6.23.2006

wishing well and well-wishing

My best college friend and I used to keep wish books. They weren't diaries; they weren't journals. They weren't even really goals, per se. It was a place where we wrote down everything from "I want to play [this particualr character] in [this particular play]," to "I want a house with a swimming pool," to "I want to learn to fix my car," to "I want to kiss [so-and-so] on the mouth," to "I want to win the lottery." Some of our "I wants" were silly, fun and airy; some reflected the sweet intense passion of youth; some of them actually did turn into goals. We crossed them out once we'd achieved them, but that wasn't really the point. The point was brainstorming and dreaming without any kind of self-censorship. It was silly and giggly and yet somehow galvanizing.

I talked to Lynnie recently, and she mentioned that she still had her book, and 12 years later (!), she was still adding to it. Oh my gosh, I thought, how cool! To have a record of whimsical wishes from when we were mere babies. I, of course, not only hadn't kept it up, but I could not tell you where my book ended up.

But I'm going to start it up again. It'll be a chronicle of daydreams, which is probably a more accurate snapshot of any of us than our day-to-day activities could ever be.

Also ... here's another list I recommend. When you're really really busy in life, and you think to yourself, "If only I had time to ..." --- write down whatever *it* is. Keep a running list. Then when you haven't worked in awhile (an affliction common to a lot of actors), and you're thinking you'll never work again (even more common), or you just split up with a lover or partner, and 24 hours in a day seems like a ridiculous amount of time to fill ... look at your list, pick the thing that appeals to you the most, and do it. This has come in handy for me several times to stave off melancholy and borderline depression. It's such a boon for me to realize that I have this incredibly full life and desires outside of theatre. Sometimes I forget that.

6.08.2006

Listen. Can you smell that?

There comes a time almost every afternoon around 3:30pm when I'm at work and the office almost always quiets down. Nobody's conversing on the phone or in person, all the office doors or shut, I and the other assistants are in our cubicles quietly typing and minding our own beeswax. It's very pleasant, and I feel like I get a lot done in the hour surrounding this quiet time.

Then the weirdest thing happens, and it surprises me every time. The fan on the behemoth printer behind me shuts off. And every day, it's only then that I realize how loud the fan is. It wasn't at all quiet before, I'd been fooled. But *now* it's super-duper quiet. I love this moment, and I hope I continue to forget about it and be surprised anew daily. I actually have a tangible physical reaction to it - my shoulders relax, my face muscles relax, I unconsciously take a cleansing breath, my brain calms for a moment.

It makes me wonder how much noise falls beneath my conscious radar every day. Because your mind can't possibly take in and process that much "static" - it would surely drive you mad(der than you are), right? But our physiological selves must be constantly affected; taking the exhausting sonic blows all day long so that our minds can function. Printer fans, air conditioning/heat fans, refrigerators running (ha ha), computers humming, constant traffic, construction, not to mention plain ol' electricity running through everything.

I had a friend - a young women I toured with - who was TERRIFIED of nights “in the country.” She'd grown up in LA, and lived there pretty much her whole life until she moved to Seattle. When we’d stay in a homestay off the beaten path, she’d take a sleeping aid and go to bed early. She hated the fact that there was no noise (of course, there was plenty of sound, just no noise), and that it was so dark that you could see the full force of the inky sky. Freaked her the fuck out. I could never (will never) grok this. I mean, I understand it intellectually; I appreciated that that was her deal, and I never thought she was stupid or anything. But to me, it seemed like such an alien thing to feel.

I can't remember the last time my body heard natural silence. Or felt natural darkness. Has it been long enough that I will be frightened by it? I dearly hope it hasn't been that long, but just long enough for me to be thrilled by it. I plan on experiencing it a lot this summer on my camping roadtrip, so I'll let you know how it goes.

6.05.2006

ass/door/not hitting - pt. 2

A couple posts ago, I mentioned this road trip that Shoogie and I are taking. My readership is not large, I'm sure, but I believe that you are smart and mighty! Would you please care to share your pearls of wisdom? Any campgrounds or areas of interest or amazing roadside diners we shouldn't miss? Please tell me all about it/them/your experiences.

Here is our very basic itinerary (subject to change upon any whim that Shoogs and I have at any moment):

  • over to Glacier
  • down to the Tetons
  • over to the Badlands
  • cut southwest across Utah, thru canyon territory
  • north rim of Grand Canyon
  • Las Vegas
  • home

It's basically a big circle(-ish thing) around the west. We plan on camping 90% of the time and trying to stay to the roads and lands less travelled.

Advice? Bring it on; I'm not scared ...

6.02.2006

Skot haunts my dreams. Why SKOT?

Stop it, Skot. I'm serious.

I wrote about my first Skot dream here. Which pleased me for days. But now it's getting weird. Skot wrote this a few days ago over at his url-pad, and (in addition to feeling cheated out of my memories because I saw that show, and now I can see that all they gave me was sloppy seconds *SOB* - aw, fuck, who am I kidding? sometimes it's the only road back to sanity) I have dreamed (dreamt?) twice now about Skot trying to assassinate me.* Once he was following me around work, and the other I was in the audience and he was on stage "acting."

*Of course, I don't mean really assassinate me, like that recurring dream I used to have about Adam Sandler - seriously, that's not a joke. Another entry for another day. If you didn't read Skot's post I linked to, do it. It'll become clear.**

**It now just occurs to me that maybe Skot's following me in my dreams to only to wink at me, with no malicious intentions. I'm not sure which is creepier.

6.01.2006

I'll try not to let the door hit my ass on the way out.

I'm really starting to lose it. I need to get out of here. Away from the city; away from my job; away from all these ... people. Blech. Why don't the people just stop talking to me?! Seriously ... zip it. You're annoying me.

Okay, see what I mean? I am totally not usually like this. I am a kind and patient young(ish) gentlewoman. Sarcasm notwithstanding.

The weird part is that my life is actually quite excellent right now. I'm just about to close a show that was challenging in all the best possible ways and quite successful and well-praised. I'm directing Shoogie in his solo piece that's going up in a festival next weekend - and it's going so freakin' well. My job's fine; I'm having fun; I adore my friends; biddy biddy boop boo nerdle derdle.

But the people. The poor ignorant people* are constantly throwing their unintentional buzz-kipe into my determined path. I have a few theories regarding this.

  1. The people are not ignorant, and it is intentional. The people can tell I'm in a general snit, and are doing it on purpose to razz me; and then giggling about it over lattes later. (I've dismissed this as "Not likely." I don't have that big an ego.)
  2. The people don't have anything to say, so they just talk nonsense to fill up space. (Well, duh. But this doesn't explain why it's making me poke my eyes out with a pencil.)
  3. I am freaking out and actually need to get out of here for awhile. (Aha ... now we're on to something!)
*I'm assuming not ignorant in general (hopefully), just ignorant of my personal current leave-me-alone mania.

Familiar with the term "senior slump?" Yep - fershurr that's what I got. In spades, brothers and sisters. Because Shoogs & I are going on a big fat car-camping road trip for the entire month of July. It's been planned for about 6 months, but now it's less than a month away and I'm starting to sweat. Big time. I want to hit the road so bad I can smell it. And it smells like hot dry heat and healthy sweat, and that smells like freedom. I haven't felt this way about a vacation since I was a kid and would restrain myself by only packing two weeks beforehand.

So if we cross paths, I am asking your kindest indulgence if I am less than patient and kind. It's not you; it's not me ... it's the open road.