Autumn in New York

As a small departure from my usual topic of showbiz life, I'd like to dedicate this entry to the one who makes my showbiz life possible - and impossible.  The one who drew me out of the Redwoods and into the thick of the jungle.  The one who always bites me back, chews me up, spits me out and keeps me coming back for more.  The one who I go home to every night, and wake up with every morning.  The one who I can't seem to live without, with whom I've had some of my highest highs and lowest lows and made secrets and made love.  The one who I love even when she doesn't love me. 

Yup - I am talking about NEW YORK CITY, people.  Bright lights, dark depths, infamy and independence, this one is for you.  New York and I have been together for 7 years.  We've just had our anniversary, and I'm celebrating by enjoying the beauty of this place during my favorite time of year.

Ah, the glory of a New York City September; the cooling air delivers sweeter smells including rain and coffee, and pumpkin-flavored everything appears on menus from starbucks to fancy french bistros with baskets hanging from the ceiling.  It's the perfect time of year for a sunset stroll on the Highline, an al fresco bottle of wine on a broad avenue near Washington Square, or a hot toddy party on the rooftop.

If you're like me and on a shoestring budget, it can start to feel like many of the pleasure of living in a place like New York are out of reach.  But that doesn't have to be true!  In honor of this, the most glamorous and crisp and romantic season in the city I love to call my home, I've compiled an ode in list form of some of my favorite Autumn in New York things.  Most are friendly to my shoestring budget, and a good example of how my concrete mistress spoils me even when I have nothing in my pocket:

Taxi Rides in the Rain - I know I might be alone on this one.  Blame it on my childhood in the Pacific Northwest, where the rain was a constant companion and friend, and where long car rides to the other end of California taught me to make myself comfy in cars no matter what.  But really, what's cozier than leaning back, listening to the windshield washers, and watching the city get washed before your eyes?  I love taxi rides.  At this point in my life in New York, it's a rare treat.  And with the autumn chill creeping in, there's an added layer of comfort to having the bubble of the taxi around you as you dodge through and observe the city.

Soup: make it, buy it, cup it, bowl it, drink it, slurp it, spill it.  Soup weather makes me so happy!  Try one of my new favorite recipes for yourself and I bet it will make you happy too.  Or, do my real favorite autumn soup thing and go to any of the ramen houses in the east village.  A ginormous bowl costs only around $6!

Boots: No need to buy new ones!  I don't care if they're from last season or five years ago, boots are the most fun footwear that exists offering both tremendous grounding and kick-ass awesomeness.  (That may be a hyperbole, but it is the truth of how I feel in this moment as I'm about to dust off my ol' Fryes and stomp around in rugged style.  Whenever I'm feeling greedy, I like to visit the Frye Company's website and drool over the sheer timeless perfection of their designs).  Whether going for classy or superhero, boots run the gamut of emotional and fashionable usefulness.  Getting to wear them again makes me want to pose for any camera that will click for me as I stomp by. 

Bryant Park Fall Festival:  It's free and happening right now!  Yesterday on my lunch break I caught the tail end of an act of Figaro performed by Operamission.  Mink and diamonds optional.

San Genarro Festival: Ok, so, I don't know if I can actually go to this ever again, but the last few years have been pretty spectacular if only for the spectacle of squeezing through a mishmash of New Yorkers, tourists, carnies, and Italian restauranteurs packing themselves into a tiny corner of Little Italy and eating everything in sight.  This is where I learned about the existence of fried oreos (thanks Ashley Love) and also where I created this life rule for myself: I will never get a tattoo on my thigh and wear a mini skirt when I am 60 pounds overweight.  Actually I take that back.  I will go back this year.  I need to buy one of those diamond-encrusted t-shirts that says "Italian Stallion," and maybe one of those sweatpant suits with diamond-encrusted letters spelling "Mafia" on the butt.

As those changing winds blow through town and stir up the metaphorphosis of fall, hope you enjoy New York as much as I do!  She's not always affectionate, but she's easy to love.  Who knows if I'll get another autumn here - those winds of change can be unpredictable.  But I'm gonna enjoy the socks off of this one!

If all of this has gotten you in the mood for lovin' on autumn in NYC, press play and enjoy! Cheers.

The Fashion is the Fashion

Models cluttering the executive floor reception area.  Phones ringing off the hooks.  Dressers bags, ink cartridges, TONS of catered food, broken air conditioners, rapidly setup work stations, Mexican Japanese Italian French visiting CEOs, designers, coordinators, facilities departments, IT crashes, burnt out lightbulbs, celebrity guests, and booties to cover your street shoes. 

Don't think they have it in my size

These are just a few of the things I experienced last week behind the scenes at Calvin Klein's Spring 2012 Collection Show in New York City's Fashion Week.  I was delighted to find myself in the midst of the Fashion World's peak seasonal event - it's a world in which I am a stranger and sojourner, an outsider treated to a rare insider glimpse.  My mission was to gain some insights into a different kind of artform while doing a good job and not knocking over any celebrities on my way. I was moderately successful ;)

The show itself was an elegant a masterclass in production, with each detail carefully thought through with precision and cohesiveness.  The carpets, benches, walls, and seat cushions were white, the ambient music sounded white - all carefully and painstakingly crafted to transport the attendees into an alternate, perfect universe.  A universe of white.  A universe of clean.  A universe of perfect taste.  And a universe that lasted a whopping 9 minutes and struck me as being totally bizarre and a bit unwelcoming.

I was amazed at the brevity and simplicity of an event that has consumed an entire corporation for months and cost hundreds of thousands of dollars of preparation, work, and design. Reviews have hailed this latest collection as one of Calvin Klein designer Francisco Costa's most feminine and balanced.  Some of the fabrics cost $700 a yard, and flow with an ease that rivals nudity.  Watching the parade, I noticed fellow viewers furiously notating their blackberries with reviews and judgments.  I tried to focus on the clothes.  I mean, that is why we were all there.  But as a total High Fashion World greenhorn, I was helplessly distracted by the ambiance and the models as they zombied across the runway with blank faces, jutting hips, and motionless arms.  When the models turned the corner on the square catwalk, I almost laughed out loud: they practically disappear from the side and can no doubt dodge the raindrops.

There have been so many conversations about body image that it gets exhausting to participate, and I acknowledge that there are women who are naturally tall and thin and modelesque without starving themselves.  My mother is one - as a teenager I'd borrow her clothes and feel obese for being a good 7 inches shorter and still wearing the same pantsize.  And I was heartened to see the models backstage eating sushi and fruit in between the two shows.  So I don't mean to go down that rabbit hole.  What struck me about my high fashion experience was not just the extreme thinness and alternative reality aspects, but rather the effect it had on me.  It was hard to picture myself in the fantasy they created.  These clothes aren't designed for me.  It didn't attract me in person, this hard white world. I felt like I had stepped into an alternative universe alright - but one a little more like the Twilight Zone than heaven.

Maybe I am a bit jealous, like the kid sister who can't play with the big kids.  Sure, I always wanted to be 7 feet tall and weigh 100 pounds.  Don't ask me why.  It makes no sense.  And I bet I'm not alone.  Yet I found myself wondering, where does this strange buried fantasy of mine come from?  Do I want to look like that just because it's so foreign and alternative to what I actually look like?  Is it JUST about escape?  That is, after all, one of the main (and most enjoyable) aspects of theater as well as fashion shows - to step into another world, another life, another character...someone else's shoes...someone else's body...someone else's dream...

And so I will leave you all with this thought from one of my favorite stylish ladies, Sophia Loren: "Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief that she is beautiful."

You're Worth It: Thoughts on Professionalism

Dilemmas can be opportunities.

Conversations about worth, value, and dilemmas have been popping up all over the place in my life lately - from acting to family to church stuff. A good friend of mine had a particularly blistering example. Let's call her Amelia. Amelia was offered a job with a Shakespearean educational touring company doing Midsummer Night's Dream, one of her favorite plays. The contract was 4 months long, which meant four months of travel in her homestate near her family and 4 months of full-time theater work - two HUGE forces of attraction that any homesick, starving New York City artist is almost powerless to resist. However, Amelia's decision was clouded by a con list. The problem was that Amelia had worked for this touring company twice before on two seperate tours and was a model employee each time - obviously, since they wanted her back for a third round even without auditioning her. And therein lay the dilemma, which poured some gall down Amelia's throat: this company was not only refusing to give her a raise, but in fact had cut her pay down to $100 less per week than her previous years' rate.

 Amelia was torn. Amelia was bound to the fiery torture device of Dilemma and could not break free. She had long conversations with her boyfriend, her actor friends, her relatives. Like most actors, Amelia's brain was wired to JUMP at the chance of any work - especially paid work - and be excited to have the chance to act...but there was something about this deal that screamed, "WARNING: SHORT END OF THE STICK!!! DO NOT BITE"

So where's the solution to Amelia's problem? Where can she go for help? The only answer is, inside. She can go inside herself and decide for herself what her value and worth are as an artist and as a professional.

Way back in my undergraduate days I took an economics class that taught me about opportunity cost, among other things. (We also learned a subcorollary to opportunity cost, the universal principle of TANSTAAFL: There Aint No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.) Opportunity cost does not just pertain to the dry world of spreadsheets and quarterly reports. Every decision we make in our lives has an opportunity cost. Which is to say, whenever we make a decision and choose an option, we are excluding other options. When you go out to dinner at a Thai restaurant and choose to have the Pad Thai, you are effectively choosing not to have the Lad Naar, Fried Rice, or Coconut Soup. When you buy a monthly metro pass for the subway, you are choosing not to take a taxi, bicycle, or limo. For my poor angsty friend Amelia to take this contract, she would be passing up the great gaping unknown potential that could come out of 4 months of auditions in New York. She'd be missing Equity (union) auditions. She'd be missing classes and better paying dayjobs. Not to mention, this job was not offering her any free lunches.



If we don't value ourselves, who will?



On top of opportunity cost, Amelia would be taking a definite hit in the solar plexus. She was hurt that her employers would offer her such a bad financial package after two successful seasons when them. This raised issues of company integrity, loyalty, satisfaction and respect. But let's not lay all the blame at the hands of The Man. Amelia, you and I all have the power of decision and an even greater power: the power of our own worth.

So my question for myself today is: what is the opportunity cost of setting our self-value too low? As a professional in any field in this economy, we know what it means to feel the pressure of desperation and need. "We want to just have an income. Any income. Income at all. Please!!!!" Even so, if we take last year's job at a paycut, does that help our pocketbooks, careers, or souls?

There comes a point in every career where a person decides it's time to move on. But how do you know when that time is right for you? This is particularly tricky as an actor, in a field where every person's career is so individually different. Another friend of mine just bought into the Unions even though he has no union credits - just because he is tired of doing non-union jobs and feels that this is the right time for him to move on. I, on the other hand, hesitate to pass up non-union work. It's such an individual journey.

But when I think of my friend Amelia, I feel a fire burning in my belly at the unfairness of her dilemma. The bottom line is, if we never stick up for ourselves we'll never get paid what we're worth. If we don't ask hard questions and make hard calls, we'll never step up that proverbial ladder of success to the next rung. A professor of mine in graduate school always used to say, "You are the one who has to to establish your worth." We all used to stare at her suspiciously, thinking, "Yeah right lady. Like I have that power. How do you establish your own worth in this business?"  Now, after pounding the pavement for a year and a half, I think I understand a little better what she was getting at.  There's a difference between being a diva and being a professional, just as there is a difference between being a greenhorn and knowing what you're worth.  Sticking up for yourself professionally doesn't make you a jerk, it makes you a professional. It can be a beautiful, classy move to make, a thing of integrity and steel.

Wouldn't it be nice to have cue cards for all decisions?

As an actor, that can be a scary gray area. Does it mean turning down a job that doesn't pay enough - even if your immediate alternative is no job? Does it mean saying no to doing nudity in a film or pilot that some part of you feels might be your big break? All of us have to face these questions individually and listen to our own gut reactions. My Dad always says that it takes 5 minutes to be honest with yourself. Lately, as I face dilemmas of wage and time commitments and professional recognition, I find myself listening to my gut more and more to guide me in the right direction. It's  worth it to recognize my own worth. Besides, if I am not willing to take the risk and value myself as a professional, how can I ask others to do so?

*images thanks to poundingheartbeat.com, photobucket.com, and allarminda.com

Trailers for Theater?!?! Heck yes!

So here at the Theater at Monmouth, we have some pretty skillful people who like to make promotional videos (I'm talking about you, Steph Garrett and Janet McWilliams!).  Here, take a second to see the gorgeous compilations they have created for the shows that I have been privileged to be a part of this summer:

First is King Lear - arguably Shakespeare's masterpiece tragedy, a king that gives away his crown and loses his mind, and finds himself again much too late.



Next, we have the video for Much Ado About Nothing - a Shakespearean love story with two of the sassiest, wittiest lovers of all time...Margaret and Borachio!  Just kidding.  Our production is set in post-WWII Italy and features lots of kissing and dancing.


And last but not least, clips from Blythe Spirit - a Noel Coward comedy about ghosts and marriage, dry as a martini and delicious as a cucumber sandwich.  We all get to do some pretty ridiculous antics and have loads of fun.



What a crazy fun summer!  It's been a privilege working with such a talented, professional company.  We've done deep tragedy and pratfalls, British accents, swing dancing, and slow motion stage combat.  Thank you all ;)

Amadama, and Other New Things

Some firsts for me this summer in Maine:

• Haddock chowder (yum!)
• driving an automatic without knowing where I'm going
• getting into a splashing fight in a lake with a 10 year old I've never met before
• knee-boarding on a lake behind a boat (arm workout!)
• drinking Mount Gay and tonic - thank you, Paul Bernardo
• setting some lyrics I wrote to actual music - thank you, Ambien Mitchell
• wearing a corset on stage
• participating in an after-show audience talk back - as a part of the cast
• lobster rolls!
• pumpkin woopie pies (or "mumpkin woopies")
• being trusted with a really awesome package at a theater where no one knew me...thank you TAM!
• finally admitting to myself that not only am I horrible at playing all games, be they monopoly or croquet or foosball, but I am a horrible loser.  Sigh.
• being really happy that I was wrong and misjudged some people initially
• trying Amadama bread - molasses and oat, homemade by Caroline's grandma's secret recipe - mmm!
• doing summer repertory theater!
• holding a baby rabbit (oh so squishy!)
• NOT getting into trouble with the cops for being in a closed park at midnight - thanks, green eyes ;)
• having male roommates (not so weird after all! xoxo Clenton and Menich)
• being in Maine!
• seeing Acadia National Park - a lifelong goal, I am so glad it happened and can't wait to go back
• doing changeovers from one set to another in between shows
• listening to Mumford and Sons - love them!
• joining the Equity Membership Candidacy program
• crying over some really nice cards I got on opening night
• realizing that it's not just ok that everything changes in life, it's awesome!
• you know what universe, I'm ok with the fact that I spend all of my money on food and wine
• eating fiddleheads, which are neither fiddles nor heads but instead a fern-like vegetable
• having worlds collide (people from different parts of my life meeting each other) and it being not awkward at all and in fact delightful
• realizing that my moods can effect other people and they deserve the best and most thoughtful treatment no matter how cranky I happen to be for no reason, and that taking ownership of my behavior is part of being an adult
• having lobster cooked at home
• having men cook lobster for me at home
• having men cook lots of really tasty meals for me
• learning that even if I can function alright without adequate sleep for a little while, I CANNOT function without adequate food.  I'll never be able to starve myself, and I am perfectly happy about that.
• hearing the call of a loon...they sound super jacked...
• watching an established artistic director retire with grace and humor
• getting to be the comic relief in a comedy that's already freaking hilarious
• getting to wear a CHAIN MAIL CROWN regularly (thanks Helen!)
• playing a window screen as if it was a musical instrument, with positive results
• learning some pretty dirty jokes and some pretty silly ones - thanks Xei and Max and David
• being ok with moving on to the next phase of my life, whatever that proves to be

I can't believe we only have 9 days left in the summer company of the Theater at Monmouth, the Official Shakespeare Theater of Maine's 2011 season...it's been mon-umental!  (Get it?)  As New York City looms ever nearer in my horizons and I prepare to get back to the grind, my heart is filled with gratitude for having spent my summer among such fantastic, enjoyable, talented, and professional people.  It's been a turning point for me and I can't wait to see what's up next!

Binge

Binging can be sexy, can't it?

"Life itself is a binge." - Julia Childs

Last night we celebrated life with what can only be called a binge.  After a leisurely unplanned outing to Gardiner, Maine (complete with a trip to the A1 Diner, a bout of library hugging and a rural motorcycle ride in the mist), a cluster of TAM company members feasted at a farmhouse with steaks, seafood, fruits and vegetables on the grill.  We drank several bottles of wine and over the course of 4 or 5 hours never once stopped eating, strumming guitars and singing.  It was a glorious night for me for many reasons, but especially because it was the very first time any of my lyrics have been put to music and performed.  Thanks to Ambien Mitchell for her collaboration, organization, patience and genius!  We binged on food.  We binged on good company.  We binged on creative synergy.  We decided that my song and a song of hers should be spliced together in a medley of gloriousness, and that is how "About Your Shirt: The Laundry Song" was born.  Creating and sharing are perhaps the two most important things you can do in life - but also, sometimes, the most costly and scary.  My Dad (who you may notice I quote incessantly) always says, "Generosity is very expensive."

Don't burn out!

Art takes energy.  Perhaps that is why so many artists burn out or try to rev themselves up with various addictions and self destructive behaviors.  My mind keeps fixating on Amy Winehouse today, with a mix of sadness that her life was cut so short and a deep admiration for the music she was able to create in her brief stint on this planet.  I often wonder if it's inevitable for great artists to suffer and/or crash and burn.  Surely not, as there are plenty of examples of great artists that live happy, moderate, long lives - right?  How about Paul Newman, or Betty White? 

Yet, there is a definite majority that do not live long and prosper.  Hence the existence of the Forever 27s - that uncanny, ever-growing group of brilliant musicians that have died tragically and unexpectedly at the too young age of 27 years old.  To my thinking at least, Winehouse is now a member of that group.  I love her music.  I admire her artistry.  She was a one of a kind original.  I worry about a world in which souls that are so eager to share themselves wind up crushed and extinguished. 

In all the myths of the creation of the world, one of my favorites is the story that my step-father has sort of invented for himself; God, in the act of making life, matter, space, time, and creatures, poured himself out and in to everything he made until there was no more God separate from his creation, because God WAS literally in his creation: he used himself as the prime ingredient and spent himself entirely to create something new.  As if God was the seed, and creation was the sprouting plant.  Once there's a thriving plant, there is no more seed.

I don't actually buy this origins story, as I am firm in my conviction that the act of creation needn't destroy its source.  But there is something beautiful about looking at creation as an act of sacrifice.  The creative mind is constantly pouring itself into what it makes and living fully only in what it makes, sometimes to the point of ceasing to live outside of its own art.  This may be an unhealthy extreme for a human being, but I can't help but be drawn to such wacky passion.  "Damn the torpedoes!  Give it your all.  Reckless abandon," and all that jazz.  Like Billy Joel would say, "Only the good die young."  I always had a somewhat twisted fantasy of dying at 24.  I figured by then I'd have created brilliant art, lived fast and furious, and duck out leaving everyone wanting more.  Genius, I reasoned, burns at both ends.  Wouldn't it be more awesome to go down in flames than to sputter out for lack of spark?  That's how I used to think, caught up in the glamor of the creative binge.  It's true that the wild binge of life sometimes creates more life, but there is a line where it turns destructive.

One of my favorite artists on the outer fringe: Dali

In our intense 3-hour acting classes the first year of grad school, we'd all end up weeping on the floor in a puddle of our own tears and undone psyches every day.  Our teacher would proudly survey us, commending our artistic bravery, and say, "Make sure you take care of yourselves today."  We'd look at each other dully, not really knowing what that meant or whether this was art or just plain crazy.  My friend Evin and I chose to deal by ritualistically wolfing down Chipotle tacos and a pint of ice cream (each) - an addiction only marginally healthier than drugs, alcohol, or hookups.  But I get it.  I get the need to self medicate.  I get the itch that can't be scratched, the thirst that can't be quenched. 

We humans definitely do need to take care of ourselves, especially if we're spending ourselves.  Those of us who use our selves as the materials to create, who blur the lines between their art/work and their lives, may suffer needlessly and perish unnecessarily if we loose our equilibrium...but gosh darn it, those chaotic, feverish artists living on the outer fringe of sanity without a tow line sure do create beautiful things.  Why is that?!?!  Does art spring from life, or vice versa, or nada? 

Fuels my spirit...

Life is a binge: brief, sensory, unexpected, and over too soon.  Unfortunately we can't have binges every day due to time, health and budget constraings.  But whether you're creating art, families, budgets, joy, dinner plans, change, things, theater, chaos, or anything else right now, take care of yourself.  (Sometimes binging IS the best way to take care.)  My time here in Maine has been a bit of a binge, from 9-5 rehearsals, performances, long long nights full of wine and conversation, and reckless new friendships.  It fuels my spirit to go on motorcycle rides, eat 78,000 calorie meals, and do pratfalls onstage.  But all those things expend energy, and I - like all mortals - need to remember to recharge, maintain and protect myself too.  And to monitor my addictions, keeping them in the realm of positive things.  Like glitter.  Or hugs.


So binge carefully my friends, and don't spend yourselves too soon.  We all have our addictions, and we wouldn't be human without them - and perhaps the most intoxicating, dangerous and enlivening addiction of all is our addiction to each other.  As we create and share, let's share wisely; our souls don't grow back like lizard's tails.  We're all we've got.

Up next: King Lear opens this Friday at the Theater at Monmouth!  Talk about feeding your soul.  What a powerful story.  Can't wait to dive in...

Gunshy

Last week, Larissa Dzegar of "Thoughts Simply Arise" honored me with a guest writing spot.  In case you missed it, I'm now publishing it here at home.  This one is close to my heart; it was very personal and timely, a joy to write and a joy to share on Larissa's blog.  This is what it says:

When reigning Artistic Director David Greenham invited me to spend my summer with Maine's Shakespeare Theater, I wasn't sure who was wooing who.  Clearly I was enamored immediately with the theater and desperate to be likable enough to warrant an invitation to join the company.  When I received an email for a phone interview my heart went pitterpat and I said okay, Joe, this is game time.  Put on the charm for this one.  Get a job.  You can do it.

On the phone, I was so stinking charming I believe I even chatted with Dave (who is himself charming and hilarious, with bone-dry sarcasm and a lifetime of theater experience to pepper his conversation) about house additions and contracting companies - which I know next to nothing about.  And then he offered me a job, and our roles seemed to reverse.  He said humbly, courtingly, "Are you SURE you want to step out of your life for 10 weeks and come to Maine?"  I remember how smiley my voice was.  It drew my roommate out of the kitchen to make sure I was alright (normally my voice is not exactly smiley).  "David," I said, "I would love to step out of my life for 10 weeks."

Calamity isn't gunshy

It's one thing to talk big.  I can talk big about a lot of things.  I can talk big about dropping everything for 10 weeks and build myself up to be some kind of gun-slinging desperado.  I can talk big about being a gypsy, eating three plates of pasta in one sitting, heartbreaking, moving on, adulthood, professionalism, double entendres, flirting; but when the rubber meets the road I find myself shrinking a little from my bold words, distracted and worried by ghostly whispers and flashbacks.  Last time this didn't end so well...I know where this is going....I was kidding...no you're right I wasn't kidding..were you kidding?...damn.  Yup, this is happening.

Gunshy.  Listen to this song and you'll know what I mean:

I've stepped out of my life for 10 weeks and into...still my life.  As my father likes to say, "You always take yourself with you."  Usually I'm pretty good with the confidence and risk taking, but sometimes I feel less like a sexy beast and more like a hot mess.  Leaps of faith can be hard to make and wisdom is hard to come by.

How do you know what - and who - to let in?  As artists I know there's an eagerness to be open, to live dangerously and fully and impulsively and I am ALL ABOUT THAT - for about 3 weeks.  Then I start feeling feelings and I'm afraid to pull the trigger.  How does one do all that, and still have a home inside oneself to rest in - a home that goes with you wherever you lay your head?

say yes?

I remember in my second year of graduate school I had the "Say Yes to Everything and Everyone" phase, where I let so many people and things into my heart I could no longer hear my own voice in my head.  After about 6 months I was dizzy and heartsick, but not very sorry.  It took me about a year to be sorry.  Now, sometimes I miss the extreme peak experiences I had back then.  Life out of grad school is a little more about surviving, which sometimes isn't as fun...but I'm a little hesitant to toss myself to the winds.  There's an element of maturity that wants to control and monitor a person, a performance, a self.  My pendulum doesn't seem to know how to fall to center: I'm always a freakish uber-marionette or a wanton will o' the wisp.  Was my mother right?  Are all things really moderation?

Honestly, I kind of hope not.  Ultimately, what do I got to lose by taking a chance?  It's just one small human heart.  As Beatrice says in Much Ado About Nothing, "Poor fool (heart), it keeps to the windy side of care."

with the skeletons

Every day is starting again.  Some days that's exciting to me - when I know my lines, when I know how I feel, when I know what I want to do - or when I don't know what I want to do and can't wait to figure it out as I go.  Sometimes the idea of starting again makes me not want to wake up, preferring my dream people and dream lives.  Sometimes when I hear a foreign voice say, "Let me in," I am running to the door or the window or the skylight and throwing back the shutters, shivering in sun, damning the torpedoes and racing full speed ahead.  Other times when that voice comes along suddenly I'm hiding in the closet with the skeletons, afraid to meet those green eyes or blue eyes or brown eyes or whatever color pleases God eyes.  Afraid to be unprofessional.  Afraid to be professional.

It's just one small human heart

Gunshy. 

What if...what if this time...

Today, I'm a bit embarrassed to report, I'm hiding in the closet.  You can come in too though.  We can share my flashlight and listen to this beautiful song again, and try to muster the courage to open the door.



For the record, since this was written several weeks ago and published last week, I DID manage to get up, open the door, and toss myself into some adventures.  More on that later...  :)