanks for teaching me what true disinterest looks like.  Wow, that sounds really snarky but I'm actually grateful.  I have run into disinterest again recently, and I can recognize it (I think) for what it is.  And look!  I didn't take it personally!  Mostly.

Lesson: Just because someone loses interest doesn't mean you aren't interesting.  However, it still stings.

Unfair

So, it turns out I am being very very unfair (see below and below). Here's what can be said about a woman who tried her hardest to give her community what was expected of her:

"She was a lady who who excelled at maintaining grace and dignity at all times and in all circumstances."

And that is something to strive for, definitely.  She liked birds, and dancing, and playing the piano, and she loved her garden, which was lush and beautiful and full of flowers, not practical vegetables but flowers.  She read incessantly.  She kept her spine straight and her pride in place while living through some very hard times, and she always did what she thought was right, even if it was hard. 

Goodbye, Miss Myra.  I hope you're with your son and your husband and your own mom and dad, and that you are transformed into your best self, and are laughing and dancing and gardening.  Or maybe all of that has fallen away and your best self has transcended all of that to be at peace.

Help me maintain my own grace and dignity throughout my own hard times.

Crazy Town

I am acting like a crazy woman.  My exterior and interior life doesn't match at all.  I'd like them to match even less, actually, would like it in a way if no one knew that my grandma had died.  Everyone is so solicitous, and sympathetic.  I'd like it if instead they would ignore me completely, if I could simply melt into the furniture.  I'd like to be completely absent.

I'd like to erase myself for a while.

Curious, I was truly affronted when I was accused by my cousin this week of being a dramatic child.  That's what it felt like, an accusation.  It certainly wasn't a compliment, it was something very much "other" that she claimed not to understand, something distasteful that she was having trouble grappling with in her own daughter.  Maybe I'm being unfair to my cousin.  It's my mother who is so against any attention-drawing behavior - my mother who shushes me when I laugh at a play, my mother who says "no one wants to hear what you say", my mother who finds being dramatic in bad taste.

And right now, even though we're a thousand miles apart, I would do anything at all to make my mother happy.  To take away her pain.  I would like to remake myself into a sober, serene school teacher who lives about two hours from her and is creative in mild, sanctioned bursts in classrooms but not in public.  Who married a nice dentist.  Someone my mother could be proud of, someone whose accomplishments could be listed easily to folks passing by in a receiving line.  Someone who had the requisite number of children she could instruct and spoil. 

Someone whose mere presence would ease her suffering. 

Of course I'm none of that. 

It doesn't help to reflect that my mother, if she admitted it to herself, probably feels the same way about her own mother.  Nothing my mother did could ever truly please my grandmother - or rather, any choice my mother made for herself was sure to be in conflict with what her own mother wanted for her, expected from her.  And now, it's too late.  Well, it was always too late, because of who my grandmother was. 

I'm not sure any of the girls in that family, my mother and her sisters, ever felt really loved by their mother.  Yet I myself heard my grandmother tell them she loved them.  One day it occurred to me that I wasn't around for a lot of years.  What sort of upbringing did my mother have that she can't really believe it when her mother says I love you? 

This is all supposition, of course.  I'm so dramatic, I probably have the wrong idea entirely.

Sigh.  I wish I could disappear, take myself off like a dress and wander unthinking through the next few days like a shadow.