"This Rare Human Life" - P.C.

Before I go any further, I must report the variety of references that occurred in tonight’s Shakespeare class:

Zombie Romeo, Dr. Who, the youtube video of a gosling falling asleep, The Twilight Zone, and a graphic novella by Neil Gaiman.

And, most surprisingly, were all pertinent to our discussion – well, except Zombie Romeo – he’s just fun to talk about.

Grad school is weird.

Next, it’s a very good thing that the topic for today’s Calling in the One was about Abe Lincoln’s quote that we are “all as happy as you make up your mind to be,” and to actively practice being happy in the situation we are in, in the life that we are in no matter what it includes or doesn’t include.

This is a very good thing I read this last night before bed, as when I woke up, I did a dumb thing – I looked at an ex’s facebook page. Now, now! I had good intention, there was this link he just needed to have, it so referenced inside jokes that happened when we were together – it was pertinent…necessary…

I’ve pasted the link into the comment box … and then I see a recent tagged photo of him with a girl. … My gut goes PHOOM – CLUNK – GAK and STAB. Now, I have no idea who this woman is – could be his cousin – though I doubt that. I delete the link. Ack – how that spun me. For several minutes I was … triggered? I guess could be the word there?

Now, yes, I broke off our relationship. Yes, we both know that we weren’t suited for the “long haul.” Yes, I really do believe there are people who we are both more well suited for – but F8ck! did you have to find one first!

Ha, as if it’s some contest. As if “happiness” is a contest. Nannynanny poopoo I got there fiiirst.

So, there were a few minutes of pain that I don’t really know what emotion it was – jealousy, envy, sadness? And I texted a few friends, and then as I was putting my coffee in the microwave, I see on my fridge is a card that has that very same Abe Lincoln quote on it. About being as happy as I make up my mind to be. And I go back to the CITO book and I look at the wording for today’s “assignment,” and it’s to affirm that I am happy with everything that I have and everything that I don’t have. Everything as it is.

So, I say that a few times, sip some coffee, and text my friends back and say, I’m okay, it was just sort of a kick in the chest, but that I know that I’m making myself available for something phenomenal – and, in fact, that I really do wish him to be happy. There’s nothing “wrong” with him – as really, there’s nothing “wrong” with anyone – just things that don't work for me or that I may not agree with.

So, there’s nothing “wrong” with any of this at all. I mean, my life is chock full at the moment. I left the house to go meet with my fellows this morning and had some good chuckles and a dash of support – and I got to hold a two-month old baby and told my friend I’d be happy to babysit – he seemed quite relieved to imagine an hour or more when he and his wife could have silence. Babies sort of readjust your soul I think.

I went to the dentist for a check-up, I ate some lunch, and then I met with my Shakespeare professor about my final project. … It may not have Muppets. Sorry folks. He said, although he loves the um, enthusiasm, perhaps I could thing of a more “robust” frame. So we spoke for quite some time, and I also asked him what he thought of a female monologue from Shakespeare for my audition on Sunday, and gave me some alternative ideas (I still have to get my headshots printed. … gak).

Afterward, directly as I was walking down the stairs from that meeting, I get a call from a girl friend whom I love dearly but hadn’t spoken with in months. We chat for nearly an hour, then it’s time for dinner and class.

So, yeah, my life is full. Of action, activities, love, self-care, friendship, community.

And two of my friends texted back this morning to say that my reaction was human. Just human. Normal, and human. And for me, another thing to accept is that “human” is not a curse word. 

Effective but Wordless Chant

So I did look at one SF apartment ad today. It was through my old employer, a property management company, which is how I got my sweet deals on my SF and Oakland apartments. Granted, it wasn’t a handout-out, I worked well there – maybe not that hard, but it wasn’t that challenging or enticing, and eventually I found myself overcome by the Ugly Cries (maya's accurate term) in my car at lunch one Friday on the phone with a friend having another job existential crisis.

That day I gave my two weeks notice, that night I threw my 1st pre-Valentine’s party, the following day, I went blonde. This was almost 3 years ago now. My boss wasn’t pleased, but he knew I wasn’t happy – that I wanted to do something creative, anything.

So that began several months – two, to be exact – of job hunting. I remember I didn’t even tell my parents I’d quit my job and was looking for work cuz I just couldn’t face their “Are you kidding me, in this economy??” spiel. It was hard then – I had notes all over my SF apartment – "This is a world of grace and abundance and I am letting go."

A friend afterward told me to change to wording to “--and I allow myself to receive” – more “open.”

Two years before that, I’d been “downsized” from a corporate real estate firm, my first long term gig in SF, and was on unemployment for the full 6 months. The first month? Awesome - yay paid vacation. By the end of six months? I was desperate. I began to answer every ad. The very week my unemployment was going to run out, I had two job interviews one day, and I’m driving to one of them, out somewhere near Bayview, and I’m in my car and I have this mini-epiphany: I had every single thing I needed at that moment. I had eaten breakfast, I had coffee in me, I had gas in my car – I didn’t need anything else at that moment – no money in my hand, nothing. For that moment, I was completely taken care of.

I forget what it was now, but I even began this little chant while I was on my way to that interview. Something about being content and caffeinated, or something? That afternoon, I had my other interview – at the property management firm. And I got that job. The woman I was replacing happened to be out sick that day (she was going on maternity leave), and so I interviewed with the owner of the company – and we got along fabulously. (A big part of me feels that had I met the woman instead, I wouldn't have made it through the door.) The mug that I’m drinking out of now, he gave to me because he got tired of me using the one that had a photo of his kids printed on it for my coffee (it was the biggest mug!, What?). The one he bought has sort of colorful swirls on it, and he said it reminded him of the tattoo on my wrist.

So, yeah, he wasn’t pleased when I left my job with them, but, obviously still liked me enough to let me have parties in my SF apartment, and to move here into the Oakland one on a slight deal.  – actually, it’s a really good deal, i should be (and am!) really grateful – the rent isn’t that much cheaper, but I didn’t have to pay security deposit, or pet deposit, so that’s quite generous.

Reminds me the theme of today’s CITO is generosity …

But, back to grace and abundance, and letting go – or “receiving” rather.

I quit that job with the property management, and spent two months looking for creative work, again. And finally what happened was I woke up one morning and asked myself, still groggy from sleep and receptive to the universe, What else am I interested in?

The reply came, Well, I like being Jewish.  … So I typed "Jewish San Francisco" into Google, and applied to every position there was.

I got one of those positions. (Actually I applied to one I didn’t get, but my resume got passed along to someone else in this Jewish education non-profit, and I got that job – for which I was surely more well suited.) ... 

Then, on a not so whimish been-looking-at-the-college's-website-for-three-years whim, I apply to the MFA program, and get in. (Note, there: I actually intended to apply to the Master's in Literature Program, but didn't have a current academic paper, and am pretty sure none of my professors from college remember me ... but the admissions coordinator for the English Department told me that the MFA program, I just needed 15-20 recent poems. How many did I happen to have recently? 16.) Nudgey McNudgerson, you sly Universe, you.

I dunno. I guess I’m feeling reflective about all of this – about all of my “being taken care of” and steered into a more ... "Molly" direction -- because I have no clue what’s going to happen when school is over in May. I quite imagine that it will work out well – and I also imagine I’ll freak out a bit anyway.

But, if any of the above isn’t evidence that I’m being gently but firmly guided, I don’t know what is.

So, Universe, Let me be receptive to the strange and unusual nudges you have to give me. I sit here, in a heated apartment, with food in my belly, electricity running, December rent paid, and I’m chanting the tune to that chant whose words I no longer remember. Amen.

Alright Sports Fans

You know those montage-y frenetic moments in movies or, well, Looney Tunes, where they play “Flight of the Bumble Bee” and everything starts moving insanely quickly?

Well, it’s sorta like that. I feel like saying, Drivers! Start Your Engines!

This morning, Monday of the beginning two weeks of school/work insanity, I emailed my boss at my temp gig and asked her if I could have Wednesday off. I also asked her to get a little more clear with me on when this assignment ends, as it’s really vague, and I don’t like my income hanging on “really vague.” So she said, Yes to Wednesday off, and that she’d love to keep me into January, so let her get back to me on Thursday. So, Okay.

PHEW on Wednesday off – my crazy long day with evening class, and now I can meet with my professor to talk about my final project – due next Thursday. I emailed him this morning too and suggested what I think I might do for my project – it might be a script involving the two heckler muppet dudes. Yep. He wanted creative! I’m thinking of having them, as images of the upper class, watch several scenes from the Shakespeare plays we’ve read this semester – scenes where Shakespeare seems to be calling out the upper class. He’s got a lot of commentary on classism, and I found myself drawn to those pieces in all the works. So, we’ll see. That does not seem like an “easy” thing to do. But, it could be fun – they get all ruffled and heckle-y, and then maybe that bald eagle guy comes in at the end (You can tell I’ve been influenced by the Muppet Movie advertisement at bus stops…)

After I emailed him, I packed up my shit and went to school. I knew that hanging out here would only mean distraction – facebook, cat, tea, nibbling, general procrastinating. Luckily, both the girls I was supposed to meet with this morning cancelled – which was totally HP doing for me what I couldn’t do for myself, as I really didn’t have the time to meet with them, and would likely have been distracted.

So, I went to school, and plunked down in the English Department with my tea, my laptop, and my homework. I got pretty far. (Poem for evening class, two singing critiques for Friday, printed thesis draft.) There’s still a lot to do, but I am feeling better about it.

I have to do a teaching demo on Friday of the workshop I’m piloting in the Spring – “Creativity and Spirituality”. I co-facilitated this workshop last semester with the Director of Spiritual and Religious Life at school, and it went pretty well. So on Friday, I have to demo a portion of the workshop to my professor and my classmates. I’m not too worried about it – but I do need to get my own script down a little more. Leading people through spiritual processes – well, you have to have a degree of confidence in yourself and the work, to come from a calm position, or else people who may already be nervous about WTF is going to happen – am I going to speak in tongues? is there going to be “G-d” stuff? – feel like they are being led by a knowledgeable guide.

Luckily for me, this is all work that I’ve done. Some of the pieces for the full workshop next semester (3 times, 3 hours, for 3 different groups of women) I haven’t done, I’ve created from my own imagination, but I believe in them. The whole workshop is about helping the participants to see that they can access creativity in a variety of modes, and to call that pathway by which they access it “spirituality.” To begin (or continue) to understand that we always have something to say, to give, to create, to invent, because we have the un-tap-out-able well of creativity inside us already – we don’t have to “hunt” for it, “work” for it, we just need to access it.

And sure, it sounds “woo woo” hippie shit, but, I believe it. I don’t always remember it – and try to create from a place of desperation or scarcity – but the real juice is always there.

So, that’s my workshop. I also have 4 reading responses and a final paper to do for this class. … And a final paper and an end of semester portfolio for my poetry workshop.

BUT, on top, next to, in spite of all this – the Universe works without me – often.

I get an email this afternoon while writing with frenzied fingers that a slot opened up in the auditions…and I can get in Sunday at 8:30pm, if I want it.

I want it.

Of course, this week of ALL weeks (cue “Bumble Bee”), I now have to memorize 2 one minute monologues, get my headshots printed, and read up on this Strindberg fellow. But … it’s general auditions for a bonafide theater company in SF for their upcoming season in a bonafide theater – and *I’m* auditioning. Holy Crow.

The very next email I get? From another theater company (no lie) I emailed in my diligent action moment of a few weeks ago. They can’t fit me in this time, but will keep my info on file. Fabulous.

Just when I was beginning to feel like I was watching myself retract from the whole acting thing again, the Universe throws me a bone. I was watching myself follow the pattern of “flurry of action, then nothing, flurry of action, then nothing” – but, this time, with my small little actions, these self care little moments of listening to myself, this comes along. It is just an audition, I have to keep reminding myself, because I get easily scared the f out.

To counter the crazy “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I called in help. I called Lorraine, my acting friend I called a few weeks ago. We just spoke, and she gave me some good tips on the monologues I’m choosing, a classic and a contemporary: Gertrude from Hamlet cuz I just read it– and The Flood from Vagina Monologues cuz I know it, as I’m cast in it at school in the Spring! Plus she gave me head’s up on a place to get my headshots printed in the city, precisely where I will be on Thursday at noon.

So, yeah, I’m alright. A little dazed. But, I did a lot of work today (and some action a few weeks ago) and some unexpected bounty happened. Fancy that. 

Hunkering Down & No Drastic Movements

These were two things Patsy said to me this morning – to hunker down in school work mode – which I have actually diligently done today – you can check out the most recent installation of my poetry thesis on the MVD page (it’s 9 poems, laid out to sort of make sense as a mini-collection). I have to meet with my thesis advisor tomorrow for our second meeting.

At our first, she said, “over produce and cut back.” So, I got paralyzed by that(!), and blundered along writing my poem-a-week for my workshop class, and that’s pretty much what I’ve got. But, today, I did sit in a café with ALL the comments from my peers and professor, and sifted through it all. I copied the comments I liked onto my master copy, making my own new edits, with fresh eyes and some space from having written them.

Just now, I put them all into one document and edited the hell out of them. And in very much likelihood, they still need or want work – it’s like a painting, or a recipe – sometimes you’re not sure there’s something missing till you add salt, and suddenly it comes alive – poetry is like that – there can be one thing somehow off by a degree. But also, people’s barometers are calibrated differently :P

But, it’s done, for tomorrow’s purposes at least, so that’s one huge thing off my mind/plate.

As to “No Drastic Movements”, Patsy suggested that perhaps this week of all weeks (the 2^nd to last one of school when I am so aggrievedly badly procrastinatorily overworkedly behind), perhaps I shouldn’t: break the 6 months silence with my mom; look at ads on craigslist for SF apartments; look at ads for hybrid cars; flagellate myself for going over my monthly spending plan; or do any other such thing as would be drastic.

This week at least ;)

Despite the fact that I am over my spending plan for this month (an interminable month, if you’re looking at it through my financial numbers; though staggering to realize it’s nearly December!), I am in need of groceries. So, today on my way out of the city, I bought myself a pound of coffee. I still need to get to the real grocery store over here and stock up, but it felt like, SO THE FUCK WHAT – YOU NEED TO EAT – GO BUY SOMETHING silly girl, for christ’s sake. Martyrdom is way overrated. And I’m really f’ing sure that not having any groceries is not what this whole “financially solvent” thing is about.

Yes – I bought clothing that wasn’t in my plan (work appropriate! Though I did turn away from the oh so sinfully supple black leather jacket at Bloomingdales) – and I also bought myself a facial yesterday, because I’m exhausted and needed the recharge. I knew these weren’t in the plan – but I earned more than I anticipated this month ...

However, I know that pattern of my behavior – it looks like, Eh, a little more won’t hurt – it’s self care, or it’s my friend’s favorite color, or so what, my dvd from the library is two weeks overdue. …

And then finally, it once again looks like an empty fridge without the finances to refill it. It always looks like that in the end. I know that place.

So, here I am, seeing it early – “Awareness, Acceptance, Action,” right? But, I am also self-flagellating ;P

I’m a little punch-drunk from staring at my poetry and reading the rest of The Tempest today, so I’m signing off.

Lastly though, I did all of my dishes this morning. And, really, that counts for something.

Exile.

So, it’s finally happened – i’ve admitted that being in Oakland is really lonely, and I’m willing to do something about it. So, I called/texted 6 East Bay friends tonight to see if they wanted to go to the Saturday night “cool kids” meet up place, and I got 6 denies. It’s okay. I had to read for school and had a pretty awesome day of out&about self-care (the trees are finally turning colors – they look incredible), but I actually took action around it, which was a long awaited step.

I have a few, mainly school, friends here, but most of the friends I consider my closest live in San Francisco – yes, only across a bridge, but that’s an immense distance if you’re on either side of it (It’s like Brooklyn to Manhattan: you likely ain’t gonna make it) – I remember back to times when in SF, venturing to Oakland seemed like crossing Egypt. Which means, if I’m not willing to cross Egypt to hang out with people I know and love, I better get willing to reach out to people on this side of the Nile … Sorry, extended metaphor collapse!

I didn’t really realize it until last weekend at that meditation workshop I went to – which was about relationships with others. I said it out loud in my “hey I’m Molly, this is why I’m here,” and that was one of the things that came out. Being so busy with everything is a good distraction from making friends, and making effort to make friends.

Cuz, that’s what it really boils down to – there are plenty of people out on this side of the Bay – I just have felt petulant to make any new friends, and I have 5 years’ worth of friendships built up in SF, and friendships take work. To form, to grow, to create trust and intimacy, and I just haven’t been available for it since I moved over here – it was just too exhausting to think about “starting over.”

In the beginning, last year, when I still had my car, I made effort to get to the “cool” meet ups, but I didn’t feel any connections (or make effort to go much beyond a few cursory hey how are yas). Then, I had no car, and it was much easier to stay cocooned.

It’s pretty funny, cuz the first thought that I had in the workshop last week which I shared with a friend (as there were two girl friends I hadn’t seen in ages, and just seeing them brought such relief – here are people who know me, who’ve seen me grow and change, as I’ve seen them – it was seeing these friends, feeling that relief, ironically, which made me realize how starved I was for them, and how non-friend-having I’d been over here). So, I say to one of them, that my brain immediately goes, Maybe I should move back to San Francisco.

Of course, the simplest of all answers, Molly! That makes perfect sense! It doesn’t. School is over here, which it’s why I’m over here, “exiled” in the first place. – Just like the “simplest” answer to my punctuality/time problem is to get a car, of course…

The simplest answer is to make friends over here. To admit that it takes effort, and it’s scary, and I still think I come off as terribly uncool around new people. But, it’s that, or me and my cat on Saturday night, and I’m at least cooler than that. Well, not this week, maybe – but I made the effort!

Next Saturday I’ll be in the city modeling in my friend’s fashion show for her non-profit (that’s cool, right?) ;P but the following Saturday, I now have plans with a girl I sort of know to go hang out with the cool people. … in Oakland. 

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program

(My thanks to my friend with amazon prime who ordered me a new power adapter to be delivered overnight.)

That said, it was … ironic(?) that my computer went down on Tuesday night, as I’d just been thinking about taking a quasi-Sabbath this Saturday – to take it easy, maybe not be all electronically connected (do my homework!) – but apparently the cosmos had a different time frame in mind for my power-down day. It was nice, honestly, not even having the option of trolling online, checking anything at all. I had internet at work on Wednesday, and internet at The Dailey Method this morning. I’m not going all Luddite here, but I did feel freer in my time when I didn’t feel like my few moments could be packed with checking,looking,clicking.

I also questioned what my motives were in this whole blog-a-day thing. This arbitrary rule and deadline that I’ve given myself when I’m considering how I’m using and misusing my time. But, really, I do enjoy it – I think about what I might write about (though it usually ends up WAY off from where I intended), and I also really do know that it’s a good way to keep any interested parties updated, and finally – I get to track my own progress. Writing a few days in a row or in a week that I still have to contact that guy actor friend, I get tired of writing that – it’s sort of like a daily tally sheet, only public :P

Tonight I ushered at the SF Opera. I’ve been doing it for about two and a half years I think now, after my friend who is a ballet fanatic told me that he ushered for the Ballet (they’re in the same building, the opera and ballet). I’m a ballet fan – sure there are tons of unique modern dance, and some modern ballet too, but give me some old time Balanchine and Tchaikovsky, and I’m sold.

The ballet is expensive; ushering is free. :) However, it has become logistically much harder now that I’m in the East Bay, and it’s really not quite worth it to travel via BART to and from, especially at night, just for an opera. I had never seen opera before I began ushering, and I resisted doing the opera shifts for a while, but finally I went. I went to three in succession when I was still in the city, and I LOVED only one of the 3. The rest, meh. The sets – incredible; the symphony – world class; the story and the acting (which is now expected of the singers)? – meh. I’m really glad I saw the one I loved first – Tosca.

I loved the costumes, the EPIC sets – all the SF sets are epic – it’s radical. But, I'm not huge on opera which is good to know, i guess. In any case, I downgraded myself from regular House Usher (I even had the little gold pin “Usher”) to a more irregular/by request usher when I moved. But Nutcracker season is coming up.

The Nutcracker was surely where it all began for me – My mom and dad used to have season tickets to the New York City Ballet, and my dad would actually fall asleep during the performances, so I suppose my mom finally gave in and let me come instead. It is pretty magical. The SF version is way different than the NYC, but they both have merit. There’s nothing like watching that Christmas tree rise out of the floor to become several stories high – it’s enchanting.

In any case, I chose to go tonight to usher cuz I sort of miss it, and opera season is closing, and I thought I’d give it another shot. I did leave tonight before it ended – opera is three hours – but I got what I came for: to help other people on their sometimes one and only adventure to the opera, to listen to world class musicians and vocalists, and to people watch.

Like most places, there are categories of folks - the regulars, the 'i can find my seat on my own, thank you very much', and my personal most favorite - the couples where the guy walks in with his super dressed-up girlfriend and has that wonderful "i'm so going to get laid tonight for doing this" grin. i love that one.  ;)

(See, I had a whole blog about gratitude, humility, a leather coat, and raccoons going in my head as I brushed my teeth that you may have liked it better than this - alas, till tomorrow). Gnight.

technical difficulties

computer power cord broken. shutting down. sleep tight, m.

I love Mondays. & A Return to Art.

It’s my least busy day of the week, and I get to see some of my favorite people. My friend came by this morning and saw my holiday cards pinned up on a string of ribbon and said, you painted those? or maybe it was you painted those? ;) in any case, yes. it’s strange, i still get pretty thrilled when my paintings turn out well – it’s something I’ve had to cozy up to, work at, come back to.

a few years ago, I’d stopped drawing completely. i had too long associated doing art with drinking a 40oz – well, whatever the Korean measuring equivalent was (they had 3 types of beer: piss, pisser, and pissest, but, they worked). It’s funny cuz art was really the one thing my roommates there knew about me, about my hobbies – besides the drinking – and so each gave me some kind of drawing or painting set for Christmas.

I lived with two guys, one a Canadian, one a Texan, that first contract year. Their contracts run February to February because of the whole Chinese New Year thing; it was October when I got there in 04, and February of 06 when I left. But that first 4 months, I spent in this smaller more agricultural town – there was a pig slaughterhouse not far, and the lunch lady at the school would go into the hills/mountains to get some sprouts and things for the lunch … the always popular hot dog soup.

My Canadian roommate was the adventurous type, he found the well of fresh mountain water where you could stand with your jug and some ancient Korean woman. He also once reported a troop of Korean soldiers passing by him in the pitch dark one night when he was up the mountains alone.

In any case, when I stopped drinking, I stopped drawing. I used to sit with my 40 and draw or paint (infrequently) until I couldn’t really see the lines so clearly anymore, then stop – drawing that is. So I didn’t know, for a while, how to draw sober.

When I finally did take my things out (the end of my sketch book is pretty hilarious, lots of fucked up looking women – i’ve always drawn women, bodies, faces, i don’t know why – maybe cuz it’s what I see most often, or because there were fashion magazines around when I was little – but also, women are beautiful. just beautiful, i love drawing them, still). So, i took my things out about a year and a half after I’d gotten sober and tried to sketch one of these magazine women. – Utter Fail.

Well, at least, I thought it was at the time. I spent the longest time trying to get the lines just right, and got so frustrated over and over till i just quit the whole thing and shoved the sketch pad and pencils back into some drawer. Done.

Then, I started to host parties.

Somehow hosting became the thing that brought out my creativity again. The first party was a holiday one (Star of David Christmas Cookie party), and I didn’t do any “actual” art, but I rearranged everything (moved my bed onto it’s end up against the wall!) and I went to the party supply store and got some fancy looking sheets of scrap-booking paper and arranged them on my bedroom wall in a diamond like pattern, and I took all my variously received holiday cards and taped them in a pattern on the living room wall.

Come to think of it – when I moved into that one bedroom apartment from the room I was renting in some (very nice) lady’s house in the outer Sunset is when it all started again. I had all sorts of creative ideas for the apartment – i got to choose the paint colors, the flooring, and I had a semi-disaster when I decided to paint half my bedroom a crimson, bordello red, and left the other half white, as I intended to do a stencil of a damask pattern in black and white all over the other side … this never came to fruition, and finally my house painter friend came and painted the rest of the room red!

The next party was a “Pre-Val Hearts&Stars” and I created a whole tableau of mushy words in a crossword pattern and cut out each letter and pasted them on my wall (among sex, lust, and other words, “conceive” got a few eye-brow raises) ;P But still no painting.

HollerWeen! 2009, I painted. Well, I started with oil pastels. I did a version of Munch’s Scream with a jack-o-lantern head instead, and I was thrilled with it. I loved to get my fingers dirty again, smushing the colors around, messing up, going over, and just getting in there. It was wonderful. I did a few other riffs on some famous paintings (“Cece n’est pas une pumpkin”, and Warhol’s Marilyn with jack-o faces instead. And one in the kitchen I wasn’t sure was “okay” of Jesus on the cross with a jack-o head...!)

I loved it – and so I intended to do Valentine’s again the following Spring and I wanted to do something big – really big. I began these enormous sexy lips with a white flower in between them in oil pastels and colored pencil. It was daunting, I was frustrated, but I had a party to finish it for. This was why I had been doing all this art – I had a party to throw – my party was my muse. And it worked. I didn’t feel satisfied with that one for some time, it didn’t feel “done” till I got some good suggestions on it (drawing a flower on a 5 foot piece of paper is really hard!). But finally, I signed my name on that paper, and it was done too.

So, then, here I am now (this blog is getting long, and maybe you don’t care), but it’s wonderful for me to remember how tentative I was, how frustrated and upset and worried that I’d never be able to draw again. And now? Over my bed hang 7 sexy paintings of people, body parts, attached to a garden trellis like a headboard – and like I said, it’s not perfect, there are things I see that I know others don’t. But I love it. It makes me happy, and it’s hot.

And now here are my holiday cards, beginning to line my wall, and they’re silly and fun, and somewhat impressive even to me.

That’s what I love about this work – I continue to amaze myself especially when I come with a spirit of fun. Creating paintings for a purpose (a head board, a holiday card, a party) gives me the juice, the north on my creative compass – and even though, sure, I’m in school for writing, and I’ve been trying to get in to acting, watching one branch of my creative tree flower is actually pretty encouraging.

Though, now I drink tea, not Hite.

oil pastel on posterboard 2009

Quiet on the Western Front

This morning, I called out from meeting with Patsy, in order to sleep more – and not trudge through the rain and several modes of public transportation (AC transit, BART, Muni) to get there and just turn around. This is something I’ve been doing weekly since my car was stolen a year ago, and today, with all I’ve been thinking about rest, restorative rest, rather, I asked her if we could talk on the phone instead. And she said no problem. Just like my boss had said.

I still haven’t contacted my Shakespeare teacher to fess up to not being there on Wednesday, which obviously, he knows, but I have to talk to him about this final project too. It’s the end of semester push when everything you’ve been procrastinating about for the last few months suddenly comes due. So this morning, after sleeping in several more hours, and having the weirdest dream about two people in my life, weird, I got up, had breakfast, wrote my morning pages, and started my homework. Poetry workshop homework, which consists of reading and writing comments on my classmates’ work, work which has piled up over the last month or so, so that I have about 4 weeks of each person’s work. It’s cool, I like writing the comments. Like I said earlier, there are ways to comment on someone’s work, even in a suggestive manner, that aren’t soul crushing – so I try to write like that – but really, for the most part, people are going to be true to themselves, no matter the feedback, although certainly there is a little wiggle room, which I need to remember too – the whole “being teachable” thing. It’s still icky for me to read comments about my work, but I did read the comments I said I’ve been reluctant to read, and they were what I expected – a few, no i have no intention of following your suggestion that is completely off key with what my purpose is here, thanks for reading; a few, hm, that is something to think about; and mostly, lots of encouragement and support.

Then I went out into the world to see some folks for a few hours, laugh at ourselves, get some camaraderie, and came home, made dinner, and started a new holiday card (#4).

That’s about it. I did update my acting resume and sent it to the 4th audition I'd highlighted - I think I'm going to have to do a lot of these - I still feel like these are such awkward I have no idea what I'm doing baby steps, but I'll call my actress friend again tomorrow to check in, and ask a few more pointed questions about these particular auditions and my resume. 

I also did write that letter about renegotiating agreements with my mom this morning before I called Patsy. And I read it to her, and we talked about being emotionally vulnerable without feeling threatened – without having to run away or be consumed. After our phone call, I did one of the CITO exercises, which was an “individuation” meditation. It was sad and powerful; the recognition that we are each not what the other has wanted us to be, and that we can’t be; but by letting us both go from these desires, we both get to be freer. “Separate and whole” is the phrase that keeps repeating.

Patsy asked how I felt about the letter, and I said I felt scared that I couldn’t keep up my end – and she prompted sagely, worried that I couldn’t do it perfectly? yeah, that’d be it. So, I’ll do it haltingly. I don’t know yet when we’ll talk, but I know the work I did today, and this weekend, and for the last several years is heading me to a place where I can hold myself in openness and safety. I heard someone say today that we can be emotionally vulnerable, and raw, and blessed, and I’d like to enter that belief too.

So, there you are. I’m glad I slept in this morning, and I have more to do. I think all this spiritual gutting is contributing to my fatigue, and so I’ll let myself sleep and recharge, and that’s all she wrote. 

Sacred Bonds and Hybrid Cars

Today I went to the 2^nd in a series of workshops led by a friend of mine on relationships. The series is Relationship with Self, Others, the Divine, and Spiritual Contracts and Inner Archetypes.

So, today was “Others”. I trust this woman implicitly, and have been through several workshops and retreats with her over the past … could it be 4 years? Maybe. In any case, I was interested to see what would come up, especially as I’m doing all this Calling in The One work, etc.

The most poignant, and new, information was around my ideas of what a “girlfriend”, as archetype, as character, as a “should”, should be. After writing for other archetypes of Mother, Husband, Friend, qualities like consistent, loving, supportive, independent but available, etc., it was a shock to see me write under Girlfriend: sexy, happy, giving, available, demur. ...

It is not a surprise then that I’ve been a serial single person! If my belief is that in order to be a girlfriend, I must demur, be happy and sexy and giving and available to the other person at all times … yeah, it’s no wonder I’m single.

The other thing that came up was around my mom, with whom I haven’t spoken on the phone with for about 6 months, following a, well, an inappropriate conversation – one which she really has no idea was inappropriate. And I wasn’t able to say as much then, so I did like I do and I shut down, and haven’t spoken to her in 6 months. We text now and then, just so we know each other is not dead, but going to a dry well for water is one thing (I’ve sort of stopped) – having that well knock on your door and say what’s up how come you haven’t asked me for water lately is maddening.

In the workshop, I later wrote down how my experience of “mother” actually is, versus my “should”s: narcissistic, over-worker, self-involved, NEEDY, isolated, sad, doomed …

I then wrote how “daughter” actually is: burned, exhausted, done, tired, untrusting.

And again, it’s no surprise then that I haven’t spoken to her in 6 months! And yet I judge myself on it all the time. I should be nicer, call her, love her, talk to her, listen to her … I get depleted just thinking about it. But even so, Super Molly thinks it’s the role of a daughter to talk to her mom – no matter what. Human Molly tries one more time to not be disappointed, to set boundaries, to stay on her own side of the street, and gets walloped, time and again.

Last week, I told Patsy, my spiritual teacher/friend lady, that I had to write a “Renegotiating Old Agreements” letter to my mom – that I wanted to – that I’m warming up to the idea of getting in touch with her again, but that first I want to be clearer on a few things within myself. She said, how about you do it for next week – I cringed. She said it was just a suggestion – and here it is Saturday night, and I meet with her tomorrow, so maybe I’ll do it on the train – but I will write it. Because it does feel crappy to not talk to my mom – the mom I have is not the mom I want, but I would love to renegotiate an agreement where I can communicate with the one I have in a way where I don’t get depleted …

Come to think of it, in a similar way to how I believe a girlfriend gets depleted. Hmm…

Thank you for reading my therapy session. (Kate, I swear there’s traction!)

In other news, so, the Universe is obviously actively listening to me. About a month ago, in rearranging my room per CITO, I had need of a 2^nd bedside table, one that would match my first (sort of country-style wood painted white). I’d been semi-on the hunt for one, and in a very synchronistic manner, I ended up at a garage sale with the *perfect* matching table – white, with a drawer, and country details. Evidence one.

Evidence Two: the blind date – I’ve asked for a tall, handsome, employed Jewish man – and I got it – but whoa, buddy, I guess 'not a douchebag' wasn’t on my list, and I didn’t specify taller than me, so…

Evidence 3: the perfect purple wool pea coat. Done - and for cheap!

Evidence 4 … For the last week, I’ve been bemusedly thinking of getting a car, coveting them on the street, looking at some online, and I found a new lovely hybrid car online for the mere price of almost $30,000. So in realizing that I’ve gotten evidences One Two and Three, guess what I’ve been doing the past 3 days? Asking the Universe for a hybrid car or $30,000! (Although it was pointed out to me that having a car again may not solve my time-debting problem, as was clear to me when I rented a zip car yesterday...TO GET TO CLASS! f*ck.)

But, in the mail today when I come home is a pre-approved auto loan junk mail for … $30,000. No lie. I guess I have to be really specific these days (“$30,000 with no strings attached, and no one dies”).

Thank you Universe for listening, I’ll be more conscious hybridcarhybridcarworkingingoodshapehybridcar of my intentions from now on. ;)

Let the sunshine in.

I do a work/trade at the Dailey Method workout studio on Friday mornings – it’s pretty harmless, except for the occasional bout of entitlement from clientele or having to cover childcare with a usually wailing baby who knows his mom is in the next room and if he only screams long enough, she’ll come. But, this morning, childcare lady came, there weren’t any payment traffic jams in the 5-minute turn around between the morning classes, and I had my Theater Bay Area magazine with me. Highlighted.

The other night, I set my alarm clock for ten minutes, and sat with a highlighter and the magazine. And opened it. I knew that if I had too long, I’d feel overwhelmed, and 10 minutes felt like a good beginning. It was actually easier than I’d thought, just reading through the descriptions of casting calls – some were obviously not right for me – male, far away, or another ethnicity. But a few were. 4, in fact. One was a reach, but I highlighted it any way: Lead frontman in a The Who’s Tommy production company. – But hey, I’m just highlighting, no need to rule any thing out. And then my alarm went off, magazine closed.

So this morning, *thumpthump* *thumpthump* I took the magazine out at my desk shift while class was going on, and… I sent 3 emails. (I want to research the playwright for the 4^th, as they were specific about it, and I don’t know the name). I sent my small little actor’s resume and my headshot a friend took for me in January, and a blurb about why I’m interested, and can’t wait to meet you, yadda yadda.

I’ve done this. I’ve sent out at least a thousand resumes in my working day. I know how to fashion a cover letter. So, I did. And I send the Roger Daltrey one too. – That one, I got a response to right away – he said they’d filled that slot, but were still looking for an Acid Queen and/or backup. I said, count me in. Who knows, he said they have someone interested in managing their group who needs to see the new Daltrey, and probably won’t start going until mid-December, more yadda yadda, so, no high hopes. But I did it – I made baby steps.

Actually, I think proposing that I’d be a great frontman to your production is a major leap, and perhaps I need to learn to mitigate better, so I can stay realistic, hopeful, but realistic, and not stamp out my own dream by taking too-large, developmentally inappropriate steps – but that said, I was glad I replied to the ad, because it might lead to something else. Like anything, this is a game of persistence. And so, great, I sent out 3 emails – one bounced back! – but I have one more to send, and other work to do as assigned/suggested by my actress friend.

However… tonight, me and two of my girl friends went to see HAIR in SF, and at the end of the play, you can go up on stage to dance with the band and all the other audience and cast members – and so as me and my two friends jiggled around to the finale song, laughing and loving it, I told myself to get used to the heat of those lights. 

T.I.M.E: Twisted Ideas Miraculously Erased

Feeling decidedly better today. And I realize that “decide” is the key word there.

I awoke this morning, early, again (although, yes, I do realize that 6am is not that early for some people!), and as I was writing my Morning Pages, and staring at my clock, and writing "I have to figure out how to manage my time better, I spend 5 minutes grumbling out of bed, and 2 minutes heating up my coffee, and 15 minutes on my morning pages – though really they take 30, so I scrimp on days when there isn’t time..."

And I sort of went off on this vein, but somewhere in the middle I decided to simply take the full time it was going to take and write all three long-hand pages of my morning pages. Somewhere in there, I was struck with the thought that I have been treating time like I've treated money – addressing it from a place of scarcity instead of abundance. As something I have to struggle for and will never have enough of. When I was done with the pages, I stood up, and although technically this would be the moment in the morning where I would bolt a shower and stream out the door with wet hair, I said aloud, “I’m hungry.” … then I answered myself, “Then you should eat.”

And so I did. I cooked my eggs, like I’m known to do, and I sat and ate them and drank my cup of coffee, not at a brunch-y leisurely pace, but not shoveling them down either. Something had unlatched in the region of my guts, and I was consciously reminding myself to breathe, and that I was giving myself this time. “There is enough time, There is enough love, There is enough money” are some affirmations my little financially savvy friends use ;) (They also use "I am enough, I have enough, I do enough" - crazy notions, huh??) Then I took a shower and it took as long as it took. I had my clock in the bathroom, but at this point, I was past the time I would usually catch the reliable bus, and had somewhere inwardly agreed that I would take the unreliable bus and whatever happened would happen.  ~ I even blowdried my hair – I haven’t done that in the morning before work in … a while. It’s a luxury of time (but also helps to keep me healthy in winter months). Then I did my makeup and got dressed, and got a snack ready for work, so I knew I’d have something to eat and not starve again.

And I walked out of the house – two days ago, I literally (well, not literally I guess!) flew down the stairs and nearly knocked into the person also going out the front door at that moment. But this morning, I walked. In my purple coat and teal scarf and green bag, and warm hair and world-ready face. And you know what? I ran into a friend as I was walking to the unreliable bus, and I asked him if I could get a ride to BART, and he said it was about time I took him up on his many offers for a ride.

And I got to work 10 minutes late. Only ten minutes late. But the difference between how I walked in made all the difference in the world. Sure, maybe next time, I’ll get there in better time, but somehow, the minute yet immense change in my attitude toward my time – how I was spending it – addressing it – and now hopefully making it work for me, instead of breathing erratically in the face of a ticking clock – hopefully this will turn into change. Not feeling like I’ve got a vice on my heart and being preemptively guilty about not being “where I’m supposed to be, when I’m supposed to be” feels like a good start.

And, by the way, I got let out of work early (for a work errand, so I was told I can still bill my full time), and I went to BLICK art supply store and bought envelopes for my holiday cards – because under the decreased pressure in my temples, I get to be creative. And give myself time to be so. 

Holiday card #2: watercolor&embossing on paper :)

“Anty needs a recharge.”

There’s a scene in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids when the kids are riding an enormous ant through the jungle of their backyard, and the ant starts to slow down, his antennae droop, and the mouthy next-door neighbor kid says the above line.

My alarm went off at 6am, like it does on the 3 days I commute from Oakland to SF for work, and you know that puffy-eyed “whoa buddy, you do not have my permission to get up yet – tank not full” feeling?

I knew that I would have to go straight from work to school tonight, as it’s Wednesday, and I have my Shakespeare class at night and don’t get home till 10pm – and the classes are really small, like 10 or 12 people, so I always feel the need to contribute something coherent – last week, we went around stating what our final projects were going to be, and when we got to me, punch-drunk with fatigue and having not given it any thought yet, I said I would write a project where Juliet gets reincarnated as Buffy the Vampire Slayer. ;) I then laughed and said I was kidding, but surprisingly, people seemed to like the idea! I don’t think I’ll do it – but it’s SO strange to be in a class where we’re reading theory and textual criticism and analyzing rhetorical forms, and that could actually be considered a viable final project. We’re allowed to do a creative one, which seems so strange to me – when I was in undergrad, your “books cited” page pretty much made your grade. That said, my midterm was a farcical letter to Romeo (with works cited!), so…

In any case, I woke up this morning unable to face such a full day – so I called out till noon. I said they could call me if that was a problem, and I felt guilty, but I also knew how completely unavailable – and cranky – I am without enough sleep. So, I went back to bed until 10am and went in to work – where I felt like a little kid, waiting to be chastised for doing something wrong (I wish I didn’t react like that when I stand up for my needs! – but i do), and lo and behold, my boss was totally cool, and acted as nice to me as always, and gave me work, and i folded fabric and booked fancy hotel rooms for other people, and that was that. Not a big deal. People understand that other people are human – I’m usually the one who doesn’t get that. “I’m only human,” was my mantra as I was walking into work this morning, feeling like a bad schoolgirl.  – and not in the sexy way. Although I was wearing my brand new purple coat, and I felt like the jewel colored woolen equivalent of a rock star ;)

After work, BART was late with a medical emergency, so I missed the shuttle to school, and by this point I’m starving, as I only had breakfast before work and some cookies at work, because I felt like I couldn't leave to get real food because I had to “make up” for the fact I came in late. So, I’m hungry, tired, and then the bus that I can take to school instead of the shuttle is late – and I know I’ll be late to class, and I have to buy food no matter what.

So … I skiv off. I didn’t go to class. Gasp.  It’s not such an awful thing, I’ve been there every time except once when I was back east, and I got a pretty good grade on my midterm, but, I had had it. So, I trudge up the hill to the grocery store by my house and fill up at the hot food bar on an enormous load of heavy comfort food of creamed yams and mac&cheese and come home and collapse with an episode of Glee.

All this serves to tell me is that something’s gotta give. I’m not sure what yet, but calling in to work late, cutting class, and overeating to make up for malnourishment are signs to me that there’s some aspect of self-care and balance that is seriously missing here. It may not seem like “that big a deal,” and individually, these things are not – but I didn’t go to class on Friday either – and I’m not paying what I’m paying in tuition to not go to class – or to feel so depleted. Besides, I actually like school and my classes, and I want to go! It's why I'm going in the first place!

So, I’m not sure what needs to give yet. There are only 3 more sessions of this Wednesday class before winter break. But, I don’t think I can do what I’m doing like this anymore – even for 3 weeks – that’s three weeks more than anyone should spend exhausted, cranky, and poorly fed. Anty needs a recharge.   

Compensation

A friend once told me that the Universe gives us compensations. This was after I’d just spent an emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually bankrupting week at my family home in NJ last month – I was there to clean out my childhood room as my dad and his fiancé have purchased a new construction home in Florida and plan to move there in April, so he is clearing out the house to get it ready for sale.

He was going to yoke my brother into the task of clearing out my room – and somehow, not really being sure if I’d cleared out all the sex toys, drugs, or writings about such things - and in addition wanting the experience and process of the ritual of “leaving my childhood home” - I made a snap decision to buy a flight home in October. My dad’s not really a sentimental kind of guy, and wasn’t really getting that it was an emotional thing that the house I grew up in – that we shared a family life & history in – was about to be sold.

That same friend also told me that her parents had sold her childhood home without her packing up her things, and that if my dad wanted to clear it out, then whatever he found was his own fault/problem, and that although it sort of sucked that she didn’t get to do it herself, it happened, and it was what it was. But, luckily, I knew I had the money, and there was a cheap deal on a flight, and off I went… to a whirlwind of entirely fucked up.

In describing the state of the house to friends once I returned to SF, two people asked word for word “Was anyone living there??” And my answer was yes – yes, two adult men, my dad and my brother, were there, living in a home that had dead flies on all the window sills, dead bugs caught in the scum of the oven hood, beyond the forever unmowed, uninviting lawn. You remember when I said we never had people over growing up? Yeah, my house was not the entertainment house. It has gotten significantly worse since my mom moved out ten years ago after my parents’ divorce, and to be fair, my dad has been splitting his time between his own home (he kept the house – my mom is a city dweller by very nature) and his fiance’s home, and keeping up the maintenance of a barely used home is a trial. Plus, my brother had been away at graduate school until last year, so … The house reflects the loneliness and neglect.

I did a lot of work before I went home on untying my identification with the house – if it only had more attention, love, consideration of its assets, it could be beautiful, exciting, a success. I was livid that the 200-year-old oak tree in the front lawn was now rotting, and will have to come down before the house is sold – its roots had died; I felt personally affronted by this.

So, I went home – to pack, but also to make peace with all of that. With the deep depression, the anger, the resentment, the despair that house witnessed. To make peace with the shattered door frame to my bedroom as it was once attempted to be kicked down. And also, to thank it. To honor what was, what it sheltered, what it witnessed, and then to let it go.

I did sort of well – no, I did as absolutely as massively well as I possibly could in the situation. When on a streaming tears emergency phone call to an SF friend, she asked me what more I could be doing at that moment (We’d just come back from visiting my dad’s parents in Queens – and their home is, without any exaggeration, a fertile candidate for an episode of “Hoarders”, … and some very strong meds). I thought about what more I could be doing at that moment, and the answer was nothing; I was doing absolutely everything I knew to do in moments of distress – Once we’d gotten home from Queens, I went out for a long walk, I called my spiritual teacher lady (who said we all have a Grey Gardens branch of the family tree) ;) and I made plans to go to dinner with a girl friend who knew my situation. So, I told my friend on the phone, I was literally doing all that I could be doing – and I knew then, that that had to be enough. I was fucking uncomfortable – I was sad, anguished at the state of my family’s homes, of their comfort with or ambivalence toward or simply paralyzing despair in the face of such obvious … sickness. Yes, I was uncomfortable, but I also was doing the very best I could – that had to be enough.

So, I went to dinner with a girl friend; I cleared out my childhood room (there was only one book of porn and no drugs!); and I saged the damn place – because I don’t want no bad jujus hangin’ out there in NJ while I’m all the way back here in CA.

And I came home.

In the tiny window of my layover in Detroit, I get a phone call from the temp agency in SF asking me if I want to work at the interior design firm again - I could start the very next day. … Having cleared out the old, I made way for the new.

And so my wise, wonderful, now-Brooklynite friend told me upon hearing this story: “The Universe gives us compensations.”

The reason I wrote today’s blog on this? This afternoon I found the most perfectly ‘couldn’t be more perfect’ purple wool coat that I’ve been actively envisioning, believing in, and hunting down for the last month – on sale. And after the blind date disappointment, I remember her words, and smile joyfully at my plum compensation. ;)

Make 'em Laugh

I just texted the blind date guy to politely decline his invitation for a second date. Beforehand, when I presented my case to my best guy friend saying that I just wasn’t sparked by the coffee date but maybe I should try a second date, he said that ambivalence wasn’t a good sign.

So, if it’s not a good sign, it’s a bad one. And although my gut had been telling me even before the date that I was having misgivings, I am a Libra – and I need to thoroughly weigh everything from every angle until my head explodes – This usually happens several times per month, or per day if I’m overtired ;P

That isn’t precisely true – I’ve gotten more used to listening to the voice of my intuition, the longer it hasn’t told me things like “another line would *really* make this party awesome” or “his girlfriend isn’t here, so…” I have since learned that this voice may not have been my intuition, but that’s what I interpreted it as for years, and so it’s taken me a while to get accustomed to the idea that perhaps my gut isn’t trying to kill me (my brain is another story).

That said, I spent a significant amount of time and brainspace on second guessing my gut today. “How much can you know from a first date, anyway?” It just felt beige. He wasn’t funny. “Oh, everyone’s on their best behavior on a first date - you can’t really know if he’s funny or not.” He didn’t make me laugh. “Wouldn’t you know more if you went out again?”

Maybe, or maybe I’d learn more if I actually listened to my gut for once instead of hitting the override switch. Build up that muscle of listening to myself, trusting myself, and also, caveat – if it’s meant to happen again, it will. … But I don’t think it will.

I was talking with my actress friend today for my “informational interview/omigod this is hella scary” phone call, and I was telling her that this performance thing is a gut thing that just hasn’t gone away. I recently found an exercise from when I was doing The Artist’s Way three years ago – it was a list of “Forbidden Joys” - things I would love to do, but am “not allowed.” And on it was “Audition for a play.”

So, my friend told me that first, I would just need to start auditioning, and likely fall flat on my face. I told her that I already did do that. 

Earlier this year, I responded to a casting call on craigslist (you can see how much credence I was willing to give to my gut!). We were asked to prepare a monologue and a song - as although this wasn’t a musical, the director believed that having actors sing was a good way to see how they’d do when they felt uncomfortable. … So, I prepared “Make 'em Laugh” from Singing in the Rain – it’s a hilarious outlandish routine by Donald O’Connor – and it is OVER-THE-TOP.

See, I’ll show them how not uncomfortable this makes me! … Turns out, I made them quite uncomfortable. Somewhere between the wildly gesticulating arm gestures and a prat fall, I think I lost them. But hell, if it wasn’t hilarious … to me, at least. Sure, I was a little disappointed – and I felt like I had totally blown it by not being “more serious” or even a little serious – but for christ’s sake the play was about a woman’s love affair with pot!

So I told this story to my actress friend, and she was delighted! She said I’d already made a fool of myself, and lived (and laughed) through it, so obviously I’m willing to try and fail – but I also have to be willing to get out there again. So, she gave me some good advice and said I could check in with her in a week, which seems like an awfully sweet thing, and will help to keep me accountable to some of the tasks I have before me (buy a monologue book – and that monthly subscription to Theater Bay Area I keep on shoving under my coffee table? take it out and look at the casting calls in the back).

Because I want to be a woman who can be disappointed and still follow my dreams, and my dreams also include a man who makes me laugh. 

p.s. just got a text back that said he was offering sex not dinner - that...makes me laugh. Thanks, gut!... + seriously?!

weekend update.

yesterday, I went to a “meditation & creative writing” workshop with a friend from school, and although we both agreed we were ready to leave at the lunch break, i got out some writing that needed to get out. my friend said afterward that her qualm with workshops like those is that they continue to bring people back into the very story they’re trying to let go of, but for me, like I said in the “Excavation” blog, my writing isn’t about spinning my wheels or wishing it were different anymore. I’ve found traction on this stuff, but for me, for my process, it still needs to come up and out.

My friend/spiritual teacher lady said to me today that in Buddhism, they talk about those things as blocks, things that are solid and we knock up against and then back away from – and that they must become diluted for us to move through them. And so, I hear what my friend is saying – and I have certainly been there, simply hitting up against the bricks of my “story”, but  - it feels different lately. It doesn’t feel as solid, weighted, or shameful. There are still pieces that need processing, but on the whole, I do feel I’m getting through to the other side – the side where there is freedom and levity and possibility –

and action. To update on another item this week, I've scheduled phone conversations in the next week with those two working actors in SF I mentioned – indeed giving not only voice to my desire to perform, but also giving traction to that as well by actually putting in some action. Sure, I’m nervous to head in this direction, as uncertain and as fraught with nay-sayers or “realistic” people as it is (esp. when those people live in my head) – but it’s one of those internal nudges that hasn’t gone away, and the longer that I listen to myself, the stronger it has become.

Sure enough, my electric guitar came out of the closet this week. The bass came out with the amp a few months ago, the acoustic is out always, as is the small keyboard that mainly gets used when i’m plunking out notes for my singing class– but, they’re here. and like the performance thing, "singing in a rock and roll band” is not going away either, and it too is just getting stronger. That’s another one I feel retarded talking about – like, who am i, i’m too old, too square, and what have i done and i don’t know that much music and i don’t have enough tattoos. ... but, sure, be ALL of that as it may – i still want to sing in a band. i can fucking taste the metal of the microphone. do i know what kind of music? – it’s becoming clearer – it’s not “pretty” singing. i don’t want to sing pretty, I want to sing passionate – and if they intersect, which to a point i imagine they will, then all the better, but i’m not looking to do pretty – i’m looking to do raw. I wrote an email to a girl friend/acquaintance lady about a year ago because i read some of her facebook updates and watched her go through the same thing, and she emailed me back echoing that her teenage rock girl just wouldn’t go away – and at some point we listen.

or perhaps we don’t, but that’s not my story – anymore.

so, true to CITO, my closet is getting cleared and organized, and an entire drawer is now empty – because “the universe abhors a vacuum”, so if you build it – or clear it – they will come. plus, I feel mentally freer in some way, like how you feel when you go away on vacation and know you’ll come back to a clean apartment (it was once suggested to me to put dirty dishes in the fridge so they won’t rot when you’re away – and sadly, i have done this!). or like in feng shui where you’re not supposed to have anything under the bed, because even if out of sight, it is taking up “room” … energetically ;)

to close out my updates for the week, i will also tell you that I finally wrote that “renegotiating old agreements” letter to the cousin this morning on my way into the city – and about an hour ago, I wrote the last line on one of the petals from the flowers I bought myself, and let it go out the window (burning didn’t seem the “right” thing with this).

and finally, yes, I went on my blind date today - it wasn't a disaster, and there might be a second one. but in the meantime, i’m going to continue taking these itty bitty actions: moving the instruments out, talking to people in the field I want to be in, and completing exercises that help me see myself, my blocks, and my gifts more clearly. 

Cuz, one month into being 30? Eat It, Saturn Returns! ~ I’m totally learning my lessons on this go-round! :P

Plus, I started those hand-made holiday cards I said I would too ;)

Sex of Rockstar and Death Rattle Varieties

Tomorrow I go on a b l i n d date. As in I really have no idea what the guy I’m meeting looks like. He’s a friend of an acquaintance who emailed me on facebook to go out to coffee, and his photo is one of those cartoon/sketches of a photo – and the rest of his photos are private.

That said, I have to be in the city tomorrow anyway – I have mild suspicion about the suitability of this person judging from my conversation with our mutual acquaintance – and he may or may not have an addiction to adderall – but that’s based on circumstantial evidence – or that’s the term they’d use on t.v.

And secondly, in favor of coffee with a stranger, why not? It’s good to keep my dating muscles toned or at least not atrophied – my last was a date a few months ago with a near-friend. You know, that person you run in to at shows or gatherings and always seem to flirt with obscurely in one of those “*wink* we’re totally flirting but so totally covert about it that I’m not actually sure if we are but I think we are and isn’t this charged ambiguity totally exciting” kind of ways (!) - but one or the other is always in a relationship, or you don’t want to ruin the quasi-friendship with the quagmire of sex, or neuroses.

My date with the quasi-friend went well, but in terms of continued romanticism, it was a case of mutual “i don’t think this is gonna work” and luckily we both said as much a few days later, and so we still get to be friends.

So, tomorrow’ll be my second date in … a lot of months. It’s cool. I have a pretty good idea that I’m marinating – getting seasoned for the right time. – I almost wrote “right now” – which is also true – as I’ve said before, I tend to believe that once I have x y or z in place, I’ll be really ready to be in a relationship. But, I got out of a long term one in January that had a few death rattle trysts through August, so until I was ready to stop beating a dead horse – or beating off an ex – just kidding – I haven’t really been available to date anyway.

Although, about a month ago, around the time I started doing the Calling in The One exercises, along with the Cousin contacting me out of the deep blue, an old SF fling contacted me to say what’s up. It’s a good thing I’m convincedly sure he’s a bad idea, because, have.mercy. that sex was awesome. He and I “saw” each other for about a month about two years ago, and it was like the kind of stuff you read about or see in “movies” or just fantasize about – I actually said to him, Do you ever forget how great sex can be? (He said no.)

But, alas, said hipster (who really wanted me to wear his torn skinny jeans and loved that my dishware was all in some "state of decay" [I’ve recently tossed all chipped dishware…]) is not a viable option for me – rockstar sex or not. Well, not right now at least. 

Good Idea/Bad Idea

Some of you might remember a weekday afternoon cartoon in the 90s called Animaniacs. On the show they had a segment called “Good Idea/Bad Idea” which according to my memory of it, showed two scenarios with a strange looking animated skeleton-like fellow – or maybe it was a mime? - who would go through two versions of the same thing with a very droll voiceover narrator who would says something like: Good Idea: Going Ice Skating in the Winter; Bad Idea: Going Ice Skating in the Summer – and other, more creative than I can come up with right now nonsense.

This afternoon, I had such a moment. Good Idea: Drinking tea on my couch under a blanket with my new copy of Real Simple magazine, tearing out inspiration for the handmade holiday cards I intend to make (a failed intention I’ve set several years in a row!) with my cat curled up on my lap as it rained and was ugly outside.

Bad Idea: Later walking past the indie movie theater by my house, and deciding to go see the about-to-start showing of Martha Marcie May Marlene.

This was a bad idea ~ and I heard that Animaniacs voiceover tell me so as I walked back out into the cold feeling like I hadn't breathed properly in two hours. The movie itself was wonderful in all the ways art films are supposed to be wonderful – skilled, raw actors; absorbing, believable plot; creative camera & sound work. But, it was also emotionally wrenching, violent and sexually violent, tragic and concluded in a sudden and unsettling way.

I used to have a much greater tolerance for psychological dramas; perhaps as a way to cathartize other emotions I was having – in my Shakespeare class this semester, we’ve done a lot of reading about the role of theater as mass catharsis. But, lately, I just can’t really handle it. Give me something a little less intense, wrenching, honest. Ironic then, isn’t it, that I’ve said that my own poetry has recently become more of all of these.

Maybe as I find the ability to put words to my own drama, the drama of others just over-flows the well. Maybe as I work to open myself and my heart to the world, I’ve become a more tender human being.

Or maybe, I just want my entertainment to be entertaining these days. 

I sort of am ashamed to say it, but I’ll take the fluff right now, thank you very much. Sure, I feel like I’m no longer in a set of intellectual elite who are discoursing on their favorite Kurosawa – but then again, really, when was I?! I’m not a true cinefile – Don’t get me wrong, I love movies - but I haven't seen any Kurosawa. I *am* the kind of person who will sometimes just walk into a cinema and see whatever happens to be playing then, but it seems to me that ending this cozy afternoon by unknowingly walking into a tragedy about rape, murder, and PTSD was a Bad Idea.

And (resigning to/embracing) the fact that I’ve actually made plans to see the new Twilight with a friend is a Good Idea. Bring on the innocuous brooding fluff!

Thanks-Giving Myself the Day Off

My girl friend texted me yesterday to ask if I had Thanksgiving plans, and then invited me to spend it with her family. I thanked her, but told her I’d consider it and get back to her. What I had to consider were my many little plans and designs. …

The first of which was whether to pick up the catering shift I was offered. In fact, they asked if I’m available on all the upcoming holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. And zoom – my fear brain goes, Of course! I’m not busy those days, I’m not working my temp job, so I’m not earning on those days – I should do it. (Pause 1: “Should”). I don’t have any plans yet, East Coast orphan that I am, I don’t have any family here, and my friend who hosted last year said that it was too expensive to do it this year. I won’t be hosting, as I now live in Oakland… and no one comes over to this side! and also my apartment isn’t big enough.

…Then, I start to consider every other East Coast orphan (San Francisco has a lot, and we tend to gravitate toward each other) And I begin to wonder what they'll be doing--

And I wouldn’t want to leave my friends high and dry on the holidays--

And I better make sure they have plans--

Or maybe I'll host anyway--

Or maybe I’ll ask someone else to host--

And wouldn’t it be nice to have all my friends together for the holiday, if I can only figure it out. (Pause 2: “Figure it out”)

Or maybe …

Maybe, (breathe), I will simply show up to a friend’s family dinner with homemade pumpkin pie, and a smile.

I asked my financial savvy buddies what they thought about my working on a or all holidays, and they said, a) ask my HP (higher power – i.e. get quiet and ask myself what is the “Super Molly” thing to do, and what is the “Human Molly” thing to do), and b) maybe choose only one holiday to work – perhaps one that isn’t while I’m also in school. (FYI, catering is not as easy as just serving plates – it’s hauling cases of water glasses, wine glasses, champagne glasses, salad plates, dinner plates, dessert plates, table linens, tables, decks of wooden chairs, wine, water, and food up and down flights of stairs or across lawns, all while attempting to not look like you’re breaking a sweat in front of the client – It usually knocks me out for the entire next day, as my body is not nearly as resilient as it used to be.)

What would “Human Molly” do? Hmm. Well, first off, she loves holidays. I do. I absolutely could squeal with delight about the holidays. I love the memories I have of them, the smells associated, the warmth I feel that permeates all layers of skin and soul. I love them. I get squishy thinking about them. – When I was living in South Korea for two years, they did not get squishy about Christmas – or, duh, Thanksgiving. They got a little commercial about it, sure, with some inflatable Santas and some tinsel in the department stores – but for the most part, it was an atheist’s wet dream winter season. And, how I missed home then.  – I have come to conclude that my affinity for the holidays has a lot to do with the fact that it was pretty much the only time of year my family acted normal. We had people over – which never ever happened during the rest of the year. We had smiles and played nice, and façade or not, I loved it. It made me feel safe, and like maybe not everything was fucked.

Luckily, I now know what I need to earn in November and therefore how much I need to work. And the reality is, I don’t need to work on Thanksgiving: the “should”s (see above) are always a major tip off I’m about to put myself in a situation I’ll resent or regret.

I am also aware that anything I feel a frantic need to “figure out” is a sign that I’m trying to organize things that likely don’t need to be organized. My fellow East Coasters are entirely capable of figuring out their own plans – they’re not asking me to create their holiday, and I will feel much calmer not trying to create them!

So, as you might have guessed by now, I texted my girl friend back this morning telling her that I would love to join her family for Thanksgiving. Relieved of my own machinations, I can now look forward to just showing up – with pie. ;)

Hosting Thanksgiving 2009 in my SF apartment. (Turkey never made it to the table!)

Asian Hipster Abundance

This morning as I was trudging up from the dungeon of Montgomery Street BART, there was an asian hipster dude a few paces in front of me, and he’s bobbin to his music, and then he’s really swaggering it, and then he begins to bark out some phrases, and then he begins to clap with wide arm gestures. With every increasing jaunt of his, my smile begins to get wider, and I follow him for about a block or so, smiling to myself as a few short stints of sunlight shine through the buildings onto my face. And I ask myself to remember this feeling – at least for a little while.

I’m now working 3 days a week in SF as a temp at an interior design firm. And sometimes it’s sort of cool, and I’m looking at massive design books of ridiculously fancy homes and touching pretty fabrics from a new line – but mostly, it’s the same admin work any admin anywhere does – cataloguing, entering, organizing … mind-numbing, I think my eyes are bleeding work.

That said, I’m tremendously grateful to have this job. Firstly, the people are quite excellent – at a former temp job, I had a very “that’s my stapler” cubicle tenant adjacent to mine, and it was always a fine line between being immensely entertained and alarmed – particularly when the continuous murmuring monologue included sudden bouts of loud expletives. Secondly, I’m a graduate student, living off student loans with absolutely zero savings, and much like unemployment, student loans pay you almost enough, but really not enough. Well, not enough for a studio apartment in the Bay Area at least – which, yes, was a conscious choice I made rather than have roommates.

And so, when this temp job was offered to me, despite also being a full-time student, it was like manna from heaven. I worked with this company over the summer – it was like manna then too – and they asked for me back. So, I’m back. I’m also babysitting, catering, and ... well, yeah, that’s it for now (although artist’s model auditions come up in January again – I missed them last time. I auditioned with a different company once before and it wasn’t as weird as it was simply difficult to remain super still for 20 minutes!)

So, suffice it to say that today, after a few mind numbing hours in front of a computer screen, it was hard for me to maintain the jaunty optimism of the asian hipster, but I’m glad to remember him and his yellow backpack right now.

I’ve been tracking my income and expenses much more closely, but with purpose, since August. Prior to that, about a year or more ago, I started to track my expenses, but just got pissed at myself that I was spending so much money on coffee. And thinking self-flagellation was not a mile-marker on the road to serenity, and not really having any idea what to do with that information, I stopped keeping track. But, then it was August, and I’m contemplating ramen, canned tuna, and an empty fridge - again - it was time to address this - again. So, I reached out to people who do this sort of thing (this frighteningly adult sort of thing) called “having clarity around finances”, and started to keep my numbers again. ~ and I was amused to note that in August, I spent $8.00 on coffee. Not the omigoditmustbelike$100 paranoid number I’d imagined!

After tracking my expenses, I work with these folks to create a spending plan. It was surprising to learn from my friends that I was “underspending” aka depriving myself in all sorts of categories like food, clothing, and personal items (apparently $1.34 a month-for a toothbrush-is not an act of self care!). And so, I’ve begun spending within my newly clarified means – confirming abundance, and also confirming the fact that I actually *do* have this money. I just haven’t known where it is, or where it goes, hence my whole “binge and purge” financial routine.

The advanced part of this exercise is the income plan. This means that yes, YAY! I get to buy the fancy shampoo that is kind to my chemically straightened hair (bad idea), but that I have to earn the appropriate income to support a habit of self-care. And I like this new habit of self-care – this month I actually added in a category, modest though it is, for flowers. And there they are, right here on my desk. :)

So, yes, I work in a job that is more exhausting by how sedentary it is, and yes,  I woke up this morning at 6am to write a paper and went directly from work to class until 9:30pm tonight, but a) it won’t always be like this, b) I’m grooving patterns of responsibility and evenness (not the mania of “how am I going to pay my rent???”), and c) … well, I really like coffee.