Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Gobble the grenade.

A year ago I was in Jersey, spending the holiday with her family. I spent most of the day playing with Pete and Bridget. Dickens Days in Clinton.

It's not so much her I miss, because I don't. She isn't worth it.

It's her family I miss.

It's the memories I have of times I should be treasuring forever that will never shine as brightly as they once did.

They're in the pictures I look at when I'm reminiscing with a little bit of disgust that I never felt before.

It's the sour taste I get in my mouth when I have to answer the same goddamn question over and over in the most polite tone I can muster because I know it's being asked out of genuine concern, when I just want to scream "because she SUCKS" just the one time and have it over with but I can't. Even if it's completely true.

After all the analysis, soul-searching, and explanations I can come up with are exhausted it all boils down to the fact that she's a five year-old who would have rather wallowed in her drama and have taken me down with her than to have actually talked to me like a human being.

Seriously, fuck you. Choke on your goddamn turkey.

God bless us, everyone...but you.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Just Because.

I'm just writing in here because I want to get something down on here. I'm just not sure what. Ideas just come to me.

For instance, did you know that I used to volunteer at a battered womens' shelter back in college? I just took calls, talked to people, gave them lists of places to go/call...that sort of thing. I've seen the excuses women come up with to "justify" the fact that they are physically abused.

1) All he does is push me.
2) Don't worry about me; I fight back.
3) If I didn't do (insert benign action here), he wouldn't have had to hit me.
4) He does it to show me he cares about me.

I've heard a lot of excuses in my time. AND NOT ONE OF THEM MAKE IT OK. So when a woman says that she is strong enough to take it, that she fights back, I say to her "sure, you fight back...until the next time when he uses a fist, or a belt, or a bat." And if a woman says that her guy would never do that, tell her to look back to a time when she said they'd never let a man hurt her. It's the idea of diminishing returns, only what diminishes is sanity, control, and self-worth.

A woman who is truly strong either a) doesn't take that shit from anyone, regardless of relationship; or b) knows to ask for help if and when it happens, if and when they can't fix it on their own.

I guess that's all I have to say about that.



I'm not really sure on the stages of grief/loss, but I'm pretty sure I'm at "anger" right now. I didn't really do "denial" because I'm the one who broke it off and really, how silly would denial be at this point? ("I did it! No I didn't!" See how stupid that sounds?) I'll probably get to the "depressed" part when it gets closer to Christmas, but for right now I'll take the anger. Feels pretty good, actually. It's what's getting my ass around the lake four times a week in this weather.

Which one is after anger? Sleepy? Dopey? Whatever; I'll enjoy "anger" for a while.

Funny enough, the one thing I could always count on to take me to a happy place was acting. I haven't done a show since Love of a Pig, and the last time with that show was at EMACT back in June 2007. I auditioned for a show a few months ago and didn't get in, which was a bummer. I'm going to jump back in for Acme's New Works Festival and their auditions for Picasso at the Lapin Agile. I just need to be able to get onstage. I need to be able to let go of everything else (control, the thoughts constantly in my head, work, stress) and just be told where to go and what to do. Say this line, move to this mark, project to the audience, don't fuck it up. I was actually asked to direct for the NWF but I just couldn't do it. I am too much in my own world to tell other people what to do with theirs. I need direction right now. Strong, confident, organized direction. That'll snap me out of this johnny-come-lately bullshit funk that has been festering in my brain the past week or so.


Work is...what it is. No holiday party. Possibly no bonuses. You're a Mean One, Mr. Wall Street.


Alright, I'm spent. Auditions tomorrow, trivia Wednesday, peace and quiet after that.

Sweet dreams, kids.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Words of advice.

For the life of me I couldn't tell you why, but I read this and cried. Maybe I'm just overtired; I don't know. It made me so happy and so sad at the same time. Where you go, I go. Anyway, here it is.

So there's this guy who's walking down the street when he falls into a hole. The walls are so steep he can't escape. A doctor walks by and the guy asks him for help. The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down the hole, and leaves. A priest passes by and the guy asks him for help. The priest scribbles out a prayer, tosses it down the hole, and walks away. Then one of the guy's friends walks by and the guy asks him for help. Without hesitation, the friend jumps down into the hole with the first guy. The first guy asks, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!" The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out."