SPOKE TOO SOON

travel bullshit. i hate delta. i hate chase bank.

i wanna throttle someone. for real.

i'm gonna go unpack all the shit i need to get ready to leave the house at 2:30 in the morning and try this shit all over again.

I'll be home for Christmas

You can plan on me.

Heading to the airport in a mere few hours, and I'm so happy I can hardly stand it.

There is much packing to do, much cleaning to do, and I'd like to get my hair trimmed if my girl is in today...

We shall see. Regardless, this time tomorrow, I'll be waking up in Arkansas. I hope.

Best Christmas present ever.

like death

food poisoning. or stomach flu. or something else equally unpleasant.

errgghhh. gahd. balls.

vom and trots and abdominal cramping and sweating and fever and...oh jesus.

no relief all day. none whatsoever.

It's the Holiday Season...

And I'm officially awful.

I'm hitting up parties and shindigs and festive soirees like, every other day. And this means - spending more money than I should/have on drinks and food and cabs and such. Awful.

It also means, being too sleep-deprived/cold/just plain lazy to do any running. Also, the joints are REEEEEAAAALLLLLY unhappy with the shoes right now, so I've sorta cut back for the time being. Lousy excuse, I know. Awful.

Aaaannnnd, it means that my "Holiday Cheer" has maybe kinda sorta crossed over into the realm of Holiday forgiveness...or of, um...Holiday weakness...or of, i don't know, Holiday "oh, what the hell-ness". And I've fallen off the wagon. Awful.

But not that awful. All of it is kinda fun actually. None of it is good for me, but all of it is certainly fun...for now.

Runnin' Down a Dream

I'm still running down a dream. Coincidentally, that's another of the songs on my running mix that really gets me going. So far this week I've clocked about ten miles.

A long 4.5 on monday, impressive considering the shoddy start to my week. I logged these miles on the treadmill at the gym, because it was rainy out. It was boring and all of the numbers on the machine really weren't good for my neurotic tendencies. Running on the treadmill has several drawbacks. First, I really get a sense of how slow I actually am. Second, it's surrounded by mirrors, which I can't ignore (and it's not like I look good). Third, I immediately feel as though I must compete with the pace/time/calorie count/ of the runners on either side of me. Fourth, I'm not getting anywhere. Fifth, my excessive sweating is on brightly-lit display.

Of course there are benefits as well. I run faster on the treadmill. If I feel like running a ten-minute-mile, all I have to do is bump the thing up to six mph and hang in there. I can see how many calories i'm burning, which isn't actually that important to me, but at least when i'm running nowhere I can derive some sort of satisfaction from knowing that I just eliminated a hefty chunk of the day's caloric intake. Other than that...I guess it's easier on my joints than the esplanade is. Mmmm, esplanade.

I took tuesday off, and made wednesday a really easy short run (because I was pressed for time), compensating by climing up and down the six flights at home at least ten times for the sake of the laundry.

Wednesday night I went to the screening of The Savages, and afterward listened to three incredible actors and a magnificent director talk about their craft in a way that made me so joyful I cried. The words and phrases the used, and the passion with which they expressed themselves was so akin to the way that I feel and articulate that it took my breath away. And then I said to myself "I can't keep working this bread job". I can't keep doing something that keeps me from doing the something I came here to do. Do you follow? Then I went to P.J. Clarkes and ate a delicious sit-like-a-stone-in-my-belly bacon cheeseburger. Effectively negating at least a week of training.

Tonight was another good jag at the esplanade. Did I just say jag? Who does that? Jesus. My blood sugar must be low. Anyway, 4 miles or so today, and not quite as cold as my last long run outside. OH! And my new baby ipod is here! It was MUCH better to run with. I'm still enjoying my new mix, interspersed with lots of Christmas music (Run DMC's "Christmas in Hollis" really gets me going).

This leads me to my desperate plea. Dear friends, please oh please, send me music to run to. I don't care how you do it - a cd, a playlist, a comment with "hey, put [insert track here] on your running mix", anything. I find that once my body realizes that it can keep moving, it's really the songs that keep me from stopping. So, help a sister out. Send me some love, via Sly and the Family Stone, or whatever it is that works for you.

Please? Thank you.

Training Update

It seems that this blog is probably about to take a major turn. No longer the forum for discussion of my romantic failings. Lesson learned there. Apologies rendered. Ego bruised. (Coincidentally, this blog will also be moving to a strictly by-subscription basis. I know of a few regular readers who will be able to access the blog. If there are others out there who wish to be subscibers, please make yourself known.)

I would, however, like to use it as a way to document my successes and failures on my journey to a marathon (and just to success in general). My major guidance thus far has come from a clever little book, The (Non) Runner's Marathon Guide for Women, by Dawn Dias. I find her story of undertaking this training, and her biting sarcasm to be incredibly similar to mine. And it's really helpful to know that I can do this and not actually die. She did. Her most vehement suggestion is to regularly journal or blog to record your progress and experiences with the run. Everything, from distance, to shoes, to ipod programming is worth noting. So, here we go. I promise, my sarcasm and self-deprication will not disappoint.

This week I ran eight miles. That's not much, but since I only ran twice this week, I think that's saying something. My first run this week (and actually in several weeks) was my Thanksgiving Day 4-miler along the East River Esplanade. This was my first foray onto this particular path. It's much less of a trek from home than the park, and a nice option to have for an outdoor run. Thanksgiving day in NYC was lovely this year. It was a comfortable, sunny sixty degrees, and i ran in sweatpants and a tee shirt. The sweatpants turned out to be far too baggy. I won't be doing that again. In fact, if I have the chance to run in sixty degree weather again anytime soon, I'll be doing it in shorts. I think I must have been enticed by the concept of the pockets in my sweatpants...and the fact that I definitely hadn't put razor to leg in more than a fortnight.

I'm consistently finding that the most difficult part of my run is the first half-mile or so. No doubt this will change as mileage increases, but for now, it's definitely the getting started that's the hardest part. I inevitably feel like I'm going to have to turn around and pack it in for the first five to ten minutes of the run. Also, I am happy to report that I might be well on my way to setting a new record for "world's slowest runner". Seriously, I walk faster than I run. I think I might be doing it wrong. I need a coach. I entertain the idea of a running buddy, but then realize that finding one as slow as me might prove problematic. Perhaps I could pitch a reality show to VH1 about it. They'll make all manner of crap into a televised competition. And really, I think my journey from couch to finish line is far more interesting than anything they're cooking up on A Shot at Love, with Tila Tequila. Who is that tiny bisexual, anyway?

So, anyway, Thursday's run went pretty well. My only major complaint being that I have grown tired of the playlist I've been running to. Also, it was the only time on Thanksgiving that I actually came in contact with other living, breathing human beings. Had I not left my apartment for this run, I would have gone the entire holiday without seeing another living soul. I am thankful for my little Turkey Trot. I wasn't even terribly sore on friday. A little strained in the legs at work, but definitely not debilitatingly aching. This probably means it's time to up my mileage. Or my speed. Or my skill.

I took friday off, opting for a big Italian dinner and wine at Bar Pitti, followed by a late night showing of I'm Not There at the Film Forum. Both were delicious. And I think that you're supposed to do that anyway, right? Give the muscles a day to rest and rebuild, right? Eat tasty pasta and Italian deserts, right? Right.

Today was a full day at work until 5 or so (oh, the Saturday horror), and then upon my return home, a preparation for another run. Major difference between Thursday's run and today's...about thirty degrees. Sweet Lord, did it get cold here. And let me just say, this drop in temperature in combination wtih my stubborn idea to become a runner has led to some fashion...douche-baggery...of epic proportions. I fear that it shall only get worse as the temperature begins to drop. Let's just say, this is the first time in at least fifteen years that I have left home with my head completely covered by a tuque. (See that Canada word there, we call them toboggans where I come from. I know it's a sled. It's a hat too. Fuck off, Yankees. Wikipedia recognizes my jargon.)

I also left home with triple layers under my puffy vest, legwarmers over my socks, and new patagonia yoga pants - fold down waistband folded UP to keep my tummy a little warmer, and my everyday gloves. The run was actually even better than Thursday's. Same route, but this time, after dark, and with the full moon bouncing whimsically off the swirling black water. I could see all the way down the island, bridge by lighted bridge. It was really beautiful. There are a couple of folks a little upset with me at about the half-mile marker. I'm assuming based on sheer location, that these angry beasts are my ovaries. I don't know what else it might be. Something in the general vacinity of my lower abdomen doesn't appreciate this cold-weather jarring. Neither do my knees, or my left arch. My ass is okay with it, because it was immediately numbed when I stepped outside, and never regained feeling for the duration of the run. Really.

My ipod is not okay with the repeated jarring either. It's frozen up consistently on all of my outdoor runs. This is going to be remedied in a couple of days when my new shuffle arrives in the mail. Yep, a black-friday online special on the little devil was too good to pass up. And my big daddy ipod will thank me for the minor expenditure. I was hoping to hold out until christmas, but I think this will be a much better idea. The best thing about tonight's run, I must say, was a new running mix (thanks, Max), full of things that I couldn't predict. Several songs made me burst into full out sprint, the first one being the Chili Peppers "Can't Stop". That's actually what snapped me out of my normal shitty first half mile. Thank God.

This first cold weather run did give me a whole list of things that I need to aquire to make this whole thing run more smoothly. Pun intended.

1. Expertly fitted shoes. These have treated me well for over a year of cross-training, but they aren't the right shoes for me to be running in. I don't know which shoes are. I need to go to a store that caters exclusively to runners and get this really figured out. It's going to be a big expense. I'm going to try to hold out on this until after Christmas too, but my joints might not allow it.

2. Running tights. That's what they call the spandexy leggings that you wear while running. They're warm.

3. Layers of moisture-wicking fabric. Cotton thermals are no good. Although I wasn't aware of my sweating until I returned home and began to shed layers, I think there's a better way to do this. Also, things with key pockets are...key.

4. Some kind of lame specially for runners tuque. Toboggan. Aforementioned moisture wicking material.

5. Camelbak. Longer runs will demand that I actually take in some water.

6. these nifty earmuff/headphone things i saw in the sharper image catalog at work. for something like thirty five bucks, you can have warm ears and hear your tunes. i became a bit alarmed tonight when my sweaty headphones began to shock the inside of my ear.

7. a stopwatch and pedometer. preferably combined. something that tells me how far and how fast. or slow.

8. someone who knows what they're doing to oversee me doing what i'm doing.

9. more time in the day.

I'm exhausted, and feel TB settling in, as a result of breathing arctic air while panting my way down the esplanade. I like that word.

The Purges

In the few days since the elimination of the boy, my spirits have soared by leaps and bounds. I wish it had happened sooner. I had no idea how absolutely liberated I would feel. It was as though once my mind was made up to be truly finished, my life could come back into being. I haven't felt so absolutely free in almost a year.

You see, with the boy, even when it was good, I was never at ease. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I anticipated the inevitable breakdown. I didn't ever reach a point of actual trust. And why would I? What precedent would lead me to believe that he could in fact be trusted? None.

I wonder how much of the whole thing could have been avoided had I stopped letting my pride dictate my decisions. I think that more often than not, I sacrified my happiness and kept trying in an effort to save face. I didn't want to be that girl who couldn't make it work. How completely ridiculous.

I'm reminded of something Gary said to me once. I was rambling on about something completely unrelated, and he stopped me with these words: "Laura, you can't fix him."

And now that I've finally stopped trying, I couldn't be happier.

And now, it is time for the purging. I feel the need to symbolically rid myself of all of this dust-collecting (literally and metaphorically) crap in my life. I am purging my closets, my paperwork, my bookshelves, and my heart and mind. I am replacing my bedding (which carries the bad karma of relationships past) with fresh, clean, white linens. I don't want to sleep amidst the ashes of things past anymore.

Good riddance to bad rubbish, and bring on the new day...

Public Forum

Happy trails, Boy. I hope you find the things in life that bring you closer to truth, to happiness, and to that difficult transition from boy to man.

I hope that I do too. Except for the man part.

In all honesty, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted. Yes, goodbyes are always difficult. Yes, there were tears (probably all mine). Yes, there will be moments of weakness where my heart will ache, and my body will long, and my soul will heave, but I will be fine. One of these days, I will be just fine. A little bruised, maybe. A little more guarded. A little less likely to let myself fall again. Smarter, but colder. Stronger.

Closure is what I've been after. It's enough.

And to whomever let the proverbial cat out of the bag, thanks a lot. Is my sarcasm apparent?

I mean, nobody reads this thing, right?


The End.

You can't start a fire without a spark

Today I awoke with a mission. My anger with the boy has not subsided. My mission, therefore, was to find someplace that could chop of my hair and dye it black. This has little to do with the boy, and much to do with my own habit of matching my outward appearance to my inner emotional state. And that state has lately been much edgier than my basic red-brown bob was projecting. I wanted to do something drastic and bold. And I did. It looks badass.



Around 10:15 tonight, as I was in the drugstore picking up black hair shampoo and red lipstick, my phone rang. The familiar number belonged to that of my friend Michael, with whom The Boy trekked to DC to see a little American history and (most importantly) take in a Springsteen concert. I was accutely aware that this was where the boy would be this weekend, and reminded of it earlier in the evening by a couple of cryptic texts from boy. I answered the call, which had been timed just right, so that I would pick up at the chorus of "Dancing in the Dark". I really, REALLY, wanted to be at that concert. The Boss is one of those things that is very much wrapped up in my experience with the boy. I found it strange that Michael would call me during this song, but listened as he sang along with Bruce, screamed "I love you so much!", and hung up.

After I made it home, I sent Mikey a text, requesting a full recap of the concert when he got a chance. About half an hour later, my phone rang again, again Michael calling. I answered excitedly, "Hey, Baby! How was the show?". I was surprised to hear, not Mikey, but the Boy's voice on the line. "Oh my God, it was incredible. I wish you had been here." Uhhhh, what? I stammered out something that amounted to "why the hell are you calling me." It was at this point that The Boy revealed that it was he, not Mikey who had called during the concert. Well, that would make a lot more sense. The song has significance in our dsysfunctionally passionate relationship. I put up my prickly defensive shield, even as I was beginning to cry. Told the boy I hated him, which is untrue. I then listened as he marveled about the haunting patriotism of our nation's capitol. Not his nation's.

We talked about the "kings" of America, comparing Lincoln to Shakespeare's Henry V, his inaugural address to the St. Crispian's Day speech. We talked about the bittersweetness of Bruce, of his activisim, of his outrage at the current state of affairs in ths country, and of the fact that our generation does not have a voice like that. We talked about Vietnam, and Abbie Hoffman, and Martin Luther King Jr, and the utter disgrace it is for George Bush to be sitting in the White House, running this great country into the ground. We talked about the difference between the 1960s and now, our lack of a united voice of the youth of America. There is no movement. Everyone is in their own ipod-induced self-serving world. He said that now he understood why I was so wrapped up in Hair this summer. Where is our generation's Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, ANYTHING? We want to hear OUR voice - the voice of a young people who are mad as hell. It's not out there. Why? How can we become that voice?

Conversations like this, and like the ones that the boy and I have about art, and acting, and our place in this world are ninety percent of the reason that I fell in love with him. His passion for the things that I find important, and the eloquence with which he expresses himself make me want to spend my life talking with him. I've never had that kind of exchange with another person. Not in the same way. It is what I miss the most, and will miss the most if we do in fact cease to be a part of eachother's lives.

It was at this point that Mikey actually DID get on the phone with me, proclaiming his and the boy's undying love for me. I argued that I knew he loved me, but that I was pretty sure the boy didn't. He said his battery was going dead. The boy got back on the phone. "You know I love you. I love you. I just need to live my life." I replied with, "I am not keeping you from that. Call me tomorrow." He changed from dreamer mode to jackass-who-is-making-me-miserable mode in a split second. "Your messages have been really angry lately." Wow. "No, shit. I am angry. I can be angry. You're making me angry. Call me tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh-huh, ok. I will."

Good God. What the hell am I supposed to do with this kid? And what am I supposed to do with what I feel for him?

"You can't start a fire
sittin' round cryin' over a broken heart
this gun's for hire
even if we're just dancing in the dark."

I Guess I'll Drown in My Own Tears

today i learned that "real" people:

a. don't cry on the 6 train

b. look at you like you're crazy if you do.

unfortunately, having been repeatedly kicked in the heart/pride/hope departments for the better part of a year now has left me unable to fight the rising lump in my throat and welling of eyes while on mass transit. i find that it is highly unadvisable to weep in the workplace (now that the workplace is not the theatre, where i can safely weep away), and therefore have trained myself to hold it back. i just can't quite make it all the way home.

yesterday, as i fitted a very happy bride into her beautiful gown, her flower girl looked up at me and asked, "are you married?" i laughed bitterly, and replied "nope, not even close." i thought i had evaded further probing. i thought wrong. as the child began to ask me more and more questions about my romantic life (HAH!), i felt myself turning ten shades of red and wanting to scream. how do you explain to a six year old that you're pretty sure you're going to be alone forever? "listen kid, i'm apparently not worth the effort. let me give you a little advice - never let your guard down." i figured this wouldn't go over well, so i made a hasty exit, lest i drip mascara on a spanish silk gown.

this morning, we had a bridal client who was in her late 40's or early 50's. i don't know if it was her first wedding or not, but it depressed the shit out of me. she kept saying that she wanted to bring her mother back to see her favorites. her mother is in her nineties. i don't want my mother to be in her nineties when i get married. i mean, my parents are smokers. at the rate i'm going, who's to say they'll make it to my nuptuals.

i don't know y'all. i'm pretty sure the pursuit of happiness isn't supposed to be this...i don't know...sad.

i'm also pretty sure that i kick ass. thus my confusion.

all is not lost - i am keeping up with the marathon training. it will be a year from last sunday, if i make it to the goal. although, it will be diffcult to qualify for next year, it seems that 2009 is a better bet. baby steps. i'm beginning to realize that there is much that i have to learn. i also find myself in need of "stuff" to actually get this going. like, a smaller ipod (a shuffle would be ideal), a new pair of running shoes (mine are broken down, and no doubt contributing to the pain in my joints), appropriate cold-weather running attire, and ideally, a trainer. who am i kidding? i don't know what the fuck i'm doing, and even though i'm reading up on the subject, i'm one hundred percent sure that i'm not eating enough or doing the correct cross-training. but i'm not sure what to eat or do otherwise. maybe i should jog down to the barnes and noble and try to figure this shit out. i'd love a running buddy. one that will not judge me for my sorry state. it's not that sorry. i actually do pretty well on the treadmill. outdoors is harder, but more fulfilling.

i think i might (fingers crossed) get to go home for christmas. i'm trying to stretch that possibility out for as long of a visit as is humanly possible.

i need to nurture my craft. my job is sucking the artist's soul out of me. i need to be writing. i need to be singing. i need to be dancing. and i need - repeat - NEED to be acting. i feel like a shell.

i miss my partner in crime, away on her texan jew-truck adventure. i miss my friends in the city, whom i never see anymore. i miss the boy, although the prodigal did make a return on tuesday night. it seems to have only been a momentary lapse. while i see that he is gaining some clarity about the relationships in his life and the way that he treats those who care about him (which is good), i don't see that he's pulling his head out of his ass about the prospect of losing me (which is bad). i'm having one of those major head/heart battles about it at the moment. all of this contributes to the subterranean crying spells.

balls.

Let the games begin...

Today was Halloween. Halloween was once my favorite holiday. This was the most depressing halloween of my life. I didn't dress up, for the first time ever. I didn't get ridiculously drunk and parade about in a skimpy outfit. I didn't do anything. I avoided the playhouse halloween party because I didn't want to deal with any kind of awkward situation with the boy or the other girl. Mostly the other girl. I don't have any problem interacting with the boy, and if I had been there, I could have easily kept that under control. There's just something about being in the same physical space as that girl that makes me so uncomfortable I become physically ill. Panic sets in. I can't even step foot in the playhouse unless I've verified that I won't be running into her. It's absurd.


It's depressing for more than just the obvious reasons. Last night, while on yet another marathon phone-call with the boy (yep, we're back to that stage), we got around to the subject of the holidays. And, for the first time ever, I'm dreading them. Let's get something straight, here. I'm jolly. I love Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I love the decorations, and the music and the family and the food, and just...all of it. Maybe that makes me a huge tool. The boy finds it comical, because he is grinchy. But, as we started talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and our respective families routines for these holidays, and I began to cry, he softened up about it. You see, it has become increasingly difficult for me to fight off tears at the thought of the approaching holiday season. The reason is very simple. I'm not going to be able to go home this year, unless some sort of a financial miracle occurs. Every single time I think of the fact that I won't be back in Arkansas with my family on Christmas morning, I want to jump off a bridge. Really. That's the kind of hurt that it creates.
I just don't think it's in the cards.

Thanksgiving will hopefully be ok. I haven't actually been home for that one in the last three years. This will be the fourth. So far, I'm planning on trying my hand at Thanksgiving dinner for the first time.

It's something.

The new job is soul-sucking. Seriously. I am already becoming resentful of the effects I can see it having on my artistic career, and of it's role in my holiday demise.

Boo. Happy Halloween.

Workin' Girl

Today I got not one, but two jobs. One I interviewed for this morning, and was offered on the spot. One I interviewed for almost a month ago, was offered the same day, and then revoked as the person I was to be replacing decided not to leave. Right after I got the offer from today's interview, the older offer called me back, and literally BEGGED me to come work for them. The one I got today was a part-time retail gig, that paid ten bucks an hour. The one from a month ago was a full-time bridal consulting job, that pays upwards of forty grand a year.

Guess which one I took.

I have this phobia about job interviews. Not because I'm afraid I won't get the job. On the contrary, I've gotten every job I've ever interviewed for (excluding acting, of course). I'm actually afraid of getting a job I really don't want. I feel like my track record is such that if I interview, I'll get it, and then I'll be stuck in some shit job that I have no desire to do. Today's double offers are just an example of that. I must say, selling out and putting dreams on hold aside, this certainly is a load off my mind. I'm looking forward to being single, being self sufficient, and living my life on my terms. (read: getting shit paid the eff off.) Thank you, employment gods. You have certainly smiled upon me. Stay tuned for details as the working begins...

I'm wine drunk, and a little stoned, and this might just be a tad incoherent. My apologies.

On again, off again...again.

Ah, it never ends. The "Laura and the Boy" saga drags on and on, to the point of exhaustion. So, here I am, after about a month of "on again", I find myself slapped in the face (or rather, kicked in the gut) with "off again."

Let me back up.

I realize that I have left you, my dear readers, a bit out of the loop of late. Sorry. I got myself into this mindset of "don't talk about your depression so much" during the last phase "off", and didn't want to jinx anything during this most recent phase of "on". Plus, things being as complicated as they are, I didn't really know how or what to write about it. I'll spare you the play-by-play on how the last cycle went down, and try to focus on this one. Because in all honesty, I think that this is the big one.

I am here, alone in my bed once again, and wondering how this has happened to me again. I woke up sunday morning beside the man that I love. I went to sleep sunday night having been cut loose, and with that gut-kick still stinging.

You see, this time, the boy and I tried to approach things a bit more casually. We found during the last period of "off" that we missed each other terribly. And so it began again. Only this time, we didn't want to try to make it the all or nothing, crazy little thing called love, fairytale perfect relationship that we attempted (and actually succeeded with for a time) this summer. This time, there were to be no demands or expectations placed on eachother. There was an overall attitude of "see you when I see you", which translated to pretty much every second from the end of his classes on fridays until he headed back to the playhouse on monday morning. And it seemed to kinda sorta be working for us for awhile, for the first few weeks, at least.

And then, this weekend, things started to turn a bit...icky. Casual weekend thing became dealing with serious feelings thing. The boy began to panic, leaving me scared out of my wits and with that familiar sinking feeling. Something was coming. Something bad.

The problem, for him, is this: casual doesn't work when it's with me. No, that's not because I'm a nagging hag. In his words, it's because I "don't deserve anything less than one hundred percent." And guess what? He doesn't have it to give. Never has. Not to me. Not to anyone.

Now, I've gone through all of the possible ways that I can blame myself for this. Why aren't I worth it? How come I'm not enough for him to change? What did I do wrong?

I actually asked him those questions. And the answers that I got - I am worth it. I am more than enough. I haven't done anything wrong. He's just not there. He's not at peace with himself. He doesn't know how to be happy with himself. And no amount of the happiness that he feels when he's with me is going to make up for the lack of a solid foundation in him.

I understand all of those things. I agree with his decision. I do think I deserve it all. I am worth it. He's right. And recognizing that is the most painful thing of all. Knowing that he must be alone to work all of these things out sucks the air right out of my lungs. I'm scared to death. I've never felt anything like what I feel for him before. I've never been so absolutely in love. Ok, I'm young. It doesn't matter. I know what I feel. I have been able to give of myself to him in ways that I may never be able to again. And right now, I'm absolutely terrified that on this journey of self-discovery, he will find that he doesn't want to love me anymore. I want nothing more than for him to be ok, for him to be happy and at peace, but I don't know what the price of that happiness will be. I don't want to lose him. Not because my self-worth or identity is wrapped up in him - as it is most certainly not - but because I can't fathom my life feeling at ease without him as a part of it. The loss of this incredible person, whose friendship brought me out of one of the darkest points in my life, would be staggering. I don't know exactly what to do or what to feel right now. It feels like a death. Yes, I want him to be the best possible version of himself. And yes, I want him to be that with me.

And what if he learns that he doesn't want me at all? What in the name of God do I do then?

And so it goes. On and on. Off and (sigh) off.

Running Away

I've expressed my overwhelming desire to run away to all of my nearest and dearest in the last few weeks. I have this staggering feeling that life would be much better if I would just disappear, stop worrying about whatever my problems are here in the city and escape for awhile. This desire is partially fueled by the fact that I just can't seem to get a handle on the mess that has become my life anymore. It is partially fueled by a film I saw last week, Into the Wild, which I believe is being released this friday. Please go see it. It is beautifully directed by Sean Penn, acted by Emile Hirsch, and sung by Eddie Vedder. I highly recommend it. During the q&a after the film, Sean Penn, while speaking about the journey of the main character said, "in our culture, rites of passage are seen as a luxury. They're not. They're a neccesity."

I couldn't agree more. I don't feel that I have lost out on that experience in my life. On the contrary, I feel like I have done it several times, and at the culmination of each experience, I have emerged a more complete human being. These events occur, sometimes in solitude, sometimes in connection with others, but ultimately bring me to a new level of understanding. I feel that I just completed one, in fact. It wasn't neccesarily a triumphant completion, but I do feel that I have just learned something new about myself and the world - something that I could only have learned through trial and error, love, hate, joy, happiness, pain and loss. These are all critical elements. The bad makes the good better, and all that sort of thing.

So, I'm off on a new soul-search. It seems physically running away from my life in New York isn't truly an option. Financially, it is completely infeasable. It would also result in the abandonment of several relationships and endeavors that I don't feel I can or should walk away from just yet. So, I've decided on a different course of action. I'm taking up running. I've run before, yes, but this seems like a more spiritual decision than my past "I feel fat, I guess I'll go running" state of mind.

I have decided that I really like the idea of training for a marathon. I haven't the slightest idea how to begin this plan. I've never been a serious runner, in fact I used to absolutely HATE running. I don't come from a family of runners, I come from a family of smokers. I don't have the best knee or hip joints, due to my dancer's upbringing. I used to be rather big and fat, owing to my lack of experience in this field. However, now I am small and thin, and feel such a difference in my stamina and ability. I can easily (ok, not TOO easily), run the track at the Onasis Reservoir (1.58 miles) without stopping or walking. I know that doesn't sound like much to a "real" runner, but it's a big deal for me. I get around that track in about 15 minutes, although, I've yet to aquire the acoutrements to really time myself. I suppose that will be one of the next steps. I actually enjoy this running. I feel like I'm getting away from something I don't like in my life, I feel like I'm releasing good energy into the world, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

So this is my plan, my next rite of passage. The New York Marathon is in early November of each year. I don't for a moment delude myself into thinking that I could run this year's marathon. However, I would really like to train for a year and shoot for running in the 2008 race. Is this too steep a goal for me to achieve? I think not. I mean, I've managed to achieve some pretty remarkable things in my life, just because I told myself I would.

So that is the goal. Running away from this feeling of unhappiness, of a loss of direction. Running. Just running. Probably needing a great deal of help along the way, but that's true of every rite of passage. And who knows, when it's all over and done, perhaps I will have learned something very valuable. Might as well start now. I'm certainly not getting any younger.

"Baby this town rips the bones from your back
Its a death trap, its a suicide rap
We gotta get out while were young
`cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run"

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

It feels like my world has fallen down around me. It all happened in a matter of about 48 hours, a little over a week ago, and I am having the worst time ever of trying to pick myself up and move on. I know that everyone feels this way sometimes. I've been watching friends and family go through it a lot recently. I just somehow thought that I was immune to it. I thought that for some reason, all the good things I'd been feeling and experiencing lately were impervious to such a fall. I put my faith and my trust into the people that I love, because that is the kind of creature I am. A stupid creature, apparently. A creature who has now given completely of herself, only to end up empty, with nothing left to give, and nothing to build myself back up.

And I thought this part was over. It all feels like some kind of demented child's game. Chutes and ladders for the grown-ups. Ring-around-the-rosy. Hide-and-seek. Only the rules are different, and no one is the winner. Everyone goes home hurt and crying and alone. Hearts and bones and spirits get broken. There is only enough energy to sleep and to cry. There is no resolution, only the half-hope, half-fear that the cycle will come around to good again, but that next time it will stay that way.

And most frustrating of all, is the realization that I might never be worth it. All that I am might never be enough to fight for. And that, dear friends, is the most heartbreaking feeling of all.

Charmed the pants off those canadians

No, really. Let's be honest, whadd'ya think I was going up there for?

It was a wonderful trip, and we had a great time. With the exception of the excruciatingly long train rides both ways, it was an overwhelmingly pleasant experience. I met the friends and family, saw the city, got to do a little Hair shopping, drank good beer, somehow managed to swing from extremes of middle-aged couple to high-school couple, and - most importantly - got to spend some much needed q.t. with the boy.

It was wonderful. I can't wait until he's back home in this city. Just a few more days!!!!

Oh, and everyone with a pulse MUST see La Vie En Rose. Probably the most incredible performace I have ever beheld. Absolutely stunning.

A couple of highlighted moments from the trip -
1. While sitting in front of a coffee shop in Kensington Market, hiding out from the rain, and very deep in meaningful conversation, a grandfatherly man passes the fruit stand across the street, and lets out the singlemost audible fart I have ever heard. I mean, it damn near propelled him to the end of the block. It was like something out of a movie, and we have decided that it most definitely will be something IN a movie.
2. At same location, a very jolly rasta-man sits down on the bench next to ours, a woman with whom he seems to be vaguely aquainted walks by. The following conversation ensues.
Rastaman: "Hey, haven't seen you in forever!"
Woman: "Wow, yeah its been awhile.
Rastaman: "Where's your dog?"
Woman: "It's dead."
Rastaman: *awkward silence*
The Boy and I: *eyes watering as we try not to laugh*


My God, life is good. Unless of course, you're that woman's deceased pet. In which case, life is probably not good.

Where the hell is my teleporter?

In a mere three hours, I will be up and-at-'em, getting myself out the door and down to penn station so that I can venture to...

THE GREAT WHITE NORTH!!!

That's right, folks. This Arkansas girl is going to show those Canadians what she's made of. (Which, for the record, is 100% pure grain awesome.)

You may be asking yourself how this exciting turn of events came to be. Well, it's quite simple really. Upon wrapping his film down in the Big Easy, I was awakened by a call from the boy, relieved to be finished but proud of what he'd accomplished, and with a one-track mind when it came to what the next course of action would be. That track seems to have entailed the repeating sentence "MUST SEE LAURA IMMEDIATELY," because that's what he proposed we do. So, arrangements were made, strings were pulled, trains were booked, and the next thing you know, I'm off to Toronto in the morning.

This trip seems to be serving several purposes. First, to combat the insanity we were both driving towards not having seen eachother in over a month. Second, and most nervewracking of all, for me to make the aquaintance of his parents. Third, to meet the hometown friends. Fourth, to see what this Canada thing is all about. I expect we'll be eating a lot of maple syrup, whilst being pulled over by a mountie, on our way to hockey practice, to prepare for our match against the niagra ninjas, all the while ending our sentences with, "eh?".

All joking aside, I couldn't be happier about how well life and love are going right now. The twelve hours on the train are going to be torturous, when all I want to do is see him and only him for quite awhile. It sounds like he's got a rather full schedule booked for me, and it all sounds very sweet. More and more I'm seeing sides of him that I didn't know existed. The side that wants to show me off to his friends, the side that wants to take me to see my favorite play at the Shaw festival, the side that has called me every single night to tell me how much he wished I was already there.

I'm so tired, and still pretty stoned from rehearsal. Alarm goes off in a couple of hours, whereupon I will do my last minute packing, shower, and hop in a taxi - tylenol pm in hand - hoping to snooze for most of the ride.

Expect a full update when I return on Wednesday or Thursday - assuming of course, that I make it the full duration.

I'm so damn happy, I can hardly stand it...

If only I could teleport.

Hair Extension

HAIR is back! We will be performing at Theatre Row, the Acorn Theatre! More info on ticket sales to come.

Hope you can make it. Check out www.realtheatrecompany.com for details...

oh, and by the way, i have no idea why the color on this thing gets all persnickety when i post a flyer like that. it's supposed to be yellow and red. same thing happened with the original hair postcard, back in june. i don't get it...

Insomnia

I can't fucking sleep. It's a problem.

It is 6:04 am and I have been desperately trying to fall asleep since 1:00 am. No dice.

I'm not consuming caffeine. I don't know what's causing this, but it sucks some serious ass.

No really, I want to beat someone severely right now, but I have nobody to blame. I think my over-active mind is keeping me awake. This will be the third night in a row that once I've reached the hour of sunrise, I've gotten out of bed and popped a bunch of sleep-inducing OTC pills. Tonight it's tylenol pm. I mean today. This morning. Fuck.

So much for my planned trip to the gym at eight. That's in two hours. Sonofabitch.

If you've got any remedies, I'd love to hear them.

The Recovery

Recovering from this whole fainting spell ordeal has resulted in a nasty case of cabin fever, one which I hope to remedy later today. I have not left my apartment except to return to the hospital since monday. With the exception of the boy's 16 hour visit, perhaps the most wonderful 16 hours that I've ever spent with anyone, the rest of the week has been wholly un-stimulating.

I'll hit the high points.

I still can't fully believe that he flew up here to see me. As soon as I opened my door I could see why he had. The look of distress and concern on his face was instantly apparent, and as he scooped me up into his arms, kissing the top of my head with tears in his eyes, I understood why he felt he had to be here. He was scared. A smile spread across my face as I started to cry. All I could say was "Thank You." He pushed my hair back to reveal the bruises and cut on my forehead, and tilted my chin upward to investigate the five stitches holding it together. His eyes welled and he pulled me towards him, delicately kissing the bruises and holding me close to him.

"I guess I look like hell, huh?"

"No. You're beautiful."

My god, I love this man. I do. What he has become is a complete amazement to me. Our history has been difficult and frustrating, but if that is what we had to go through to get here, then I wouldn't change a single thing about it. I have never felt so very happy, so at ease, in my entire life. I can't wait for the day when we are finally both back in the same city. I know that the time and distance between us has been exceptionally important, but I also ache to be near him. I feel like I carry him with me all day. He is the smile that I can't suppress. Even more exciting is that I know that he feels the same way. I don't wonder if he loves me anymore, because he tells me he loves me, and he shows me that he loves me, and he looks at me as though he loves me, and he holds me like he loves me. It's incredible. That look of guilt that used to overtake him in quiet moments, and that detached silence that he would adopt on the bus in the morning, have been replaced with a genuine smile, with gazing at me in wonder. He tells me "I think I'm learning how to be happy." I think he is.

The duration of his visit was wonderful and relaxing, and even though I woke up fifteen minutes before his 6:00 am alarm and woke him up whimpering "you're leaving. I don't want you to go," he always handled me with utmost love and care. He soothed me back to calm, "it's ok. We'll see eachother again soon."

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

And, as I said, I did spend the rest of the week taking it easy, catching up on tv and movies, reading a few books, and just letting the whole ordeal work it's way out of my system.

Yesterday I returned to the hospital, followed up in the outpatient clinic and headed back to the ER, this time the express care unit, to have the stitches removed. I am left with a diagnosis of Vasovagal Syncope, which is nothing too terribly serious. At least I'll know what's going on if it happens again. I won't go into the details. Google it if you're that interested. I am also left with what is certainly going to be a scar on my chin. I hope the swelling that still remains subsides in a few days. The other injuries are minor. The bruises on my forhead and slight black eyes are pretty much gone. The heroin-addict track marks left by the two IV's are beginning to fade, and the soreness in my left tricep from the tetanus shot is mostly gone. I'm on the mend, and ready to rejoin the human race, perhaps even contribute to society.

Last night around 2 am I recieved a call from an unknown number. It turned out to be him, covertly calling me from the film's "in case of emergencies" cell phone which is left at "The Compound" - a very large and secluded piece of plantation property where his film is shooting. I don't know how, but he somehow managed to convince them that he needed to be ALONE on the compound for a couple of days as he prepares for this role. So there he is, in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, with free run of an entire plantation, and a moderately functional cell phone. The thing kept cutting us off, but I know how it is to be in a part of the south where reception is spotty at best. You just have to fit everything into as little time as possible. I have such admiration for the way that he works and prepares for a role, and I can't wait to have the oppurtunity to work with him as an artist. When I told him this last night he said "oh, we will. There's no question. We have to." And we do. He tells me that the big empty place is creepy at night, but that he's enjoying it. He tells me that he misses me and loves me, as I do him, and we agree to talk more when he returns to civilization and reliable reception.

And I go to sleep feeling very, very happy.

Emergency Rooming

A couple of hours ago I finally emerged from Hospital Hell.

Let me back up.

Some of you may know that I was enlisted to teach ballet to inner-city kids for this week. It was a daunting challenge, but I was up to it and I needed the money. I arrived ath the Uptown Dance Academy on 122nd street bright and early yesterday morning. I had already eaten a nice breakfast and decked myself out in my professional best. The small slightly shabby studio was hot and stuffy, but the kids were excited to be there, which made me excited about my undertaking. However, once the preliminary business had been taken care of and the introductions had been made, I was informed that I would be teaching BOTH the beginner (which I was scheduled to do) AND the advanced class, COMBINED in this tiny room. Oh well, I'd just make the best of it and try to shoot for a class that fell somewhere in the mid range of difficulty. While it was a challenge to keep them quiet and paying attention, for the most part, things were going well. The advanced kids were probably a little bored, but they didn't complain. I'm sure they understood the challenge I was facing. Things were going pretty well, but I must report that my teaching career has just been cut short by an unknown culprit.

Toward the end of the class, as I was teaching the entire class an across the floor combination, I started to feel a little woozy. My head began to pound and my stomach lurched. I remember thinking "whoa, that's wierd." I thought I had regained my composure, and continued to dance, but in a matter of seconds, everything started to close in on me. My vision became blurred and doubled, everything sounded like I was under water, and balance became impossible. I staggered toward Rufus, the sweet little boy who had been helping with the music, and stammered something like "get someone now, gonna pass out..."

That's the last thing I remember. Everything went black and eventually I heard and felt the sickening thud of my own skull on the floor. I don't know how long I was out. Light began to seep back into the corners of my vision and I felt little hands tugging at my ankles, "Miss Laura, Miss Laura, are you ok." I dropped back into blackness, and after an undiscernable amount of time opened my eyes to find Willie, who has become my New York Mama, kneeling beside me and softly stroking my back. I could see her, but I couldn't move or speak. After a couple of minutes I managed to force out "What just happened?" She continued to stroke my back and told me, "You passed out, sweetie." I lay there a bit longer before I said, "There's blood, isn't there." There was. My fall must have been straight over from a standing position. I felt glued to the floor, arms and legs splayed straight back. I clearly wasn't conscious enough to attempt to catch myself. My chin and forehead broke my fall. I split my chin open and was in fact lying in an expanding pool of my own hot blood. I suppose I'm very lucky that my nose and teeth remained intact. I have an irrational (well, I guess not THAT irrational now) fear of falling on my face and breaking my teeth. I can't describe how relieved I am that it didn't happen.

I sat up to see a room full of stunned and frightened children staring back at me. Some of the little ones were crying, and they all started to ask if I was ok. Willie calmed them down while she sent one of the older ones to get something to put pressure on my bleeding chin. "You're gonna need a stitch." Oh no. Oh shit. That's when the panic really hit me. I started to tear up as my still fuzzy brain attempted to explain "I don't have health insurance, I can't!" But this wasn't really up for arguement. As soon as I was able to move, Willie and the lovely young woman who is the administrative assistant, got me up, got my stuff, and we headed for 119th and 1st, to a walk in clinic. I felt like hammered shit, but once we were outside, the slight breeze was a a relief.

Within two minutes, the entire staff of the Clinic had taken one look at me an insisted I be taken to the ER. Metropolitan hospital was suggested. 96th and 2nd, just one block from my apartment. We got in a cab and headed down, and I finally got the chance to call my parents and tell them what had happened. My mother suggested that I insist on a plastics consult for what would certainly be stitches on my face. I'm an actress, facial scarring is important. I never would have thought of that on my own. I checked into the ER, and they actually got to me in a pretty timely fashion. I waited about 45 minutes. In my one other NYC ER experience, I waited over 5 hours before I was even checked in. I was expecting something similar, but the staff of Metropolitan Hospital was extremely helpful and attentive. The nurses in particular were fantastic. The ER was busy, but I never felt like I had been forgotten or left unattended.

Apparently this fainting spell was cause for much more concern than I had previously suspected. When I described my accident to each nurse or doctor treating me I caught a slight bugging of the eyes and the feeling that this was really not good news. I began to be poked and prodded for all sorts of blood work and tests. Questions upon questions began to roll in. In addition to the FIVE stitches my chin recieved (by the way, that shit hurts like a bastard), I was hooked up to EKG machines, shot with a tetanus vaccine, stuck with not one, but TWO I.V's and the recipeient of two CT scans. They thought I had a blood clot. It was some scary shit. Blood clot? That'll kill you. I know what that is. That's bad.

I had been keeping in phone contact with my mom, my scene partners, Maggie, Max and Helen, but it was at this point that I decided maybe I should tell the boy what was going on. I sent a text to Kim, a fellow playhouse student and the girl who has generously been letting him use her phone to call me while he is in Louisiana. About an hour later, she called me back. I filled her in on what happened, and she promised to get the news to him as soon as she saw him next. He called sometime after the CT scans, around 9pm. He was scared. I was scared. I cried as I explained what had happened and what I was waiting to find out. He told me he loved me and called several more times to check in. Around midnight I recieved another call from him. "I'm going to fly up in the morning." What? He can't be serious. He can't seriously even be considering this, right? I mean, he's busy shooting this big movie. That's a huge undertaking. They're probably going to let me out of here sometime soon. Don't bother. I'm not worth it.

But apparently I am worth it. I could tell that his feeling of disconnection and powerlessness in the situation was genuine. So when the phone rang again, and he said "I'll be at Laguardia at 1:30, where should I go then," all I could do was cry and say "thank you, thank you, I love you." And I do. I am overwhelmed by the fact that he really will be here in a few hours, and he really is doing all of this just for me. My god. Who is this boy and what has he done with the wishy-washy, non-commital, guilt-ridden tool that I spent most of my year wrapped up with? His change in the last few weeks has been astounding, but I didn't fully grasp how complete it was until now. Despite the fact that I'm lying here, still feeling pretty awful and in desperate need of a shower and some pain-killers, I think I am perhaps one of the most loved people on the planet. I would be grinning from ear to ear if it didn't hurt so much to do so. Oh, God. I can't believe this.

I was finally discharged from the ER early this morning, having spent somewhere around 16 hours there. The CT results were negative for a clot. They don't know what caused the "spell" (as we call it in the south), but they insisted that I return in a couple of days for follow up. I am still amazed by the love and support I felt from everyone around me. My roomie showed up to sit with me for awhile, and was clearly disturbed by my sorry state. Friends kept calling throughout the day and night just to check in with me. I even made an ER buddy. My neighbor in the holding area of the ER was a man named Micah, and we hit it off with some nice conversation. He was really sweet, and we exchanged numbers for the purpose of continuing to discuss screenwriting and other artistic ideas. He made it his personal mission for the time that I was there to keep my spirits up and make sure that the doctors and nurses were paying me plenty of attention. I'm grateful for his company, and I hope he's doing well now. He was just being admitted as I was leaving the ER.

I staggered the block back home and fell into bed, checking in once with boy, who was off for the airport in a mere three hours from then. He told me to get some sleep and that he'd see me very soon. He called back again, still in a panic, certain that they shouldn't have released me yet. I must say, if anything like this ever happens and he is in the city, I'm pretty sure I'd get the best possible care ever. I'm sure of this, because it seems like he'd be all over every doctor and nurse in a three block radius to make sure that his girl is taken care of. It feels really good to have someone like that in my corner.

So, how about that shower. Life is good. Oh, and check out my bruised, swollen, sewn-up chin...

Standing By...

I have just discovered yet another reason that I'm in love with my quaint little city of Little Rock. I am sitting in the airport, where I will most likely be for the next several hours, because I missed my 5:45am flight. I find this a bit irksome, but the tinges of annoyance are soothed by yet another feature of southern hospitality - FREE WIFI CONNECTION. I've been in and out of a lot of airports since wireless internet really hit the big time, but not until now have I encountered this freebie situation. Thanks, Little Rock National. I love you. American Airlines, on the other hand, is on my shit list. Screw you guys.

All in all, this minor setback is not nearly enough to derail my current good mood. And hey, at least from my vantage point at Gate 1, I am able to watch the sun rising over the Arkansas river on my last morning home in the dear old south. Beautiful.

So, about that good mood...

Wow.

Life is amazing. Life is wonderful. Life is beautiful. Life is love, love, love.

The past couple of weeks have been like a really, really, good dream. Or a feel-good inspiring chick-flicky movie. Ahhhhhh.

I am so proud of all that we were able to accomplish with Hair. I am amazed by each and every member of my dear Blackfoot Tunkashila. And, as I sort of always felt that it would, it has paid off in a very promising way. It looks like we're on for another round of rehearsals, and a two week run in late August/early September. After that, the future of the RTC and this production looks very very special indeed. No solid news to report yet, but stay tuned for bigger announcements. WOO! And hey, if you missed us the first time around, you'll get to see the new and improved version of the American Tribal Love Rock Musical at summer's end. Lord knows, I'm looking forward to it.

As I said, the run ended on a wonderful high note, and was made even sweeter for me with the arrival of The Boy. His attempt to make it into town for the actual performace was foiled by border-crossing complications and a myriad of traffic issues on his way into the city. No matter. He'll see it next time around. For me, for both of us, our brief reunion was enough to cement, clarify and fire up exactly what it is we're feeling about eachother. The time that he's been away has been difficult, but I made the decision to soldier on and go about my life without him in a positive fashion. And I did. I created art that I'm proud of. I met new people. I had good times. I began casually dating, which I felt strange about, but I think it was a worthwhile experience. Of course, I missed him. I missed him immensely. But I tried to stick to the agreement and stay out of contact. It wasn't easy for either of us. And when the oppurtunity to spend a couple of days together presented itself, we both jumped at the chance.

And thank our lucky stars we did. Things have reached an entirely new level of wonderful for us. It seems like everything is falling right into place now. I am walking around with the biggest smile on my face. We've had our most open and honest conversations in the last week. And now that he has taken off for a month in the Big Easy to be a big actor, I can't be anything but happy for him, and proud of him, and generally filled with love for him. Holy crap, I think this thing is ACTUALLY going to work. Who knew? Of course, it is going to be quite a while before we see eachother again, but I think we're both holding out for that day. We've said our "I love you's" and our "I miss you's". We've done our sugar's and sweetpea's and bella's and piccoli mani's. And I'm happy. Very happy.

Of course, this complicates the situation with CNBfQ, and how to actually proceed there. Crap. I like the guy. I do. And I'm going to feel like the world's biggest biatch when I have to deal with him. Can't think about it. Just can't.

The visit home was gloriously glorious. I got to spend a load of time with my parents, my friends, and just generally soaking in the feeling of home (which feels a whole lot like lake water, which I also soaked in). This visit home has such a different feeling than it did a year ago. With good reason, of course. I am a different person. I am a happy person. I am home for no reason but to enjoy the company of my friends and famiy. I am not here to grieve. I am not here because of duty or obligation. I am here because I love it. It is the best feeling in the world. I only wish I could have stayed longer. Much longer. Long enough to road-trip it down to New Orleans for a little getaway with the boy, but that's a bit more than I could have asked for.

All in all, drinking champagne and skinny dipping with my girlfriends, lighting sparklers and playing with puppies on the 4th, sailing with my daddy, driving through the ozarks, getting gin-drunk on lake norfork, drinking busch light in the most ghetto limo ever, singing kareoke with a guy with one tooth, getting a nasty tube-burn on my hand, playing scene-it in the middle of the night, catching up on the conchords, eating hushpuppies, shopping and seeing an adorable movie with mom, and generally being surrounded by an overwhelming feeling of love were well worth the wait for a standby flight that I am now experiencing.

Life is good. Please let me get onto this flight...

Butterflies

Things are so so so good.

HAIR was unbelievably phenomenal, and it ain't over yet. The Real Theatre Company is going places. Mags and I had a couple of moments of "I just have to scream and hug you" last night. More to come on that. No Post Production Slump this time, kiddies. I'm secreting.

The boy is here for what feels like a split second, but it is a very very good split second. A beautiful split second. A much-needed split second.

I'm going home tomorrow. Hell yeah. Arkansie, here I come!

I'm feeling the love on all sorts of levels.

Should be memorizing...

...but I can't focus. I'll be meeting my scene partner 6 hours from now, and I'm sure he's going to be really let down by my shoddy level of preparedness, but it's sorta too damn bad right now.

I've been spending about 16 hours a day at the theatre getting costumes done and subsequently rehearsing for Hair. It is coming along, but my attitude is totally burnt out right now. I feel like a zombie. I can't answer anyone's questions with anything remotely resembling a complete sentence, and once I get a moment to breathe, I'm thinking about precisely the wrong things. I can't think about much right now other than The Boy, and CNBFQ.

I really like CNBFQ in almost every aspect of our interaction. But I miss The Boy, because I love The Boy. I miss him a lot. And I feel guilty for missing him when CNBFQ is so sweet, and so attentive, and so lovely to spend time with. And I feel guilty for spending time with CNBFQ because the boy is telling me that he is sad and lonely without me. Connundrum. Methinks so.

Tennesee Williams beckons, "Learn your Laura, Laura."

I'm coming, Tom. Sorry about the delay.

The Age of Aquarius

The Real Theatre Company (read: my current labor of much much much love) is proud to present...




Reservations are going FAST, so get yours while the gettin's good! I'm very proud of this baby, and of all the work, love and dedication that has gone into it.

BEADS, FLOWERS, FREEDOM, HAPPINESS!

A week out...

It was a very good week. I feel as though this past week was my first official week out in the real world of being a working actor. Until this week, I was spending the majority of my time entertaining a string of out of town guests or lying about in a den of sin for my last few days in the city with the boy. These things were rather enjoyable (sometimes EXTREMELY enjoyable), but did not lend themselves well to my productivity as my own small business. This week, however, I began with a clear head (having said my final goodbyes and washed my hands of the boy), and a positive outlook on this whole wild ride.

I began last Sunday with Maggie, doing promo work for Legally Blonde: The Musical. We had a good time, and got some free shit and a little cash out of the deal. Between us, we managed to flyer about 900 people in Times Square, and still left with our respective dignites intact. We blew through the Entertainment Industry Expo at the nearby Westin, pretending to be important, and settled our exhausted asses into a diner booth before heading home where I passed out from sheer exhaustion. I had one of those naps where you fall asleep at 6 and wake up at 8, but for some reason think that it's 8am the next day. I was hella confused. I ended up staying in bed until the next morning anyway.

Monday I got up, and despite the rain, prettied myself up for my "free consultation" at The Network. It went pretty well, and I think I might find them to be a rather useful resource in the future. It was nice to sort of feel like I was getting actor's work done. Putting feelers out there and gathering information feels like a step in the right direction.

Tuesday we rehearsed for Hair, which always feels like I'm doing something right, or like I'm the luckiest person in the world, to actually be doing what I want to do with my life. I ended the night with a nice long conversation with Jim, the news of a new scene partner, and a phonecall to the parents.

Wednesday was a jam-packed actor day. The morning started with a scene-study class, which I'm so excited about. If nothing else comes of it, at least I get to spend 8 weeks working on the Glass Menagerie. Joy. We then trekked over to Grant Wilfley casting for their open call. On the way, I got a call for an audition for the first national tour of Anne of Green Gables. Guess which part. That audition is on thursday. Woo. After the open call I headed to midtown for another call from Talent Models, which was sketchy as shit, but hey, at least I know now. On my way back home I ran into what will be Crissy's costume for Hair, which made me very happy. I got a call from Maggie to come and meet her in Queens at a practice for a new band-type endeavor, which includes a boy who has been inquiring after me. I went. I met. He's cute. Maggie and I leave Astoria and head back to SpaHa for pasta and leaf spinnach, girl talk with linz, and more planning of the groovy revolution.

Thursday is another Hair rehearsal, this time with new musical director, Peter, and a great deal of naked parachute playing. Thursday also features a business lunch with John Gallagher, which puts me a bit more at ease about the future of my career. I also chat briefly with Jim Rado before we begin rehearsal, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. yay. Before we head out for the night, Kai, Katie and I plan to trek to Coney Island the next morning. Mags and I, Helen and Adam, and Linz and Logan all head down to the pub for pints and late-night dinner. I realize that Maggie and I are kind of a couple. I'm cool with that. We head back uptown far too late for my planned early-morning brooklyn beach extravaganza, but I figure, what the hell.

Friday kicked ass. I did make it to Coney Island with Kai, and we had a kick ass time eating Nathan's hot dogs, lying on the beach, and taking in the mystique that is the Coney. We head home before rehearsal, I make a detour to Reproductions to pick up a photo cd, have some mango gelatto in bryant park, and go home to clean up before rehearsal. By this point I've developed a pretty bitchin' sunburn. Don't worry. It was gone by saturday. We rehearse, which includes staging the be-in, which I ADORE. We go out for drinks at FUBAR of all places, and I make it home happy as a clam, and to find that I've been asked out by cute boy from queens on wednesday. Life is good.

Saturday finds me in the park, drinking a little beer, smoking a little pot, trying to embody the hippie ideals. However, it's a little cold, and Katie and I decide to give up the ghost in favor of sweatshirts and GROM, the UWS gelatto hotspot. It's worth the wait in line. As she and I are standing there, trying to savor the flavor but still eat the stuff before it melts, I get a call from The Boy, whom I haven't heard from in close to two weeks. I tell him I can't talk now, I've got my hands full of gelatto. Katie and I part ways, and I return his call. We decide that we've reached a similar conclusion - we shall not talk any more this summer. That's good with me. I wish him well and hang up. Sit on a bench on the eastern edge of the park for a few minutes before I head home. I get another call - this one from the cute new boy, wanting to meet me that night. As I'm trying to call him back, I get another call from The Boy. What? Isn't this contrary to the nature of the newly formed agreement? He is apologizing. I tell him I'm not mad. And that he should leave me alone now. And goodbye, again. I make plans to meet cute new boy from queens (heretofore: CNBfQ) before heading to the HAIR sleepover planned for that evening.

Date with CNBfQ is fantastic. We share common theatrical interestes, which is really nice, being that mine are a bit strange. We have a good time, good conversation, and before I know it one drink has turned into 4 and I'm REALLY late for this party. And my phone is ringing. I'm expecting Maggie, wondering where the hell I am, but NOOOOOOO, it's a drunk-dial from The Boy. He seems shocked when I tell him I can't talk (again, nature of the agreement) because I'm on a date. "A what?". A date. You know, when you take someone out to get to know them better? Date. You should try it, Boy. CNBfQ and I end up making a very late appearance at the party, and making out on various SpaHa streetcorners. I agree to see him again monday.

Today I woke up hungover as all shit and wallered until about 1:30. I also have a mysterious sore spot on my forehead, as though I fell or smacked into something, but I definitely don't remember that happening. It feels like it's gonna be a bruise, but for the life of me I don't know what from. I saw a matinee of a few friend's new company's show. I watched the Tony's. I felt inspired. I found out that Avenue Q has auditions...tomorrow. I figure I'm not ready. Maybe I'll try my hand tuesday.

I feel good. Good things are happening. The universe is bringing me some pretty bad-ass energy right now. And I dig it.

The Home Stretch

"I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York, and maybe as strange."

"Bride" opened Sunday to overwhelmingly positive feedback. Final scenes will wrap up tomorrow morning. The fam flies in for the closing night/mother's day/graduation extravaganza tomorrow afternoon. I'm in my bed crying over the conclusion of second year. We have entered the home stretch.

The year seems to be ending with just as much emotion and fervor as it began.

The play. The play. Oh, God, the play. It's good. Really. I'm surprised and flattered and floored by the responses I've been getting from the last few performances. It hasn't even felt quite real to me yet. It will tomorrow. It will feel real when my parents and my brother are sitting in that audience seeing what it is that I've been doing all these years. Not since Summer and Smoke have I been so thrilled to have them see something I've done. It's really me up there. It's me, pouring all that I am and all that I have into a role that I still can't completely believe they handed to me. The playwright came to the show last night. He was very impressed with our work, and talked to us for a long stretch of time about how well we had done. He said, "and Grace. Grace. Well, your work was fantastic. You really got this character. The play is on Grace's shoulders. If you don't have a Grace that gets it, you don't have a play. You've done so well with her." Wow. Thank you. I am loving this play. I am loving playing this part. I am going to be sad to put it to bed come friday. Very sad indeed.

The first year has come of age with the completion of their final scenes. C-group will wrap up tomorrow. And that's that. I'm more nervous for them to get asked back than I was for myself. I suppose because I sort of KNEW in my heart that I would be back. I have grown close to so many of them, and I want the best for them all. But, I have no idea how they're going to do when those infamous letters hit the mailbox. I haven't seen their work. There are some that I can tell instinctively will be fine, like the boy, but others are not so cut and dry. I just hope for the best, and hope that they've had as enlightening and life-changing a year as I did when I was a first year.

I can't think about this anymore, this ending thing. I can't write about it anymore. I hate to be any more dramatic than I already am, but to be perfectly honest, I feel like my heart is breaking. Is that completly ridiculous or completely understandable? It hurts. God in heaven, does it hurt. I just wish I knew how to make it stop.

I'm really doing that...

Come see me do the doing. You know you wanna.

And for the record, Canadians can't spell "Reagan."

Spring, sprang, sprung.

"Here I am, baby
come and take me!"
I didn't realize it until about ten minutes ago, but for the last few weeks I actually FORGOT that I had this blog. Really. With good reason, I assure you. The final push of the nei-play experience is upon me, and it is taking everything it possibly can out of me. This will probably be a long and meandering romp through the wild world of just what I've been up to lately. Bear with me. Also, feel free to bare with me. I bet some nude therapy would do me good about now.

"I was meant to tread these boards,
of this much I am certain."
So now, here we are, midnight on saturday, and socializing is the furthest thing from my mind. I'm in bed with my most reliable companion, the laptop, listening to "Hernando's Hideaway", and trying to decompress from the epic rehearsal that just ended. Why, I ask you, do I even have that song on my Itunes? Ok. It's over. Back to the point. Epic rehearsals. Epic. EPIC. The previously mentioned lead role in The Bride of Olneyville Square, while extremely flattering, has also been extremely difficult, extremely exhausting, and at times, extremely frustrating. God, I love what I do. How many people get to go to work and rip themselves to shreds for 8 to 12 hours a day? I'm glad I'm one of them. Granted, it would be much easier to do if it were rationed into a bit less epic bites, but such is the nature of the beast. This is one mammoth motherfucker of a play, and the demands upon the actors in this play are correspondingly mammoth. It's going to be so fucking good. I just have to do some major self-assuring to allow myself to actually get where our fearless director wants me to be. I'm almost there. Almost. Tomorrow's much needed day off will hopefully afford me the luxury of digesting a bit more of the script, the character, the world of the play, and letting it really really sink into me. So yeah, it's hard right now. I cry when I shouldn't and don't cry when I should, and he yells at me like I'm some kind of goddamned moron several times in each rehearsal, but he also tells me - "That's it, baby. That's it." And somewhere in there, I'm not so worried anymore.

"I'd give anything not to feel so jagged."
So this play has taken over my life. That is completely wonderful for my artistic growth, and completely shitty for my practical survival. There is no way in hell that I could be playing this role, with this schedule, and working at the same time. Conseqently, I currently have fourteen dollars in my bank account. Ouch. Also, it seems that everyone else at the nei-play has all of this free time to be running around auditioning, shooting films, meeting agents and whatnot. I don't. And what's more, even if I wanted to, nobody's calling me. I'm not complaining at all about the lack time. But the lack of calls? I'm fucking good at this, and I'm fucking cute as hell. Call me, goddamn it. I can solve your problem. Is there something wrong with my damn pictures? I'm supposed to be auditioning for Spring Awakening in a week. I haven't got music, I haven't worked with a vocal coach, I haven't got a piano track. What I do have, is rehearsal that day. Fantastic.

"I Listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul
where I'll end up, well I think only God really knows."
So no, I'm not out there pounding the hell out of the pavement like some of my classmates seem to be. So I'm feeling a bit like I'm getting buried already. However, I also feel that at this point my energy is better directed into the Real Theatre Company, into Hair, into the future of what I would like to be a life-long endeavor. I feel it. I'm excited and passionate about the company, and about collaborating with Maggie, with whom I see eye to eye. I'm thrilled about PG, and all that could be. I'm feeling a bit like whatever I can dream up can actually be accomplished. This seems to be aligned with all of those things that I've always wanted out of a life in the theatre. Thank you, universe.

"Shed a little light, oh Lord."
I miss Pinter. I had a nice conversation with him on Thursday, and felt renewed after it. There are moments in every rehearsal when I wish I had a little Pinter on my shoulder to tell me how to "go in the back door" of a moment to really make it work for me. I guess I'm supposed to be at that point on my own now. Right. Get there, Sessoms.

"Just one look at you, and I know it's gonna be
a lovely day"
Spring has FINALLY sprung around here. It had damn well better be staying around. Today I got out of bed, put on my bikini, and dragged my script and a beach towel up to the roof for a couple of hours. Now I'm blessedly pink, and my depression at the hands of the lingering winter is lifting. After my tar-beach morning, I showered up, and walked the two miles to school for rehearsal. Lovely day. Just lovely.

'"There's a reason to the rhyming of
your heart's desire."
There's still that whole boy thing, but there's a different me in the mix now. This me is in control of the situation, and not participating in any of the bullshit that could possibly accompany the boy. This has recently become simpler, as the other girlfriend/ex-girlfriend/girlfriend/ex-girlfriend situation seems to have finally reached resolution. However, I am reluctant to hop back into anything with this boy. Not while I'm working. Not while I only have 3 weeks left here at the nei-play. Not while I've spent the ENTIRE year going back and forth with him. No matter how much I might miss him - which, for the record, is immensely - I feel like I need to hold off for awhile longer. This one has put me through the ringer, that's for certain. (Is it ringer, or wringer? I was wondering that earlier.) Nevertheless, I am feeling very good about him now. About the possibilites, about how everything seems to be settling down, about the unfaltering trust I have in my gut. Fuck it, it's springtime and I've got that fluttery feeling about him. Why not just enjoy it, right?

"Intuition tells me how to live my day
Intuition tells me when to walk away
could've turned left but I turned right
and I ended up here back in the middle
of a real life."

Beginnings and Endings

It seems like everything I'm doing these days is one or the other.

I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my magical, mystical, practical, physical two years at the Nei-Play will be OV-AH in the blink of an eye. I did the last scene of second year with Hugh on thursday. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Holy Hell. During the critique, Pinter says to me: "Laura, you can play this role NOW. You have to play this role. Go find the audition. Do it. You can do this," and I swell with a pride, a sense of self-worth that I cannot begin to describe. My classmates filter out of the room, and I am left, cleaning up my props, tearing up at the thought of the whole thing ending, with Maggie. And she and I sit down right there and weep, bawl, gnash teeth. Because it really is that sad. It is. The following day marks our last scheduled class with pinter, for which we have prepared gifts and an elaborate and beautiful nude scrapbook. He talks, and we listen. We cry. He cries. He takes care of some preliminary business, before pausing for a moment to look at us and say: "I'm so sad." That is the end of it for all of us. There is no turning back. He thanks us for being supportive enough for him to feel ok saying "I don't know." He doesn't know the last time he's had a class that he respects that much. It is a tearful ending, giving way to many many new beginnings.

The showcase has likewise come to an end, and was an incredible success. No broken friendships, no major arguments, huge industry turnout, overwhelmingly positive response for my scenes in particular, and even a call! Just one for now, but I'd be willing to bet there are more on the way. So it's over. Yay.

Speech class will be ending Thursday, with a Ramsey-esque flourish of Shakespeare monologues. Mine is one of the more understated, but I think it will be good. I have been directed to strive for "y'know, TOTAL breakdown." Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. Nothing like working for a trumped-up result.

Ballet never ends. Ever.

But other things begin, and begin beautifully.

We began final plays today. I have somehow (which I have yet to wrap my mind around) managed to land the lead role in this AMAZING play directed by Ron Stetson. I couldn't be more flattered. There will be far more details on this experience as the rehearsal process continues. But i'm all aflutter. What a challenge. I can't believe they have this much faith in me....

Hair rehearsals continue today, with almost a full cast. We begin to STAGE SCENES, and BECOME A TRIBE, and Maggie comes more and more into her own each time we meet. I can't believe the energy that surrounds this production. The overwhelming positivity, the way the fates continue to deliver just what it needs, it is all so inspiring and invigorating. I wish I could will my own hair to grow, so as not to spend the experience in a wig, but if that's what I have to do, I fucking will.

Life is beginning. Real life. And it's good. It is so good.

Things with the boy are in a constant state of flip-flop between BEGINNING and ENDING. I have decided I want them to be only BEGINNING, so that is all I will be participating in. I can only think about this positively, because I have too much faith to think otherwise. And what good is negativity doing me anyway? This phase of my life is the beginning of the ending of negativity. Why put more toxicity into the world? I love. I know I love. I know how to love, and I have an unlimited supply of love to give. Don't try to dodge it, boy. Do what you have to do, but know that in about 5 minutes, you're going to miss me. Why? Because I am phenomenal. Don't try to ignore it, you'll drive yourself crazier than you already tend to be. Don't fight the fates. You can't win.

Things are good. Every day is the best day of my life. I mean, why not? Right?

"i got chip on my shoulder and a halo on my head
i'm an angel with an attitude and my favorite color's red
i got god on my side, "who's that?", "hell, i don't know"
gonna practice my religion while i'm stepping on your toes."

The Showcase Beast...

...has eaten my soul. It will all be over tomorrow, and my discipleship at the Temple of Art under the Oracle Pinter will be over on Friday. I'm none too pleased about the latter. The class has been dealing with our collective saddness by running about the school at all hours of the night taking scandalous photos of eachother. Nude therapy.

Things on the boy front are sufficiently on hold, as of last monday. I can't focus the amount of energy on the situation that I had previously devoted anymore. So, that's that. I trust my intuition, focus my thoughts on what I want, and trust the way of the world to smooth everything out.

Expect a far more detailed post in the not too distant future.

"Yes, yes, we're magicians."

Mags and my scene from Waiting for Godot went swimingly. I had the most fun rehearsing it and working on it in class that I've had working on any of my scenes during my playhouse tenure. I wish we had pictures, because we looked fucking fantastic. Well, we did at the beginning. By the end of the thing, I was so sweat-soaked and narsty that I don't think I could have looked at myself in the mirror. Not to mention that the both of us were covered in black glitter. What kind of a costume shop doesn't sell plain old black bowlers? We were left with two options, black or silver plastic glittery bowlers. We chose black. In retrospect, given Pinter's allusion to "One...singular sensation", we should have just gone balls out and gotten the silver ones.

I think there are several reasons that I felt so at ease in this scene. First, I was working with my closest friend at the playhouse, and someone with whom I share a very very similar artistic aesthetic. Second, I was working on material that leaves much much much more up to the actors' imaginations that a normal playhouse scene would. Third, I wasn't doing realism, I was doing something that (based on my "artistic upbringing") is more familar to me. I feel much more at home in the Theatre of the Absurd than I do almost anywhere else.

So, absurdism. It makes me happy. The scene was a blast. We're going to figure out a way to do the whole show. We're going to beg Pinter to direct it, and hope against hope that he'll say yes. We're going to put some interesting work out into the world between the two of us, that's for damn sure. For now, it's time to start on a new scene. I'm bringing it full circle with Hugh, my very first scene partner, and taking it back to the reason I ended up here in the first place, Mr. Tennesee Williams. That's right folks, Laura and Hugh become Maggie and Brick, before your very eyes. Wish us luck.

Things on the boy front have settled a bit. By which I mean, I've calmed the fuck down a bit. My hostility and refusal to speak to/smile at/make eye contact with him tuesday and wednesday was whole-heartedly unappreciated. It amazes me how much things like that affect him. I've noticed it all year. It's as though all I have to do is say to myself "Ignore the boy today", and he immediately senses something is wrong and is all over me to fix it. This time, being a bigger problem, resulted in a bigger conversation, and ultimately in me letting him have it more than I ever have. And he took it. Because I was right. I was awakened last night, about an hour into sleep, by a very sweet, heartfelt and apologetic phonecall from him. A brief but intimate conversation today ended with:

Me - "Are we ok?"
Him - "Yeah. Well...no, not yet. But we will be."
Me - "You promise?"
Him - "We're going to be fine. I promise."

I'm going to figure out this whole "visualization" thing, retain my faith in what I know is right, keep lighting candles and thinking positively, and before we know it, everything should be trucking right along.

"Every night I read this novel about you
Holding roses in the pouring rain
But the ending's tore up, trying to hail a cab
Think no one can read you, but I can"