Dear Stephen Daldry,
A year ago today, my catterwalling sounds during Skid Row caught your attention and you bought drinks for Jason and I at my very first musical monday. It opened a door to a place that is my escape, my favorite night of the week, the chance for a couple of hours to be the fiery starlet I always wished I could have been, belting as high as I can. A place that has given me a reason not to repeat dresses, to delineate between gay pretty and straight pretty, a reason to find my pretty again, and many new friends and smiles and misadventures-- home base. And it all started with you, Mr. Daldry. (Your work is pretty epic too. I looooved The Hours.)
Love,
me
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Things that Make Me Feel Better When I'm Sick
1.) My mom's chicken and rice. It always involves potatoes and those little starry shaped noodles. And her chicken is just always so much better than the way mine turns out when I try to make it. The ultimate in comfort food: made with love, consumed for the soul and spirit with mommy care in every tiny grain of rice.
2.) Daisies. Such friendly flowers. Extra points if you know where that came from, because the source material would be on this list if the DVD were not missing in action.
3.) My copy of Eclipse that Cory annotated for me. I almost always revisit it when I'm feeling under the weather and his short notes in the margins and long notes in the back cover make me feel just like he's not across an ocean and here to give hugs.
4.) A cup of Earl Grey, with a splash of milk and a little bit of honey. I'm certain that most of the world's problems could be solved with a cup of tea in the afternoon.
5.) Surprise sick day visits from people who love you enough to brave your germs to come keep you company. Even the kind of visitors that stay generally out of the way of your personal space to try to stay not sick, but still talk and watch movies and bring things for cheer and comfort (including bot not limited to food, gatorade, orange juice, films, books, magazines, bits of gossip, etc.)
6.) Coloring. Seriously. When bed bound, I have been known to bust out the crayons and my Princess coloring book and color away. Maybe it's because I feel like I'm 7 and useless when I'm sick?
7.) NyQuil Comas. I feel like this is self-explanatory.
8.) The lotion-y tissues. They don't destroy your nose when you have to blow it a hundred times an hour.
9.) Reading new books/ watching new movies and tv shows. It's always a little escape to see or do something new which is always lovely.
On that note, it's back to bed with sniffles and a cough for me :( I think you know what that means...^^^
2.) Daisies. Such friendly flowers. Extra points if you know where that came from, because the source material would be on this list if the DVD were not missing in action.
3.) My copy of Eclipse that Cory annotated for me. I almost always revisit it when I'm feeling under the weather and his short notes in the margins and long notes in the back cover make me feel just like he's not across an ocean and here to give hugs.
4.) A cup of Earl Grey, with a splash of milk and a little bit of honey. I'm certain that most of the world's problems could be solved with a cup of tea in the afternoon.
5.) Surprise sick day visits from people who love you enough to brave your germs to come keep you company. Even the kind of visitors that stay generally out of the way of your personal space to try to stay not sick, but still talk and watch movies and bring things for cheer and comfort (including bot not limited to food, gatorade, orange juice, films, books, magazines, bits of gossip, etc.)
6.) Coloring. Seriously. When bed bound, I have been known to bust out the crayons and my Princess coloring book and color away. Maybe it's because I feel like I'm 7 and useless when I'm sick?
7.) NyQuil Comas. I feel like this is self-explanatory.
8.) The lotion-y tissues. They don't destroy your nose when you have to blow it a hundred times an hour.
9.) Reading new books/ watching new movies and tv shows. It's always a little escape to see or do something new which is always lovely.
On that note, it's back to bed with sniffles and a cough for me :( I think you know what that means...^^^
Gratitude
I'm eternally grateful for the incredible people in my life who love me and listen to me and hug me and give me tissues to dry my tears and pep talks when I'm down and celebrate all of my little wins with me.
Gratitude is the greatest gift you can give someone; a true and honest emotion. I started thanking people in this blog at a time when gratitude was the only thing I felt I didn't have to lie about. I was miserable and pretending to be happy, angry masquerading as peaceable, jovial. It reminded me how to truly feel something the way it should be felt and share the way something like gratitude should be shared.
Even now that I'm a slightly more happy and well-adjusted person, when there are days like today, I'm reminded of that time and reminded all over again that I don't know how I would have possibly made it from point a to point f without the influence, interference, love, guidance, support, and blessings that the people around me have brought to my life.
Thanks, even when there are tears and it seems a little harder to breathe, for big and small things, always always always.
Gratitude is the greatest gift you can give someone; a true and honest emotion. I started thanking people in this blog at a time when gratitude was the only thing I felt I didn't have to lie about. I was miserable and pretending to be happy, angry masquerading as peaceable, jovial. It reminded me how to truly feel something the way it should be felt and share the way something like gratitude should be shared.
Even now that I'm a slightly more happy and well-adjusted person, when there are days like today, I'm reminded of that time and reminded all over again that I don't know how I would have possibly made it from point a to point f without the influence, interference, love, guidance, support, and blessings that the people around me have brought to my life.
Thanks, even when there are tears and it seems a little harder to breathe, for big and small things, always always always.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Fear
I'm afraid of very many things.
Spiders, thunderstorms, broken hearts, reading my own writing out loud, scary movies. Like a little girl, I scream; I cry. I shake and shiver in my shoes as the prickles move up and down my arms, my palms start to sweat.
When I know I have to read my writing out loud in front of people, I almost always throw up. And I'm stuck in the dread of waiting waiting waiting waiting and then trying to steady my breath, my voice into a normal sound to read the words that are writtentypedscrawled across the page and then deal with the shaking after I've finished.
(Why are you afraid?)
I fear. I fear many things. I fear much of the time. But why? What is it that makes me paralyzed, stricken, stuck to my spot? What creates the stasis, keeps me from chasing down my dreams with every single breath left in my body?
Is it a fear of failing? We learn best from mistakes, so why shouldn't I want to strengthen myself in trying.
Is it a fear of flying? There's not always shame in running away, in cutting your losses and calling it quits.
I don't know. I don't know why I'm afraid. But at every turn, I feel the panicky awful thoughts creeping into my head that I'm running out of time for this and that and that the chances are passing me by to go here and see that and kiss that stranger. Sometimes, I'm even afraid to be happy. It's like I didn't do anything to deserve the moments and blessings and bounty of incredible people I'm surrounded by. I'm afraid to take a chance on this or that because I'm afraid of feeling the way having my whole life turned topsy turvy felt like again.
I'm fearful of fear itself. Fear is dangerous. It holds you back and all I want to do is run run run and fly and go everywhere and do everything and meet everyone. A year and a half ago, I didn't want anything. And then everything changed and now I'm this girl that wants everything. I want the world and I want to be incredible. How can you be incredible when you are afraid?
And mostly though, I'm afraid I'll never figure out happily ever after. Perhaps I'll buy the last dogeared marginaliad copy of Crime and Punishment at the wrong bookstore instead of the one where I was supposed to bump casually into the man of my dreams. Maybe I'll never see the world. Maybe I won't finish my collection of essays or ever have it published. Maybe I'll be stuck in a dead end job, maybe I'll never know exactly how it is that I'm supposed to do great things. And I think that's terrifying. I'm terrified of losing sight of my dreams, my big, lofty dreams and my tiny pleasures and goals and lists. I'm terrified that I won't be able to make it around the world and write about everything that crosses my path. I'm terrified I'll get my heart crushed into a million pieces again. I'm afraid I'll never be comfortable in my body; that I'll never feel as beautiful as you made me feel a really long time ago. I'm afraid I will never figure out how to let all of it go. I'm afraid I won't be able to tell this person how I'm feeling. I'm afraid of being vulnerable, of letting people too far into my deepest and darkest corners of my heart. I'm afraid of where honesty gets you and I'm afraid I've been pretending I'm ok for so long that I'm not going to actually know when I finally am.
I know you can't let fear rule you. And so I try. I make myself move, I dare myself. I smile, listen to too much Katy Perry, consult mantras and happy people and try to just fight back against being scared.
Unless there's a thunderstorm and then I'm under covers, hiding.
Until I figure out how to be fearless, like I'd like to be.
Spiders, thunderstorms, broken hearts, reading my own writing out loud, scary movies. Like a little girl, I scream; I cry. I shake and shiver in my shoes as the prickles move up and down my arms, my palms start to sweat.
When I know I have to read my writing out loud in front of people, I almost always throw up. And I'm stuck in the dread of waiting waiting waiting waiting and then trying to steady my breath, my voice into a normal sound to read the words that are writtentypedscrawled across the page and then deal with the shaking after I've finished.
(Why are you afraid?)
I fear. I fear many things. I fear much of the time. But why? What is it that makes me paralyzed, stricken, stuck to my spot? What creates the stasis, keeps me from chasing down my dreams with every single breath left in my body?
Is it a fear of failing? We learn best from mistakes, so why shouldn't I want to strengthen myself in trying.
Is it a fear of flying? There's not always shame in running away, in cutting your losses and calling it quits.
I don't know. I don't know why I'm afraid. But at every turn, I feel the panicky awful thoughts creeping into my head that I'm running out of time for this and that and that the chances are passing me by to go here and see that and kiss that stranger. Sometimes, I'm even afraid to be happy. It's like I didn't do anything to deserve the moments and blessings and bounty of incredible people I'm surrounded by. I'm afraid to take a chance on this or that because I'm afraid of feeling the way having my whole life turned topsy turvy felt like again.
I'm fearful of fear itself. Fear is dangerous. It holds you back and all I want to do is run run run and fly and go everywhere and do everything and meet everyone. A year and a half ago, I didn't want anything. And then everything changed and now I'm this girl that wants everything. I want the world and I want to be incredible. How can you be incredible when you are afraid?
And mostly though, I'm afraid I'll never figure out happily ever after. Perhaps I'll buy the last dogeared marginaliad copy of Crime and Punishment at the wrong bookstore instead of the one where I was supposed to bump casually into the man of my dreams. Maybe I'll never see the world. Maybe I won't finish my collection of essays or ever have it published. Maybe I'll be stuck in a dead end job, maybe I'll never know exactly how it is that I'm supposed to do great things. And I think that's terrifying. I'm terrified of losing sight of my dreams, my big, lofty dreams and my tiny pleasures and goals and lists. I'm terrified that I won't be able to make it around the world and write about everything that crosses my path. I'm terrified I'll get my heart crushed into a million pieces again. I'm afraid I'll never be comfortable in my body; that I'll never feel as beautiful as you made me feel a really long time ago. I'm afraid I will never figure out how to let all of it go. I'm afraid I won't be able to tell this person how I'm feeling. I'm afraid of being vulnerable, of letting people too far into my deepest and darkest corners of my heart. I'm afraid of where honesty gets you and I'm afraid I've been pretending I'm ok for so long that I'm not going to actually know when I finally am.
I know you can't let fear rule you. And so I try. I make myself move, I dare myself. I smile, listen to too much Katy Perry, consult mantras and happy people and try to just fight back against being scared.
Unless there's a thunderstorm and then I'm under covers, hiding.
Until I figure out how to be fearless, like I'd like to be.
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