I just looked at the hit checker at the bottom of the page and I have almost had 100 hits. That is pretty amazing to me. When I started I didn't think anyone would read what I had to write. In spite of that thought, I was so afraid that people would read my thoughts, and judge me...and that those people would be people I know in my 'real life'.
I remember when I started this blog. Fear was such a big part of my life and I hadn't even named it yet. I was so unaware of it, and it ruled me so much. I think I want to write about the people who inspired me to start writing here where others could be privy to my thoughts. Those two people helped me let go of that original fear, and are still helping me now.
They are directly responsible for the creation of this blog, and only one of them knows that it exists. My mother, who writes her own blog, brought the idea into my head. So many times last summer I sat at the computer when no one else was home and wondered if I could manage to write a blog without her finding out. So many times I left the desk just a little bit disappointed with myself for caring so much, and just a little bit relieved that I didn't have to worry about being discovered.
(Now I find it just a little bit ironic that I am at a theatre school whose tagline is "Do You Want To Be Discovered?" - just a little.)
My mother is an amazing person to me. She has made so many big choices, with big consequences. Her journey had been so bizzare and curvy, and wonderful and scary. To come from an alcoholic household, a house of secrets and abuse, and end up in a place of peace, joy and hope, always hope... My mother broke so many cycles that wounded her so that I wouldn't have to feel the same pains she did. I have my own wounds, as is inevitable. But my mother has been sober since I was three. My mother never read my diary. My mother accepted the fact that I would have my own opinion and that I could see hypocrisy in her own life - and call her on it. My mother didn't allow me to be placed in situations where I would be preyed upon. My mother protected me, even sometimes from things that weren't really a danger (The Indian in the Cupboard isn't really going to lead me down a path to Hell, after all). My mother showed me that it was okay to go to a counsellor and ask for help. My mother has shown me that a person can be in one place spiritually and as little as one year later be somewhere radically different. And that's okay. She has shown me that it is good to be strong, pulled together and in control. She has begun to show me that it is okay to be weak. It is okay to be broken. It is okay to give the steering wheel to God.
The other person, the one who tipped me over the edge into this fearful realm of sharing my thoughts with vitual strangers, is a teacher of mine here. I met him when I was 16, and I was fascinated with him right away, although I was intimidated by him too. I worked with him for three weeks the next year, and since then have looked up to him, respected him and cherished his involvement in my life.
He is an artist. A story teller. He loves the same authors as my mother, but shares my perspective and love - and belief - in the fantastical. He has helped me to shape some of my thoughts on God and art and serving both. He has reminded me that I am gifted when I thought I was most worthless as an actress. He has helped me to find the beginning of my way on this shaky path that acting can be. He has listened when I have been upset and lost, and he has laughed with me when I have found the light in the dark passage. He has surprised me with his bluntness and comforted me with his blessings.
Yet I haven't told him about this blog. I remember clearly when I actually took the thought of blogging seriously. It was last term. I was in his car, listening to something on the radio. He was driving me home from one end of our small town, and it was dark. We were talking about blogs for some reason, and he said to me that he thought it would be a good thing for me to do. It would be a good thing for me. I was a little bit startled, and a great deal encouraged. I am a little like Mary, in that I store things up in my heart and ponder them, and bring them out like treasures, smiling at the preciousness of them but scared that others will see my treasures as gaudy trinkets...I don't show these things to people very much. That moment is one of my great treasures.
It was within a week of that moment that I started this blog.
Perhaps before this year is over I will give him the address to this place of mine. This is an even bigger risk for me than to give it to my mother, because I tell my mom my secret thoughts that I write here. And my mother is far away, and no-one that I live with now from day to day will find this secret from her.
Fear is a big, stupid thing. I suppose it must have a purpose. It must. But for the most part, in my life, it is a big stupid obstacle.
Little steps, little steps. Patience and understanding, forgiving myself every time I perceive failure. I am told to do these things by a lot of people in my life, particularly my voice teacher. Old habits are hard to break, new habits are hard to learn, and in the meantime I must have patience.
Perhaps by the time 1,000 people have read my thoughts I will be settled into the habit of freedom from fear.
Incidentally, the three shows I have performed since that one difficult show have been much easier - well, as easy as this show can be. I think having that one hard show served as a wakeup call to me that I cannot settle into and relax into this role, I still have to work and be present every moment that I am on that beautiful stage.
That is a good thing, even if it doesn't sound like it. Sometimes I wonder what non-actors think when I use acting terms, so just to be clear, relaxing into a role is a bad thing. It means that the energy I bring to that part is lower, and it lowers the importance of everything the character does or tries to do.
In retrospect, I think that is a part of what happened. Hopefully, lesson learned. Realistically, one more step on a vast journey.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Dry Eyes
Today I had a rough show.
I have a role that is an emotional roller-coaster. Usually I have no problem at all hitting the sadder spectrum of that emotion. Sometimes I don't know what to do with myself on stage when I'm happy, but sad I can do.
Today for some reason I held myself back. The emotion balled itself up in my throat and stayed there, tightening in on my voice and causing a lot of pain in the process. And giving me dry eyes when I'm usually a cascading fountain.
It scared me. A lot.
I don't completely know why I was holding it in instead of letting it out. It confused me at the time...it was a struggle for about half of the play. I hated it. I had a terrible 'inner dialogue' (actor speak for the tape playing inside of your head) telling me that I was a failure. Eventually I found the mute button and focused on relaxing my throat. Then I was better. I felt better, anyway.
In the long run, this was probably a good experience for me. It sure didn't feel like it though.
Afterwards, when I was 'debriefing' about my perception of my performance, one of my fellow actors asked me if I was in physical pain today. I said yes - yesterday in dance (which I shouldn't be doing in the first place with my knee how it is) I slipped and fell, barely twisting my knee but landing hard core on my wrist. My whole arm is sore today. I feel like I've been lifting weights and pulled muscles without all the added bulk and strength, but it's just my lovely connective tissue disorder coming to the forefront again. It was very interesting (and somewhat reassuring) to note that there could be a possible connection between protecting myself physically and protecting myself emotionally.
And I have made progress. I am forgiving myself for being less than ideal out there on stage and moving forward with my life.
It's good to know that I can have a rough performance and still have a pretty good day.
I have a role that is an emotional roller-coaster. Usually I have no problem at all hitting the sadder spectrum of that emotion. Sometimes I don't know what to do with myself on stage when I'm happy, but sad I can do.
Today for some reason I held myself back. The emotion balled itself up in my throat and stayed there, tightening in on my voice and causing a lot of pain in the process. And giving me dry eyes when I'm usually a cascading fountain.
It scared me. A lot.
I don't completely know why I was holding it in instead of letting it out. It confused me at the time...it was a struggle for about half of the play. I hated it. I had a terrible 'inner dialogue' (actor speak for the tape playing inside of your head) telling me that I was a failure. Eventually I found the mute button and focused on relaxing my throat. Then I was better. I felt better, anyway.
In the long run, this was probably a good experience for me. It sure didn't feel like it though.
Afterwards, when I was 'debriefing' about my perception of my performance, one of my fellow actors asked me if I was in physical pain today. I said yes - yesterday in dance (which I shouldn't be doing in the first place with my knee how it is) I slipped and fell, barely twisting my knee but landing hard core on my wrist. My whole arm is sore today. I feel like I've been lifting weights and pulled muscles without all the added bulk and strength, but it's just my lovely connective tissue disorder coming to the forefront again. It was very interesting (and somewhat reassuring) to note that there could be a possible connection between protecting myself physically and protecting myself emotionally.
And I have made progress. I am forgiving myself for being less than ideal out there on stage and moving forward with my life.
It's good to know that I can have a rough performance and still have a pretty good day.
Monday, April 10, 2006
After the show has opened
Notes I wrote in church while I perhaps should have been giving Oz (the preacher) my undivided attention, April 9th 2006:
Oz said it is easy to be confident in God when we see him aiding us, easy to trust. When it seems we are alone trust comes hard with tears and moaning, weariness and anguish.
Why is it so hard to remember the good times, so easy to second-guess the things I know to be true? When I am struggling it seems that is all there is. When I’m flying it seems that the trust is so present and easy. The memories of tears and frustration fade away. Why? Human foible? I am beginning to think it is inevitable.
This rehearsal process has made me a different person. “I’ll trust God but I’m still going to cry about this.” - Oz just said this. I have started learning so much about myself. I hate being weak. I hate looking messy in public. Crying messily makes me feel like a huge loser. I haven’t seen anyone in my growing up handle pain in a healthy way. I have cut myself off from my body. I have pushed pain down into my deep self and I continue to do so on a subconscious level (though I am becoming aware). And by doing so I have cut myself off from my source of power. But I have begun to learn to change. I am beginning to know what being in my body is, what allowing myself to fail is. I am most afraid of failure and I didn’t know that before. Failure and being alone. Two things that started when I was so young the roots are almost lost to me.
I have begun to ask for help when I need it. I have begun many good things. I have prayed more this term than I can remember ever praying before in my life. I never would have believed that I could have survived something like this term. I didn’t think I would survive this term. I didn’t think I would find solace and comfort where I’ve found it.
Fear is a big thing, but unlike Oz I don’t think it comes from sin or un-dealt-with sin alone. It comes from lies you are told. It comes from lies you tell yourself. It comes from things you are taught as a child. It comes from unrealistic expectations you place on yourself, expectations you can never achieve.
Feeling broken has hurt so much, but I don’t think – I know – I would not have grown where and how I’ve grown without the breaking I’ve gone through. And I think I will always be doing this. Breaking and growing, scars being ripped open and healed anew. It will be a constant hurt and a constant renewal and peace.
Oz said it is easy to be confident in God when we see him aiding us, easy to trust. When it seems we are alone trust comes hard with tears and moaning, weariness and anguish.
Why is it so hard to remember the good times, so easy to second-guess the things I know to be true? When I am struggling it seems that is all there is. When I’m flying it seems that the trust is so present and easy. The memories of tears and frustration fade away. Why? Human foible? I am beginning to think it is inevitable.
This rehearsal process has made me a different person. “I’ll trust God but I’m still going to cry about this.” - Oz just said this. I have started learning so much about myself. I hate being weak. I hate looking messy in public. Crying messily makes me feel like a huge loser. I haven’t seen anyone in my growing up handle pain in a healthy way. I have cut myself off from my body. I have pushed pain down into my deep self and I continue to do so on a subconscious level (though I am becoming aware). And by doing so I have cut myself off from my source of power. But I have begun to learn to change. I am beginning to know what being in my body is, what allowing myself to fail is. I am most afraid of failure and I didn’t know that before. Failure and being alone. Two things that started when I was so young the roots are almost lost to me.
I have begun to ask for help when I need it. I have begun many good things. I have prayed more this term than I can remember ever praying before in my life. I never would have believed that I could have survived something like this term. I didn’t think I would survive this term. I didn’t think I would find solace and comfort where I’ve found it.
Fear is a big thing, but unlike Oz I don’t think it comes from sin or un-dealt-with sin alone. It comes from lies you are told. It comes from lies you tell yourself. It comes from things you are taught as a child. It comes from unrealistic expectations you place on yourself, expectations you can never achieve.
Feeling broken has hurt so much, but I don’t think – I know – I would not have grown where and how I’ve grown without the breaking I’ve gone through. And I think I will always be doing this. Breaking and growing, scars being ripped open and healed anew. It will be a constant hurt and a constant renewal and peace.
March 29th 2006
Counselling. 4 out of 6 of the Dahlen house inhabitants have gone for counselling today.
I feel lighter.
Fear bunches up in my chest and then stops everything from getting any further out than my throat…and that tightens to hold it all in until I feel like something is going to break…and I’m choking on my emotions, pain in my throat until I could cry from that, only holding in my tears is the whole reason I feel the pain in the first place.
I let them out today. I don’t remember being able to let go once I start holding before, but today I did. Great wracking sobs. Pain pouring out like from a pitcher, overflowing onto the world. And then suddenly it didn’t need to pour out any more and it stopped. My breath slowed, I stopped gasping for air. I realized that I hate looking like a mess and I smiled. So quickly I went from pain and sobs to smiles and sparkling humour. Humanity is such a quick adaptive creature.
Murray tells me that letting myself be a mess, letting myself fall apart, letting my pain and fear become visible instead of hiding them away like a disease, will allow me to become one with my body – to be in my body, as Paul keeps telling me. It will allow me to accept myself and grow, and become mentally and emotionally healthy, to become a person who is able to have a healthy relationship and to be able to act.
It’s scary to be a mess in front of people. I hate appearing weak. I hate computers inability to understand syntax. There, at least that last one is taken care of. I hate crying, because to me it seems weak. The lack of tears is connected with strength to me, but to Maki and Tyler it would make me a cold-hearted bitch.
I never saw my parents deal with pain in a healthy way. Dad ran away, Mom grew angry and yelled and swore. I rarely saw them cry with pain. One memory of Mom crying in pain, when she spanked me in my taffeta dress and then saw me, crushed and hurt…and then she cried because she had done that to me. One memory of Dad crying in pain, when I told him how much I had wanted to be with him as a little girl and that I didn’t want to have to tell him…when he realized that I was right, that he should have known that I wanted to be where he was, that he needed to spend time with me to show his love.
I got the idea that strength is good from them. From what they didn’t tell me as much as what they did, from their inaction as much as from their action.
When I love and accept myself, flaws and all, mess and weakness, I will find it impossible to not be present in my body.
This is going to be a long fricken process. But that is okay. I feel peace at last.
I feel like it will happen, and God is in charge of the timetable. And I can accept that, right now, at least.
For a change, crying hasn’t made me headachy. I actually feel better for having let go of my tensions. Maybe because I actually let go of them instead of shifting them around to another part of my body.
I wish my knee wasn’t injured. I’m glad I know that I hate feeling like a ball of weakness. I am glad I know that I hate weakness. It gives me a starting point to jump off of, the discernable edge of a cliff from which to launch myself.
Maybe today I will be able to simply be, and not hold myself in judgment.
I feel lighter.
Fear bunches up in my chest and then stops everything from getting any further out than my throat…and that tightens to hold it all in until I feel like something is going to break…and I’m choking on my emotions, pain in my throat until I could cry from that, only holding in my tears is the whole reason I feel the pain in the first place.
I let them out today. I don’t remember being able to let go once I start holding before, but today I did. Great wracking sobs. Pain pouring out like from a pitcher, overflowing onto the world. And then suddenly it didn’t need to pour out any more and it stopped. My breath slowed, I stopped gasping for air. I realized that I hate looking like a mess and I smiled. So quickly I went from pain and sobs to smiles and sparkling humour. Humanity is such a quick adaptive creature.
Murray tells me that letting myself be a mess, letting myself fall apart, letting my pain and fear become visible instead of hiding them away like a disease, will allow me to become one with my body – to be in my body, as Paul keeps telling me. It will allow me to accept myself and grow, and become mentally and emotionally healthy, to become a person who is able to have a healthy relationship and to be able to act.
It’s scary to be a mess in front of people. I hate appearing weak. I hate computers inability to understand syntax. There, at least that last one is taken care of. I hate crying, because to me it seems weak. The lack of tears is connected with strength to me, but to Maki and Tyler it would make me a cold-hearted bitch.
I never saw my parents deal with pain in a healthy way. Dad ran away, Mom grew angry and yelled and swore. I rarely saw them cry with pain. One memory of Mom crying in pain, when she spanked me in my taffeta dress and then saw me, crushed and hurt…and then she cried because she had done that to me. One memory of Dad crying in pain, when I told him how much I had wanted to be with him as a little girl and that I didn’t want to have to tell him…when he realized that I was right, that he should have known that I wanted to be where he was, that he needed to spend time with me to show his love.
I got the idea that strength is good from them. From what they didn’t tell me as much as what they did, from their inaction as much as from their action.
When I love and accept myself, flaws and all, mess and weakness, I will find it impossible to not be present in my body.
This is going to be a long fricken process. But that is okay. I feel peace at last.
I feel like it will happen, and God is in charge of the timetable. And I can accept that, right now, at least.
For a change, crying hasn’t made me headachy. I actually feel better for having let go of my tensions. Maybe because I actually let go of them instead of shifting them around to another part of my body.
I wish my knee wasn’t injured. I’m glad I know that I hate feeling like a ball of weakness. I am glad I know that I hate weakness. It gives me a starting point to jump off of, the discernable edge of a cliff from which to launch myself.
Maybe today I will be able to simply be, and not hold myself in judgment.
Monday, March 20, 2006
I'm too young to have grey hair
I have just recently learned that my brother is planning on moving in with his girlfriend's family.
My other brother is looking for a place to move into with his girlfriend.
My parents sound like they are visably aging when I speak to them over the phone.
How can three children hear the same message from the same people and interpret it so differently in their lives?
I was always given the clear impression that premarital sex wasn't a good idea because it wasn't a part of God's plan and sex is too important to engage in casually. Perhaps my parents made that abundantly clear to me, perhaps it simply hit closer to home because the consequence of pregnancy is more real to me than it is to my brothers, understandably. They don't have a monthly reminder of what the human body is built to do.
You know what? While I don't think that sleeping together is a good thing for them to be doing, that isn't what actually bothers me about this whole shenanigan. 2, looking for a place to set up house with his girlfriend...I can actually get excited for him. For them. It's strange to think of him as a 'them' but it's still a big step in his life, scary and exciting. But 3...why on earth does he want to move in with his girlfriend's family? They are so chaotic, and unhealthy...and I know he heard all those things from my parents when he started dating her. I know he doesn't want to hear that anymore. But dammit, that house is not a good place. I can't see how it will be a good thing for him to live there. At least, when he lived with my parents, he could get away from his beloved when she got on his nerves. He could distance himself from her sister when she annoyed him (which is more likely). He didn't have to be a part of their every crisis.
I wish he would listen to my parents advice this time. I wish he would stay at home - or if he has to move away (which I could understand if that's what this is all about) I wish he'd move somewhere alone where he could batch it for a while.
If he has to make a decision and learn from it, I hope it doesn't hurt too badly.
And who knows...maybe it will be a good thing for him.
Like Monday was a good thing for me.
I wish I knew what my role in this is. I am the sister. What am I supposed to do? Tell him what I think and back off? Keep my thoughts to myself? Try to change his mind? Love him, yes. But how? What does that look like?
Sometimes I wish my parents had better sibling relationships for me to follow.
I guess I can be ready with a hug, whatever happens. A hug and love.
And a housewarming present.
My other brother is looking for a place to move into with his girlfriend.
My parents sound like they are visably aging when I speak to them over the phone.
How can three children hear the same message from the same people and interpret it so differently in their lives?
I was always given the clear impression that premarital sex wasn't a good idea because it wasn't a part of God's plan and sex is too important to engage in casually. Perhaps my parents made that abundantly clear to me, perhaps it simply hit closer to home because the consequence of pregnancy is more real to me than it is to my brothers, understandably. They don't have a monthly reminder of what the human body is built to do.
You know what? While I don't think that sleeping together is a good thing for them to be doing, that isn't what actually bothers me about this whole shenanigan. 2, looking for a place to set up house with his girlfriend...I can actually get excited for him. For them. It's strange to think of him as a 'them' but it's still a big step in his life, scary and exciting. But 3...why on earth does he want to move in with his girlfriend's family? They are so chaotic, and unhealthy...and I know he heard all those things from my parents when he started dating her. I know he doesn't want to hear that anymore. But dammit, that house is not a good place. I can't see how it will be a good thing for him to live there. At least, when he lived with my parents, he could get away from his beloved when she got on his nerves. He could distance himself from her sister when she annoyed him (which is more likely). He didn't have to be a part of their every crisis.
I wish he would listen to my parents advice this time. I wish he would stay at home - or if he has to move away (which I could understand if that's what this is all about) I wish he'd move somewhere alone where he could batch it for a while.
If he has to make a decision and learn from it, I hope it doesn't hurt too badly.
And who knows...maybe it will be a good thing for him.
Like Monday was a good thing for me.
I wish I knew what my role in this is. I am the sister. What am I supposed to do? Tell him what I think and back off? Keep my thoughts to myself? Try to change his mind? Love him, yes. But how? What does that look like?
Sometimes I wish my parents had better sibling relationships for me to follow.
I guess I can be ready with a hug, whatever happens. A hug and love.
And a housewarming present.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
A Time to Cry
Today has been a good day. I woke up rested, if a bit confused. I shouldn't wake up to the radio. It makes me forget my dreams and wonder what is going on. My dad called to say good morning, and to tell me that he had bought a plane ticket for me to come home for Easter, and that he had sent me some money. I went to dance class and only injured my knee a little bit. I have had a long break in-between classes which is like water in a drought. My brother sent me an email telling me that he forgives me for ganging up on his when we were younger, and that he loves me. I have two hours of rehearsal and then - the evening off. Of course, that means I will be learning lines but that's okay. I have time to do that.
Monday was not a good day. I shall rephrase that. It didn't feel like a good day. In retrospect, perhaps it was a good experience. But waking up tired is no fun. Waking up to muscles so knotted I could puke is no fun. Waking up sick is no fun. Waking up realizing that only two days have gone by since your last break even if your body is trying to convince you it's been seven is really not fun.
I got dressed and went upstairs and ate breakfast. I bit back tears that had no trigger. One of my roommates asked me how I was and they spilled over. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start crying on you. I just don't know how I'm going to survive."
She nodded. Apparently it was Mid-Term Meltdown day at the Dahlen house.
It was nice to know I wasn't alone. Three of us sat and commiserated for a while and then went on with our days. I didn't do anything school related at all. I went to the office, and for the fourth time someone asked me how I was and for the fourth time I burst into tears. He's a teacher and the director of the show I'm working on right now. He was very sympathetic. I didn't feel like talking much, but he gave me a shoulder massage and listened to all the things I was communicating without speaking. It was a really good thing. I didn't realize he was there for that, or that I could go to him with frustrations and stress.
Later that evening I watched a chick flick with my girlfriends. We ate chocolate ice cream and when one of our guy friends showed up with music to show us, we acquiesced and he gave me a wonderful, wonderful back/shoulder massage. I had heard about his skills in muscle relaxing. Now I believe them.
So, Monday started with tears and ended with laughter. Perhaps Mondays are like March - they come in like a lion and go out like a lamb (or vice versa).
Days like that really make me appreciate days like today. Maybe that is all that days like that exist for.
Monday was not a good day. I shall rephrase that. It didn't feel like a good day. In retrospect, perhaps it was a good experience. But waking up tired is no fun. Waking up to muscles so knotted I could puke is no fun. Waking up sick is no fun. Waking up realizing that only two days have gone by since your last break even if your body is trying to convince you it's been seven is really not fun.
I got dressed and went upstairs and ate breakfast. I bit back tears that had no trigger. One of my roommates asked me how I was and they spilled over. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start crying on you. I just don't know how I'm going to survive."
She nodded. Apparently it was Mid-Term Meltdown day at the Dahlen house.
It was nice to know I wasn't alone. Three of us sat and commiserated for a while and then went on with our days. I didn't do anything school related at all. I went to the office, and for the fourth time someone asked me how I was and for the fourth time I burst into tears. He's a teacher and the director of the show I'm working on right now. He was very sympathetic. I didn't feel like talking much, but he gave me a shoulder massage and listened to all the things I was communicating without speaking. It was a really good thing. I didn't realize he was there for that, or that I could go to him with frustrations and stress.
Later that evening I watched a chick flick with my girlfriends. We ate chocolate ice cream and when one of our guy friends showed up with music to show us, we acquiesced and he gave me a wonderful, wonderful back/shoulder massage. I had heard about his skills in muscle relaxing. Now I believe them.
So, Monday started with tears and ended with laughter. Perhaps Mondays are like March - they come in like a lion and go out like a lamb (or vice versa).
Days like that really make me appreciate days like today. Maybe that is all that days like that exist for.
Monday, March 13, 2006
A Beautiful Day
Written March 9th, 2006
Today is the last day of my study break. It was so warm yesterday that all the snow that had fallen since we left for New York melted into beautiful slush…but today, the sky is throwing down wet, fluffy snow onto the dangerous ice. People driving by our house keep skidding as they try to stop at the stop sign. I hope my schoolmates who are at home can make it back safely before rehearsals start at 7 p.m.
I had the best of intentions this morning. I was going to be very productive and get stuff done – all I really had on my list was to work lines and work on costumes. So far, I’ve worked lines and make a gigantic snow rabbit with my friends. It is standing on an outdoor stage by the theatre and has great glowing eyes made out of orange slices. My roommate was going to take some of my Easter candy for some sort of decoration but I put my foot down. The idea of using perfectly good food for anything other than eating is beyond me. My friends say it is my Mennonite heritage coming out. It’s good to know I do actually have a connection to my roots.
After the rabbit was created (and it’s huge – it stands over 7 feet high, which meant bringing a stool outside to put on the ears, which were actually originally alien heads but the thing evolved…yeay, Darwin) we made a dress out of snow around Cari’s feet, and then buried Mel in snow and gave her Madonna cone-bra breasts. I became the official documenter of the morning’s events and took pictures with my camera. It was loads of fun, and wore us out enough to come inside and eat tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, and hot chocolate. A bizarre mix, perhaps, but we were watching Moulin Rouge, which is nothing if not bizarre. Plus we’re actors. Strange behavior is part of the life style.
I like just being able to sit and write about my normal day. I like that I am losing my fear of being ‘discovered’. For some reason, a part of me feels like blogging is a terrible secret and that no one must ever find out that I partake. I guess it’s because I don’t want people that I know to read what I think sometimes. At first I thought it was just that I didn’t want my mother to read my thoughts online. She writes a blog, and has for over a year. It’s very good, and I read it regularly. I am learning things about her that I didn’t know before. I get to see a part of her life that I would never see any other way. And for some reason, I don’t want to reciprocate.
And there are some people I live with now that I don’t want reading my thoughts, too. My friend who had the unrequited love (although he’s dating her now, so I guess the unrequited part wasn’t completely true) – I have a lot of thoughts about their relationship that I don’t necessarily want them to know. Yet. And I know I haven’t exactly written them down here. Yet. But I might. And there are people I deal with every day that I may want to vent about, and the thought that they could read my true feelings here scares me.
But being scared isn’t the end of the world. Having someone stumble onto the complete and utter truth isn’t the end of the world. Taking a risk is not the end of the world.
Just the end of my safe little construction that I call a world, although it is really just a cardboard box in an alley somewhere.
It is a frightening and exhilarating thing to have comfort zones stretched or removed. It hurts a bit but as one of my many friends would say, it’s a good hurt.
And there is more than enough snow around to slow the swelling.
Today is the last day of my study break. It was so warm yesterday that all the snow that had fallen since we left for New York melted into beautiful slush…but today, the sky is throwing down wet, fluffy snow onto the dangerous ice. People driving by our house keep skidding as they try to stop at the stop sign. I hope my schoolmates who are at home can make it back safely before rehearsals start at 7 p.m.
I had the best of intentions this morning. I was going to be very productive and get stuff done – all I really had on my list was to work lines and work on costumes. So far, I’ve worked lines and make a gigantic snow rabbit with my friends. It is standing on an outdoor stage by the theatre and has great glowing eyes made out of orange slices. My roommate was going to take some of my Easter candy for some sort of decoration but I put my foot down. The idea of using perfectly good food for anything other than eating is beyond me. My friends say it is my Mennonite heritage coming out. It’s good to know I do actually have a connection to my roots.
After the rabbit was created (and it’s huge – it stands over 7 feet high, which meant bringing a stool outside to put on the ears, which were actually originally alien heads but the thing evolved…yeay, Darwin) we made a dress out of snow around Cari’s feet, and then buried Mel in snow and gave her Madonna cone-bra breasts. I became the official documenter of the morning’s events and took pictures with my camera. It was loads of fun, and wore us out enough to come inside and eat tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, and hot chocolate. A bizarre mix, perhaps, but we were watching Moulin Rouge, which is nothing if not bizarre. Plus we’re actors. Strange behavior is part of the life style.
I like just being able to sit and write about my normal day. I like that I am losing my fear of being ‘discovered’. For some reason, a part of me feels like blogging is a terrible secret and that no one must ever find out that I partake. I guess it’s because I don’t want people that I know to read what I think sometimes. At first I thought it was just that I didn’t want my mother to read my thoughts online. She writes a blog, and has for over a year. It’s very good, and I read it regularly. I am learning things about her that I didn’t know before. I get to see a part of her life that I would never see any other way. And for some reason, I don’t want to reciprocate.
And there are some people I live with now that I don’t want reading my thoughts, too. My friend who had the unrequited love (although he’s dating her now, so I guess the unrequited part wasn’t completely true) – I have a lot of thoughts about their relationship that I don’t necessarily want them to know. Yet. And I know I haven’t exactly written them down here. Yet. But I might. And there are people I deal with every day that I may want to vent about, and the thought that they could read my true feelings here scares me.
But being scared isn’t the end of the world. Having someone stumble onto the complete and utter truth isn’t the end of the world. Taking a risk is not the end of the world.
Just the end of my safe little construction that I call a world, although it is really just a cardboard box in an alley somewhere.
It is a frightening and exhilarating thing to have comfort zones stretched or removed. It hurts a bit but as one of my many friends would say, it’s a good hurt.
And there is more than enough snow around to slow the swelling.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Procrastination is the name of the game
Today is the first day of my study break. It is a beautiful day outside, sun shining blindingly onto the snow, animals running around or basking, according to their nature. I realize that I am a basker by nature. I wonder if I should try to go against type, or if that is a hopeless endevour? In acting school so much is about type. I have learned, for instance, that I am the perfect type to play Laura in "The Glass Menagerie". Whether that is a compliment or not, I'm not sure. I spend a lot of time and energy trying to not be that type of person.
I am supposed to be using this study break, not, as the name implies, to take a break from studying, but to catch up on all of the studying I haven't done yet. Instead I have baked buns, gone grocery shopping (and left some of my rightfully bought groceries in the store to my extreme annoyance - it's a half hour drive to go and claim them), cleaned my room and watched "The Godfather" for the first time. And I've done more sociallizing than I've done here all term. Oh, and I'm looking at the Red Carpet Gallery from the Academy Awards, which I didn't watch because I haven't got access to a television. I am not doing my research assignment, which my teacher already gave me a generous extention on.
I really like Diane Kruger's dress, and Nicole Kidman's isn't bad either. But what was Naomi Watts thinking? Ugh. I wonder if any of them knows anything about the Abbey Theatre in Ireland? Probably not...which makes me wonder about the importance, relatively speaking, of my research project in the first place.
Since my return from New York, I have been productive. I really have been. I went to class for a week. I spent over 20 hours in rehearsals for a play in which I have a main role. I turned 22, which believe you me, was quite an achievement, although some would argue it was a pretty passive one.
Oooh, I actually kind of like Salma Hayek's look this year. Reese Witherspoon, kind of cute. I like her hair. I wonder why so many of the stars are wearing big names like Armani instead of looking for new up and coming designers who (perhaps) have more creative genius and innovative ideas? Or at least, more initiative to make something stunning and unique? I'd like to think that's what I'd do if I was going to walk around the red carpet at the Oscars. And I'd like to think my smile wouldn't be as fake as Ziyi Zhang's, but who knows, it might just be the one bad photo in the roll. If they use rolls - they probably had a digital camera that they could delete the terrible photos right away - so perhaps her smile is just that forced, or she was having a bad day, or her dress was pinching?
See how good I am at procrastinating? I should get some sort of award for it.
I would have thought that as I aged I would get more responsible instead of less. I used to be the paragon of responsibility. A little part of me hated it, because my motives weren't very good. It was all about controlling my environment, and myself, to the point where nothing could go wrong or not according to my schedule or I'd have a mild and very controlled tantrum.
What is with Charlize Theron and big puffy bows? Good lord, woman - grow out of it already, and stop ruining dresses by adding two extra yards of fabric where they don't belong.
Anyway, I'd say I've gone the other direction now. I still wrote out the schedule for this study break, but I haven't followed it very well. In fact I am a day behind. Today was supposed to be blog surfing, email checking and line learning - which is what I have done - but I was supposed to have finished my reasearch project yesterday instead of spending the day cleaning my room, which I was supposed to have done the day before instead of spending the day chatting with the friend who unexpectedly dropped by.
Keira Knightley, good job! I heartily endorse that look.
I guess being flexible enough to actually take the time to socialize with friends is better than saying, oh, too bad you came today because I'm doing stuff. Go away now. Which a little part of me was saying in my head, distracting me from the conversation every once in a while as I thought of my list with longing. I'm sure there is a time and place to do that though. I know that if anyone tries to distract me (other than myself) today I am going to have to say, no, sorry, I'm learning lines today so I can actually be off book by Thursday and on top of that, I'm getting a cold and sore throat so don't even tempt me, goodbye - and the door will slam in their face.
And with that, I suppose I should slam the door in my own face by clicking the 'x' on the Oscars and beginning to care about theatre in Ireland in 1904. Yeay. Procrastination isn't really a fun game after all.
I am supposed to be using this study break, not, as the name implies, to take a break from studying, but to catch up on all of the studying I haven't done yet. Instead I have baked buns, gone grocery shopping (and left some of my rightfully bought groceries in the store to my extreme annoyance - it's a half hour drive to go and claim them), cleaned my room and watched "The Godfather" for the first time. And I've done more sociallizing than I've done here all term. Oh, and I'm looking at the Red Carpet Gallery from the Academy Awards, which I didn't watch because I haven't got access to a television. I am not doing my research assignment, which my teacher already gave me a generous extention on.
I really like Diane Kruger's dress, and Nicole Kidman's isn't bad either. But what was Naomi Watts thinking? Ugh. I wonder if any of them knows anything about the Abbey Theatre in Ireland? Probably not...which makes me wonder about the importance, relatively speaking, of my research project in the first place.
Since my return from New York, I have been productive. I really have been. I went to class for a week. I spent over 20 hours in rehearsals for a play in which I have a main role. I turned 22, which believe you me, was quite an achievement, although some would argue it was a pretty passive one.
Oooh, I actually kind of like Salma Hayek's look this year. Reese Witherspoon, kind of cute. I like her hair. I wonder why so many of the stars are wearing big names like Armani instead of looking for new up and coming designers who (perhaps) have more creative genius and innovative ideas? Or at least, more initiative to make something stunning and unique? I'd like to think that's what I'd do if I was going to walk around the red carpet at the Oscars. And I'd like to think my smile wouldn't be as fake as Ziyi Zhang's, but who knows, it might just be the one bad photo in the roll. If they use rolls - they probably had a digital camera that they could delete the terrible photos right away - so perhaps her smile is just that forced, or she was having a bad day, or her dress was pinching?
See how good I am at procrastinating? I should get some sort of award for it.
I would have thought that as I aged I would get more responsible instead of less. I used to be the paragon of responsibility. A little part of me hated it, because my motives weren't very good. It was all about controlling my environment, and myself, to the point where nothing could go wrong or not according to my schedule or I'd have a mild and very controlled tantrum.
What is with Charlize Theron and big puffy bows? Good lord, woman - grow out of it already, and stop ruining dresses by adding two extra yards of fabric where they don't belong.
Anyway, I'd say I've gone the other direction now. I still wrote out the schedule for this study break, but I haven't followed it very well. In fact I am a day behind. Today was supposed to be blog surfing, email checking and line learning - which is what I have done - but I was supposed to have finished my reasearch project yesterday instead of spending the day cleaning my room, which I was supposed to have done the day before instead of spending the day chatting with the friend who unexpectedly dropped by.
Keira Knightley, good job! I heartily endorse that look.
I guess being flexible enough to actually take the time to socialize with friends is better than saying, oh, too bad you came today because I'm doing stuff. Go away now. Which a little part of me was saying in my head, distracting me from the conversation every once in a while as I thought of my list with longing. I'm sure there is a time and place to do that though. I know that if anyone tries to distract me (other than myself) today I am going to have to say, no, sorry, I'm learning lines today so I can actually be off book by Thursday and on top of that, I'm getting a cold and sore throat so don't even tempt me, goodbye - and the door will slam in their face.
And with that, I suppose I should slam the door in my own face by clicking the 'x' on the Oscars and beginning to care about theatre in Ireland in 1904. Yeay. Procrastination isn't really a fun game after all.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
New York, New York
Well, not exactly. I'm actually in Massachusetts right now, alone. Most of my friends have gone to a local pub to relax before we head out early tomorrow morning. If I hadn't spent most of the afternoon either crying or trying to relax my cried out muscles I'd probably have gone with them, but cigarette smoke is the last thing that I need right now so here I am in front of a computer screen...because eye strain won't hurt me in the least. So much for that excuse.
I was in a Shakespeare workshop all day. It was wonderful, so much better than I expected...I made a break through with my voice and found a power I didn't know how to access before. I will be able to access it again. Thank God for Dave and Lady Anne's grief.
I'll be sad to leave here. The Shakespeare Company are situated in a lovely place. I can almost kid myself into thinking it's out in the country, far from vehicles and noise. Well, the noise part is true but there is a highway not too far away. But the trees! Ahh, the trees, they block most of the noise out. And Rico's cooking - far far better than the best New York hotdog. Nothing against the culture, but roast pork loin, blueberry pie, roasted seasoned potatoes...mmm. I don't eat this well at home.
But tomorrow we head back to the busy city of New York for a day, a day that hopefully I'll be able to get to Ellis Island on because last time I tried the wind had shut the ferry down. At the very least I'll be able to mail the post cards I bought for my family in Canada.
And now I really should go to bed. Breakfast at 7:30 seems retardedly early but for Rico, I'll do it.
I was in a Shakespeare workshop all day. It was wonderful, so much better than I expected...I made a break through with my voice and found a power I didn't know how to access before. I will be able to access it again. Thank God for Dave and Lady Anne's grief.
I'll be sad to leave here. The Shakespeare Company are situated in a lovely place. I can almost kid myself into thinking it's out in the country, far from vehicles and noise. Well, the noise part is true but there is a highway not too far away. But the trees! Ahh, the trees, they block most of the noise out. And Rico's cooking - far far better than the best New York hotdog. Nothing against the culture, but roast pork loin, blueberry pie, roasted seasoned potatoes...mmm. I don't eat this well at home.
But tomorrow we head back to the busy city of New York for a day, a day that hopefully I'll be able to get to Ellis Island on because last time I tried the wind had shut the ferry down. At the very least I'll be able to mail the post cards I bought for my family in Canada.
And now I really should go to bed. Breakfast at 7:30 seems retardedly early but for Rico, I'll do it.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
At Long Last
February 6th 2006:
I am tired and should be getting ready for bed. Instead I have just spent half an hour trying to get my computer to recognize that it can indeed save information on my floppy discs. Argh. I had to restart it and then it was fine. No one try to explain why an inanimate object can have such a temperamental approach to various tasks.
I hear a man’s voice. Specifically a guy that I kind of like. I’m not sure what to do about it, or if I should. Right now I think being friends is important and good and when I logically think about it, going any further is a silly idea. So complicated. I’ve written on this before, and by all rights it shouldn’t even be an issue. But humanity would be dull if it kept to it’s own rules.
I think I will though. I have too much going on to add anything at this point.
I have a more relaxed week this week, which doesn’t explain why my neck muscles are cramping up and trying to crawl into my hair. Maybe I’ve been staring at a computer screen too much today – this makes 3 solid hours. Not consecutive, but that hardly matters to my muscles.
I should wash my face, brush my teeth, and lie down to the soothing strains of REM and “Night Swimming”. That song is really mellow. “Automatic for the People” has gotten me through the past week of insanity.
Class from 9 am to 10 pm…with lunch and supper breaks…six days a week. Either academic, like Theatre History, or studio, like rehearsals. Or a practicum; building 18th Century clothing from scratch, which I actually enjoy but it does take its toll on my sanity.
On the other hand, I made a really cool bag yesterday. It was an old pair of jeans but now it is a wicked cool bag that I will bring with me to New York next week when I go to see wonderful theatre and take part in amazing workshops for two weeks.
I can finish this whenever I want to, so I’ll go to bed now and let this ferment in my head while I sleep.
February 7, 2006
It is 7 pm on a Tuesday evening. I had a pretty relaxed day today – my acting coach started into rehearsals for a show today so I only had voice coaching. I did meet with my scene partner and we went through the scene and broke it into chunks (beats) for performance. It was fun and I’m glad we’re getting started. It’s been slow going.
In my voice lesson I had a good day too. I am trying hard to overcome a fearful, pinched off sound and today I only ‘yodeled’ one note (several times) and then I actually got it too. My coach is a very encouraging but demanding person but today it was all “That was good.” “That sounded great.” If she’s saying it, it’s true. She doesn’t lie about that sort of thing (which has been discouraging in the past but today was wonderful).
And for the morning we got to sit and listen to a read through of the up coming play. It’s called “Drawer Boy” (as in the boy who draws) and it’s a heart breaker. I love it and wish I could have heard the director’s vision because he’ll somehow pull hope out of it. The ending is pretty…well, I don’t know. Not sad, not crushing, but it definitely isn’t happy either. But the story is good and much worth telling.
My day has been really good and I’m glad. It’s about time, I think. Not stressful, not overwhelming, but a day of good progress. Thank you, God.
I am tired and should be getting ready for bed. Instead I have just spent half an hour trying to get my computer to recognize that it can indeed save information on my floppy discs. Argh. I had to restart it and then it was fine. No one try to explain why an inanimate object can have such a temperamental approach to various tasks.
I hear a man’s voice. Specifically a guy that I kind of like. I’m not sure what to do about it, or if I should. Right now I think being friends is important and good and when I logically think about it, going any further is a silly idea. So complicated. I’ve written on this before, and by all rights it shouldn’t even be an issue. But humanity would be dull if it kept to it’s own rules.
I think I will though. I have too much going on to add anything at this point.
I have a more relaxed week this week, which doesn’t explain why my neck muscles are cramping up and trying to crawl into my hair. Maybe I’ve been staring at a computer screen too much today – this makes 3 solid hours. Not consecutive, but that hardly matters to my muscles.
I should wash my face, brush my teeth, and lie down to the soothing strains of REM and “Night Swimming”. That song is really mellow. “Automatic for the People” has gotten me through the past week of insanity.
Class from 9 am to 10 pm…with lunch and supper breaks…six days a week. Either academic, like Theatre History, or studio, like rehearsals. Or a practicum; building 18th Century clothing from scratch, which I actually enjoy but it does take its toll on my sanity.
On the other hand, I made a really cool bag yesterday. It was an old pair of jeans but now it is a wicked cool bag that I will bring with me to New York next week when I go to see wonderful theatre and take part in amazing workshops for two weeks.
I can finish this whenever I want to, so I’ll go to bed now and let this ferment in my head while I sleep.
February 7, 2006
It is 7 pm on a Tuesday evening. I had a pretty relaxed day today – my acting coach started into rehearsals for a show today so I only had voice coaching. I did meet with my scene partner and we went through the scene and broke it into chunks (beats) for performance. It was fun and I’m glad we’re getting started. It’s been slow going.
In my voice lesson I had a good day too. I am trying hard to overcome a fearful, pinched off sound and today I only ‘yodeled’ one note (several times) and then I actually got it too. My coach is a very encouraging but demanding person but today it was all “That was good.” “That sounded great.” If she’s saying it, it’s true. She doesn’t lie about that sort of thing (which has been discouraging in the past but today was wonderful).
And for the morning we got to sit and listen to a read through of the up coming play. It’s called “Drawer Boy” (as in the boy who draws) and it’s a heart breaker. I love it and wish I could have heard the director’s vision because he’ll somehow pull hope out of it. The ending is pretty…well, I don’t know. Not sad, not crushing, but it definitely isn’t happy either. But the story is good and much worth telling.
My day has been really good and I’m glad. It’s about time, I think. Not stressful, not overwhelming, but a day of good progress. Thank you, God.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Long Time, No See
It has felt like ages since I last posted anything. I suppose it has been. I could fill the page with excuses but I've recently discovered that I hate making them. It makes me feel cheap and dirty to enter into something with excuses in hand, bailing me out before my boat even springs a leak. So I've made a decision to be honest with my failings.
I have not had this blog on a high priority, and I think that was appropriate. It still isn't really high up there but I don't think I can create it and leave it to become covered in dust so here I am.
This past month I have done a lot of things. I started another term of art school. I auditioned for a play and landed a big and multi-layered role. I learned that I'm the only virgin in my family and realized that I think I've been a bad sister to one of my brothers. And that going to counselling cannot be optional for me.
I've also started to be more open with one of my friends. She is the person I've known the longest of all the people I live around now and sometimes I wonder how our friendship has survived. We believe the same basics but I think I'm much more liberal than she is. And I know she has had a - how do I put this into words? I sometimes think she is more legalistic than I am but it's more that her family has more solid beliefs than mine has had. I've had to think things out for myself in a different way, and sometimes that means that what I believe and what she believes are quite different.
It was pretty hard for me to tell her about my struggles with my brother. Both of my brothers have made choices in the past year that I was pretty sure would never have happened in my friend's family. I wasn't sure if she'd judge my brothers and my parents, or myself, because of what I was going to tell her. I was surprised. I really should learn one of these days that assumptions are a bad habit. I'm still pretty sure that her brothers wouldn't make the sort of choices my brothers have but she was able to relate without judging me or my family and what she had to say helped me a lot. Plus it became apparent that she's had to deal with siblings making difficult choices and maybe not picking the right thing to do.
One thing that has been hard for me since I started school again is the realization that I basically don't have a relationship with one of my brothers. He's next in age to me. (I'll refer to him as 2, and to the youngest as 3.) I don't think it should surprise me that we aren't close. I know that if (and I hope he eventually does) he goes to counselling I'll probably factor in somewhere in the mess of stuff he will have to deal with. My youngest brother and I have always clicked, and when we were children we teamed up together against 2. I argue more with 2 than I do with 3, and the arguments are messier and horrible.
I wish it wasn't this way. When 3 does something I think is stupid, like smoke pot, I can at least talk to him about it. We can have an open conversation where he knows what I think and I know I can't make his decisions for him. But if I try to have that conversation with 2 (and I have) it ends half an hour later with us yelling or at the very least, pointing fingers at each other's screw ups. We end up further apart then we were before I started.
I don't know what to do to fix this and I don't know if I can. That scares me. A lot. I want to be close to my brothers. I want our children to be the kind of cousins who know each other and are friends; I want to know my nephews and nieces and to have my children know their uncles. I want to be friends with my brothers and somehow we've grown up and grown apart and I don't know when or how or what to do.
And no amount of excuses is going to fill the void.
I have not had this blog on a high priority, and I think that was appropriate. It still isn't really high up there but I don't think I can create it and leave it to become covered in dust so here I am.
This past month I have done a lot of things. I started another term of art school. I auditioned for a play and landed a big and multi-layered role. I learned that I'm the only virgin in my family and realized that I think I've been a bad sister to one of my brothers. And that going to counselling cannot be optional for me.
I've also started to be more open with one of my friends. She is the person I've known the longest of all the people I live around now and sometimes I wonder how our friendship has survived. We believe the same basics but I think I'm much more liberal than she is. And I know she has had a - how do I put this into words? I sometimes think she is more legalistic than I am but it's more that her family has more solid beliefs than mine has had. I've had to think things out for myself in a different way, and sometimes that means that what I believe and what she believes are quite different.
It was pretty hard for me to tell her about my struggles with my brother. Both of my brothers have made choices in the past year that I was pretty sure would never have happened in my friend's family. I wasn't sure if she'd judge my brothers and my parents, or myself, because of what I was going to tell her. I was surprised. I really should learn one of these days that assumptions are a bad habit. I'm still pretty sure that her brothers wouldn't make the sort of choices my brothers have but she was able to relate without judging me or my family and what she had to say helped me a lot. Plus it became apparent that she's had to deal with siblings making difficult choices and maybe not picking the right thing to do.
One thing that has been hard for me since I started school again is the realization that I basically don't have a relationship with one of my brothers. He's next in age to me. (I'll refer to him as 2, and to the youngest as 3.) I don't think it should surprise me that we aren't close. I know that if (and I hope he eventually does) he goes to counselling I'll probably factor in somewhere in the mess of stuff he will have to deal with. My youngest brother and I have always clicked, and when we were children we teamed up together against 2. I argue more with 2 than I do with 3, and the arguments are messier and horrible.
I wish it wasn't this way. When 3 does something I think is stupid, like smoke pot, I can at least talk to him about it. We can have an open conversation where he knows what I think and I know I can't make his decisions for him. But if I try to have that conversation with 2 (and I have) it ends half an hour later with us yelling or at the very least, pointing fingers at each other's screw ups. We end up further apart then we were before I started.
I don't know what to do to fix this and I don't know if I can. That scares me. A lot. I want to be close to my brothers. I want our children to be the kind of cousins who know each other and are friends; I want to know my nephews and nieces and to have my children know their uncles. I want to be friends with my brothers and somehow we've grown up and grown apart and I don't know when or how or what to do.
And no amount of excuses is going to fill the void.
Friday, December 30, 2005
An Itch I Can't Scratch
I have the itch to write and I can't scratch it. I haven't had the chance to write much since I've been home for Christmas. If I was brave enough to tell my family that I have a blog I need to keep up with perhaps I could ensure some privacy while I write - after all, four out of five of us have blogs. My mother has been blogging for a year, and hers is the only one I know the address to. My dad and my brother both have private blogs - that I have one shouldn't be that unusual.
But I don't want to tell her I have one. I don't know if she'd ask for the address to it or not, or if she'd go searching for it. I don't think she would. For some reason I don't want to risk it.
And I thought I was getting so good at taking risks.
My mom and I stayed up until 3:30 am a few nights ago, talking. We talked about family mostly...My brothers and the trouble my mom is having in letting go, in wanting to control their lives and the choices they are making. One experiments with pot, one is having sex with his girlfriend. Neither of those things seems very smart to me, but I am able to accept that I can't do anything about their choices. My mom can't quite grasp that yet, and I'm not very sympathetic because I can't understand why.
We talked about the possibility that we might not like the girls my brothers marry. That is something new to me. Before I just assumed that I would get along great with their chosen mates, but now I realize I might have nothing in common with them. And I'm realizing that I have to work on my relationships with my brothers. I have to work to have relationships with them, because Mom and Dad are no longer so involved with our lives as to be the automatic glue to hold us together.
Later -
I am on my way to bed after having spent the day driving. I drove with my mom to get my dad when his heart started bothering him at work (he works at a hospital so at least he got checked out before he left), and then I drove to town, again with my mom, to see "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe" which I enjoyed and she didn't. She thought it was a movie without soul. My only big problem with the movie was Aslan's voice. He could've had a deeper, bigger voice. I think that would have made him seem like less of a tame lion. Even with that, I liked the movie.
With everyone asleep now would be the perfect time to write a short novel on here, but I'm tired.
Good-night.
But I don't want to tell her I have one. I don't know if she'd ask for the address to it or not, or if she'd go searching for it. I don't think she would. For some reason I don't want to risk it.
And I thought I was getting so good at taking risks.
My mom and I stayed up until 3:30 am a few nights ago, talking. We talked about family mostly...My brothers and the trouble my mom is having in letting go, in wanting to control their lives and the choices they are making. One experiments with pot, one is having sex with his girlfriend. Neither of those things seems very smart to me, but I am able to accept that I can't do anything about their choices. My mom can't quite grasp that yet, and I'm not very sympathetic because I can't understand why.
We talked about the possibility that we might not like the girls my brothers marry. That is something new to me. Before I just assumed that I would get along great with their chosen mates, but now I realize I might have nothing in common with them. And I'm realizing that I have to work on my relationships with my brothers. I have to work to have relationships with them, because Mom and Dad are no longer so involved with our lives as to be the automatic glue to hold us together.
Later -
I am on my way to bed after having spent the day driving. I drove with my mom to get my dad when his heart started bothering him at work (he works at a hospital so at least he got checked out before he left), and then I drove to town, again with my mom, to see "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe" which I enjoyed and she didn't. She thought it was a movie without soul. My only big problem with the movie was Aslan's voice. He could've had a deeper, bigger voice. I think that would have made him seem like less of a tame lion. Even with that, I liked the movie.
With everyone asleep now would be the perfect time to write a short novel on here, but I'm tired.
Good-night.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Merry Christmas
I have been at my parents home for a week - well, it will be a week in several hours. The time has flown by and I'm glad I have another 10 days or so before returning to that wonderful but difficult life that I own.
It has been a stretching experience to be 'home' again. I've forgotten many of my family's daily idiosyncrasies - like how my dad will interrupt any activity I'm doing to show me something that doesn't interest me at all but he thinks is fascinating, and how when my brother has an opinion no amount of logic can change it. These things annoy me and it shocks me a bit for some reason.
It's a good thing there are the good things I'd forgotten too. How often my dad tells us he loves us. How my brother likes having me there to talk to. How much better food tastes when my mom prepares it.
We had Christmas early this year because the 23rd was the only day when we were all at home. My dad had to work today and my eldest brother goes back to the grindstone tomorrow. It was weird to have all of the gift opening without any "Merry Christmas"'s, and a little odd to be wishing Merry Christmas's on people today without the rest of the rigmarole.
My mom and I were talking about our lack of Christmas tradition. I had to think about it and I realized we aren't completely devoid of traditions. My mom makes Peppernuts (a Mennonite Christmas food - like a really little cookie, I guess) and Butter Tarts, we always have a black box of Pot of Gold chocolates and, of course, Toffifee. We get Christmas cards from our maternal grandparents and put them in the Christmas tree to wait for Christmas morning. Another thing that I really like about our Christmas morning is how we open gifts. We take it in turns not to open presents but to give them. I like the focus that gives the morning.
I've been reading a book over the holidays called "Walking on Water" by Madeleine L'Engle. It's been the perfect book for me to read right now, where I am in my life and art. I think it has helped me to see past the little things that could seem really big and remember why I came home for Christmas. Even though I wrote home in quotation marks before, this is a home for me, as much of one as my little room in my little town of fellow artists.
I wish a peaceful Christmas on everyone out there. Merry Christmas.
It has been a stretching experience to be 'home' again. I've forgotten many of my family's daily idiosyncrasies - like how my dad will interrupt any activity I'm doing to show me something that doesn't interest me at all but he thinks is fascinating, and how when my brother has an opinion no amount of logic can change it. These things annoy me and it shocks me a bit for some reason.
It's a good thing there are the good things I'd forgotten too. How often my dad tells us he loves us. How my brother likes having me there to talk to. How much better food tastes when my mom prepares it.
We had Christmas early this year because the 23rd was the only day when we were all at home. My dad had to work today and my eldest brother goes back to the grindstone tomorrow. It was weird to have all of the gift opening without any "Merry Christmas"'s, and a little odd to be wishing Merry Christmas's on people today without the rest of the rigmarole.
My mom and I were talking about our lack of Christmas tradition. I had to think about it and I realized we aren't completely devoid of traditions. My mom makes Peppernuts (a Mennonite Christmas food - like a really little cookie, I guess) and Butter Tarts, we always have a black box of Pot of Gold chocolates and, of course, Toffifee. We get Christmas cards from our maternal grandparents and put them in the Christmas tree to wait for Christmas morning. Another thing that I really like about our Christmas morning is how we open gifts. We take it in turns not to open presents but to give them. I like the focus that gives the morning.
I've been reading a book over the holidays called "Walking on Water" by Madeleine L'Engle. It's been the perfect book for me to read right now, where I am in my life and art. I think it has helped me to see past the little things that could seem really big and remember why I came home for Christmas. Even though I wrote home in quotation marks before, this is a home for me, as much of one as my little room in my little town of fellow artists.
I wish a peaceful Christmas on everyone out there. Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Making Myself Heard
Yesterday evening I went to a friends house for supper. Actually, the same friend with the unrequited love issues, which I am realizing I know only one dimension of the story there, but that's for another post. He made chili with potatoes in it and people gathered and it was good. We ended up talking about a medieval supper one of us had been to and one thing led to another and pretty soon we were all eating our chili with our fingers and shouting 'Aaaayyee!' like Vikings or kings from the Middle Ages. I had a lot of fun, and realized that I haven't hung out with my non-roommate friends for far too long.
The night before that I sung in front of people for the first time since I was six, and the first time ever on purpose (that I can remember...although I've been told I was a pretty performative little kid, so who knows). I sounded so quiet in my own ears that I was sure no one could hear me over the piano, but I couldn't figure out a way to make the sound louder - my body couldn't push the sound out any more so I decided that the song would just suck this time and I'd work towards a better job next year sort of a thing. Well, not only could people hear me and discern the words to the song, they liked it! That was eye opening and it gave me so much confidence. I've always been told I have a nice voice and now I think I'll start to believe it. And I'll have to learn that my volume is going to have to be measured by how it feels in my body, not how it sounds in my ears.
This week my dad spent two days with me. The fact that he went out of his way to come and spend more time than he scheduled here just because I wanted him to is a big deal. It did a lot to repair our relationship, which wasn't by any means collapsing into chaos, but did have some important holes in it. One of those holes is starting to heal over now, because he spent time here and we had a very important talk. He heard me, really heard me and accepted what I had to say.
For some reason, being heard feels like a new and amazing experience, and it's happened a lot this week, in many hither-to unconnected aspects of my life.
Or at least, I thought they were unconnected. I guess there really is no such thing as coincidence.
The night before that I sung in front of people for the first time since I was six, and the first time ever on purpose (that I can remember...although I've been told I was a pretty performative little kid, so who knows). I sounded so quiet in my own ears that I was sure no one could hear me over the piano, but I couldn't figure out a way to make the sound louder - my body couldn't push the sound out any more so I decided that the song would just suck this time and I'd work towards a better job next year sort of a thing. Well, not only could people hear me and discern the words to the song, they liked it! That was eye opening and it gave me so much confidence. I've always been told I have a nice voice and now I think I'll start to believe it. And I'll have to learn that my volume is going to have to be measured by how it feels in my body, not how it sounds in my ears.
This week my dad spent two days with me. The fact that he went out of his way to come and spend more time than he scheduled here just because I wanted him to is a big deal. It did a lot to repair our relationship, which wasn't by any means collapsing into chaos, but did have some important holes in it. One of those holes is starting to heal over now, because he spent time here and we had a very important talk. He heard me, really heard me and accepted what I had to say.
For some reason, being heard feels like a new and amazing experience, and it's happened a lot this week, in many hither-to unconnected aspects of my life.
Or at least, I thought they were unconnected. I guess there really is no such thing as coincidence.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Ready for the Weekend
As I am writing this, my eyelids are trying to fall down to protect the burning orbs that once were eyes. My shoulder muscles are pulling on my neck and jaw, trying to meld my entire upper torso into one shapeless, mindless lump. I have not been this tired since yesterday...which makes me laugh for some reason. Before this week, I didn't know that a person could be so tired even when getting 9 hours of sleep a night. Before this week, I had no idea that performing could be so draining.
For some reason, the powers that be at this wonderful art school schedule classes either right before or right after our student show. I understand that there are no other times in which to place these necessary classes - but it is so hard to go to a class when all I really want is an extra hour or two in bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Of course, now that I have some time I'm not sleeping, I'm writing here, but it is the weekend tomorrow, and once again I will skip church to sleep and do my own thing. Sundays are pretty much my only day of rest (Saturdays are school days and Mondays, the end of my personal weekend, I devote to homework). Plus I'm sick to death of people by Saturday evening and the idea of cutting short my sleep to voluntarily be among a crowd doesn't appeal to me at all. I joke with my friends that I am becoming a heathen but I wonder if I am indeed missing anything important in my spiritual life.
This summer I pretty much boycotted church. I disagreed with almost everything the local pastor had to say and didn't feel like I was getting anything except a cynical attitude and muscle tension out of the Sunday excursion, so I stayed home and played computer games. Or cleaned the house. Or read, or slept. I didn't feel like going to church but I felt like I was missing something important, and I didn't know where to get it. When I came back to school, I found that the church here answered the need I had but now I'm back to staying at home sleeping.
Do I answer the physical needs or the spiritual needs?
Right now, I'd say my body is winning except that I'm here at the computer expressing myself in a way that meets some other need I have - something that answers a question my body wouldn't ask.
I didn't come here to wonder aloud about church. I came here to complain about school and how much stress I'm experiencing. I have never before gotten stressed out, which sounds like bullshit but I know I'm stressed now and I've never had this kind of a response to stuff. How did I go through a whole year of school and not feel stressed? I don't know but last year I managed it. Maybe now it's all making up for lost time.
I've had three migraines in three months and if I don't go get some sleep, I'll be begging for #4.
Or maybe it's a sign from a vengeful god...
For some reason, the powers that be at this wonderful art school schedule classes either right before or right after our student show. I understand that there are no other times in which to place these necessary classes - but it is so hard to go to a class when all I really want is an extra hour or two in bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Of course, now that I have some time I'm not sleeping, I'm writing here, but it is the weekend tomorrow, and once again I will skip church to sleep and do my own thing. Sundays are pretty much my only day of rest (Saturdays are school days and Mondays, the end of my personal weekend, I devote to homework). Plus I'm sick to death of people by Saturday evening and the idea of cutting short my sleep to voluntarily be among a crowd doesn't appeal to me at all. I joke with my friends that I am becoming a heathen but I wonder if I am indeed missing anything important in my spiritual life.
This summer I pretty much boycotted church. I disagreed with almost everything the local pastor had to say and didn't feel like I was getting anything except a cynical attitude and muscle tension out of the Sunday excursion, so I stayed home and played computer games. Or cleaned the house. Or read, or slept. I didn't feel like going to church but I felt like I was missing something important, and I didn't know where to get it. When I came back to school, I found that the church here answered the need I had but now I'm back to staying at home sleeping.
Do I answer the physical needs or the spiritual needs?
Right now, I'd say my body is winning except that I'm here at the computer expressing myself in a way that meets some other need I have - something that answers a question my body wouldn't ask.
I didn't come here to wonder aloud about church. I came here to complain about school and how much stress I'm experiencing. I have never before gotten stressed out, which sounds like bullshit but I know I'm stressed now and I've never had this kind of a response to stuff. How did I go through a whole year of school and not feel stressed? I don't know but last year I managed it. Maybe now it's all making up for lost time.
I've had three migraines in three months and if I don't go get some sleep, I'll be begging for #4.
Or maybe it's a sign from a vengeful god...
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Bottles and Unreciprocated Love
Today I went on a bottle run with a friend of mine. Bottles are not something I particularly like, and recycling isn't something that is very close to my heart, but the particular situation I am in requires me to deal with the bottles in the town where I live, and recycling seems to be the approved-of method. Not that I have a problem with recycling. It just seems that a car-full of bottles should be worth more than $30.00.
On the way to the bottle depot, my friend told me about his difficulty in getting over a girl. He's been battling with this for a while - their relationship was always muddy (are they dating? are they friends?) but it has been over, in her mind at least, since the summer. He still refers to giving her space and I don't know how to respond. You give people space when you are in a cooling off period, right? Not after breaking up. Part of me wants to slap him up the side of the head and tell him, look, it's over! Get over her already! Because she is getting over him, and he can see it and he doesn't know what to do.
How can I give advice to a friend when I've never been in his shoes? I don't think I can. And I don't want to either, because I happen to be friends with her too and her side is a lot easier for me to understand. I always come out of these conversations with him confused. I think he just wants me to just listen but I'm never sure how to.
Part of me wants to be able to help him, to say something so profound and wise that it will aid him in his quest to free his heart, or whatever it is that keeps getting stuck when he sees her, talks to her, works with her.
I'm realizing that relationships are complicated and I'm not sure that the perks outweigh the hard side of things. Relationships with people in a small town certainly don't seem to be worth it. I came here with the decision to keep romance out of the equation and so far that has been the case although I can't claim all the responsibility on that one. Even though sometimes I wish that I had the option of being a couple, in my saner moments I don't think that I could handle it.
Which doesn't help my friend much but hey - it does help keep the bottle pile under control.
On the way to the bottle depot, my friend told me about his difficulty in getting over a girl. He's been battling with this for a while - their relationship was always muddy (are they dating? are they friends?) but it has been over, in her mind at least, since the summer. He still refers to giving her space and I don't know how to respond. You give people space when you are in a cooling off period, right? Not after breaking up. Part of me wants to slap him up the side of the head and tell him, look, it's over! Get over her already! Because she is getting over him, and he can see it and he doesn't know what to do.
How can I give advice to a friend when I've never been in his shoes? I don't think I can. And I don't want to either, because I happen to be friends with her too and her side is a lot easier for me to understand. I always come out of these conversations with him confused. I think he just wants me to just listen but I'm never sure how to.
Part of me wants to be able to help him, to say something so profound and wise that it will aid him in his quest to free his heart, or whatever it is that keeps getting stuck when he sees her, talks to her, works with her.
I'm realizing that relationships are complicated and I'm not sure that the perks outweigh the hard side of things. Relationships with people in a small town certainly don't seem to be worth it. I came here with the decision to keep romance out of the equation and so far that has been the case although I can't claim all the responsibility on that one. Even though sometimes I wish that I had the option of being a couple, in my saner moments I don't think that I could handle it.
Which doesn't help my friend much but hey - it does help keep the bottle pile under control.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Chameleon words
Today in my email I read a quote by Learned Hand, who was an American judge. He said "Words are chameleons, which reflect the color of their environment". Not only did that make me learn how to spell chameleon, I had to decide why that was important enough to regurgitate here. And in my first post, no less.
Words are something that I have spent most of my life hiding in and behind. I am only just now realizing how inadequate words are in expressing the real and true things in life. That sentence would once have been the equivalent of heresy to me. There are so many words, how can they possibly fail in expressing something? That is their whole purpose, and as you can see, I can claim mastery over a vast army of them. But there are things that my mind cannot put into words, and where once I would have then written those things off as worthless, I am now finding out that those are the things that make some of the most profound differences in my life.
I am an aspiring actress. I am learning so much in my search to become a whole artist and a whole person and words fail me with astounding regularity. My body, movement and emotion, are becoming a recognized tool in expression and I don't know how to use them yet. It scares me because I have lived in this body for so many years and yet I have never just let it move before. And even now I only have moments of being able to let it move. Most of the time my brain, with its words and intelligence - the source I have relied on all my life - interupts my primal instinct and screws everything up.
And now I have to let go of my mind and stop thinking so much in order to succeed. That is the anathema of all I have ever been.
It is frightening and exhilerating all at once.
Words are something that I have spent most of my life hiding in and behind. I am only just now realizing how inadequate words are in expressing the real and true things in life. That sentence would once have been the equivalent of heresy to me. There are so many words, how can they possibly fail in expressing something? That is their whole purpose, and as you can see, I can claim mastery over a vast army of them. But there are things that my mind cannot put into words, and where once I would have then written those things off as worthless, I am now finding out that those are the things that make some of the most profound differences in my life.
I am an aspiring actress. I am learning so much in my search to become a whole artist and a whole person and words fail me with astounding regularity. My body, movement and emotion, are becoming a recognized tool in expression and I don't know how to use them yet. It scares me because I have lived in this body for so many years and yet I have never just let it move before. And even now I only have moments of being able to let it move. Most of the time my brain, with its words and intelligence - the source I have relied on all my life - interupts my primal instinct and screws everything up.
And now I have to let go of my mind and stop thinking so much in order to succeed. That is the anathema of all I have ever been.
It is frightening and exhilerating all at once.
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