Confidential to Zach Sorry

Confidential to Zach

Sorry I couldn’t talk at work. I have a boss right next to me who listens to everything I say. You know how it is, what with being an assistant and all. But thank you for calling and brightening up my otherwise dull and useless afternoon! Today, you are my sunshine.

Also, I’m sorry you’re still sick. I am too. My soup offer is still open.

Genxscope (by astrology.com) Stop being

Genxscope (by astrology.com)
Stop being so glum, Sag! Look around you. You have a lot to be thankful for. Spend some time with supportive friends until you regain your confidence.

Sick, again. Zach is also

Sick, again. Zach is also sick. Hi, Zach. Care to join me for some soup?

feel like i’m swimming through my day, everything viewed through a haze of chlorinated sludge, light trying to break through, slippery and weightless and heavy and backwards and upside-down, trying to breathe, can’t decide which way is up, head weighs too much, throat too dry to cry out, water water everywhere and not a drop to drink …

Hate being sick at work. Hate having people guilt trip me about how I’m going to make THEM sick when they’d just be pissed off if I actually took a sick day. Hate feeling helpless and hopeless and lost and stupid because of my drunken sick-stupor. Hate looking incompetent. Hate letting people down. Hate not living up to how Meaghan did this job, when she worked at the speed of light and never even took her LUNCH hour. Hate feeling guilty for taking my lunch hour. Hate the skin peeling off my nose from too much blowing. Hate the sick-headache. Hate the watery eyes. Hate the heavy head. Hate the runny, clogged, contradiction-nose. Hate bloody hands which have gone to shit because I’ve been too stressed out recently to care for them. Hate comfy, comfy bed which is currently calling to me. Hate responsibility. Hate stupid family situation. Hate stupid economic situation. Hate stupid housing situation. Hate stupid dog situation. Hate everything which makes my life here seem like it would be really nice to just walk away from. Hate distractions from my dreams. Hate stupid cold-lisp which makes me say “I hab a code id by dose”. Hate chapped lips. Hate doing things stupidly. Hate being in limbo. Hate it that my life is bad in more ways right now than it has ever been before. Hate it that my life is also good (or on the verge of good) right now in more ways than it has ever been before. Hate not knowing whether I hate or love my life.

Horoscope (by astrocenter.com) Your current

Horoscope (by astrocenter.com)
Your current astral skies force you to undertake one of the hardest exercises of confidence there is. Your life has been so tossed about lately that you may yearn only for the security of landing on your feet, with little heed to where you land. Give more thought to your landing pad, dear dear Sagittarius, and you will find that your life changes in amazing new ways…

Well, it’s Monday again. I

Well, it’s Monday again. I have no school shows, which means no children to count. I have a boss in a meeting, so no boss to impress. I have a moment or two to spare where someone isn’t looking over my shoulder and wondering why I’m not being productive.

Pretty fleeting, wasn’t it?

I (heart) Kant is taking over my entire life. When I’m asleep, I’m dreaming of the line notes I should’ve sent out before bed. When I’m at work - and I’m supposed to be thinking about children - I’m pondering ways the attempted-sex-with-girl-who’s-just-passed-out-from-too-much-heroin scene could be better. As I’m forcing the too-hot-but-I’ll-drink-it-anyway SCT kitchen coffee down my throat, I’m wondering what kind of juice will look most like white wine, and which type of gatorade will look most like bile. Also, what kind of potato chips did people eat in 1992? Where does Gary go after which scene, and which hat does he take off and which string does he pull and am I going to be able to get a red helium ballon that will stay aloft for three days straight? And how the hell am I going to be able to remove the stuffed cat’s head and re-attach it at a proper angle? I need a nap. The weekend, sadly, did not provide that.

The weekend did, however, provide us with a little flood. Our bedroom window leaked, and our mattress became, as one friend so eloquently put it, our apartment’s tampon. Much chaotic excitement ensued, and the end of this story is that we’re going to have to throw away our mattress. Don’t feel too bad for us, though - we stole it from the “shit I don’t want anymore - do you?” vestibule in the basement of our building where old furniture goes to die. Now, it’s just squooshy and makes funny noises and drips onto our carpet.

Because of said ickyflood, we were late for the Jorgensen bash as well. And here, I need to pay a little homage to afore-mentioned wise tampon-friend. Awhile ago, he posted something that pretty much exactly described the way I feel at parties. This one was a little different, but much of the sentiment still applied. There were a lot of people I knew and loved there, but there were a sufficient percentage of people I’d never seen before to just make me shut down. Truth be told, I’m really NOT an outgoing person, and big old groups of unfamiliar faces just turns me into a total gibbering schmuck. So, Ms. Pratt and I held court on the porch for awhile, because if we sat there and smoked for long enough, people we knew and loved kept cycling out to the porch, where we would grasp them in our greedy little clutches until they were finished smoking, and the cycle would begin again. I know it’s Gillian and Erin’s house now, and it looks so so beautiful, and it makes me happy to go there to visit the Gilly, but at the same time, I still get these weird pangs when I go there. You know, those weird little heart-pangs that sort of make your chest tighten and your brow knit, and you say to yourself “Oh. A pang.” There’s a part of me that still gets sad going there, because I instantly flash back to every time I went over there to snuggle on the couch with Meaghan and drink tea and watch Buffy, and it takes a moment for that to go away. For one reason or another, the combination of these things was enough to keep me on the porch, and for my part I enjoyed that a great deal. I guess it takes awhile for that sort of thing to go away.

Difficult position averted. I

Difficult position averted. I called and said “Hey, listen. I took this house on the promise that I would get to fill it with whoever I wanted. Now, you’ve stuck someone in there without consulting me, and I’m not okay with it. He can keep it as an office if he likes, but he can’t live there.” He, apparently, was not pleased - although Julie eventually understood my reasoning, I think. I told her, basically, that I’ve been sleeping in the same bed as a boy for the past four years. I’m kind of starting over, and I really feel like I need to surround myself with some positive female energy. I mean, most of my friends are boys. I’m hardly the kind of person to say “Hey, you! You with the penis! Either lose it or get the fuck out of my house!” but at the same time, I was promised that things would work a certain way, and I shouldn’t feel bad about insisting that the promise be kept. So. Once again, I’m in the market for two roommates.

This weekend was far better than most. First of all, Spin the Bottle always makes me disgustingly happy. I never really think I want to go, but then when I get there, I’m always really glad I got off my ass and went. Before STB, Bill and I met Stephen, Benlau, and Paul at Ballet. I’d never been part of this little ritual before, and the food was pretty good. Then, STB was wonderful. The rockstar Jorgensen sisters + Keira sang Erin’s song about being prostitutes (accompanied by accordion), Bruce Hall was his usual fabulous self, and Ivory Smith sang. She was a complete surprise - you see a tall, blonde, willowy-looking woman walk in with her hair semi-feathered and her tummy sticking out and you develop a very specific image in your mind of what her singing is going to sound like - especially when she drags in the Rhodes piano that sounds vaguely like something you’d hear someone playing in the background at Friday Night Bingo. I was completely shocked - and had one of those moments that I had when Ana Saskia sang at STB for the first time. I so enjoy being pleasantly surprised, and it so rarely happens. Anyway, Ivory is singing at the Coffee Messiah - right near my apartment - the night Bill leaves, so maybe that’s where I’ll go after I get my tattoo. (Gillian and Zach asked if they could come with me - do people just enjoy watching others experience pain? I really don’t mind having people around - it’ll be fun to have them there, and I guess it’ll be an educational experience.) Speaking of which, Congratulations to Sarah on her beautiful new tattoo! It’s gorgeous, and she designed it herself.

Saturday I hung out with Bill. We wanted to wander around downtown. I thought the malls closed at 9, and so I didn’t feel too bad about spending time buying myself shoes at the Bon Marche. But, actually, everything closes at EIGHT, and so I felt like a schmuck for not letting him do anything he wanted to do. To make up for it, I agreed to go see whatever movie he wanted to see (which is a dangerous proposition, as we could not differ MORE on what movies we want to see.) So, he picks Panic Room, which was probably the one movie I least wanted to see. Seriously. At the beginning of the movie, I tell Bill that I have to go to the bathroom, but I’m going to wait until after the previews (which I love). My original intent was to play that bathroom break for as long as humanly possible … however, after a few minutes, I decided to hold it until after the movie was over. (Jason said that would be a great movie review - After seeing a few minutes of the movie, I decided NOT to pee until it was finished. That pretty much sums up how I felt about it.)

Still trying to find Bailey a home. It just gets more depressing every day.

So, SUNDAY. Company brunch Eatin’-Meetin’-Readin’ thing. I am Janine Jones (AGAIN), aka Rublah Dee, a 40 year old black lesbian witch. The play itself is alternately hilarious and touching and inane - the best part of which, for me, was Jaye “Superstar” Wilkinson as “Dammit Child”, the ten year old innocent (or, as Bruce said, “idiot”) savant with flaming red hair. Or, of course, Pamala screwing the tree. That was good too.

Later, we all went to a bonfire at Golden Gardens, which was such a good idea. (Kudos to Tricia/Jason for bringing it up!) I’d never done anything like that before - I’ve only been on a beach once at night, and that was just me and Bill in New Jersey. There were so many people there, with the hot dogs and the singing and the hip flasks and the cartwheels and the cowboy hats and the “exploding” bottles and the opinionated six-year-olds and the palate-surfing. It was wonderful, and really refreshed me and made me feel better about this whole “wtf is up with my life” thing. Highlights include SJ’s adorable little boy (whose name I don’t know how to spell, so I won’t even try) walking up to Sonya and saying - very seriously - “Um, I just thought you should know … your pants are falling down.” and then being VERY concerned when she didn’t seem to care. Later in the evening, when I was smoking and singing with SJ and Gillian and Stephanie, he walked right up to me, looked me right in the eye, said “I hate smoking.” and walked off. Don’t kids just say the darndest things?

There was another rather tragically beautiful hidden subplot within all of the bonfire magic, but I’m not going to blab that out here. It did heighten my awareness of the often delicate web which is our relationships with each other - but it certainly didn’t spoil the evening. It was just one of those things that I notice - first, as a friend - and then later, as a theatre person, in that “how touching and poignant” way. It all just added to the surreality of the whole situation. I’m still not used to that whole “water, water everywhere” thing. You can take a girl out of the midwest …

Made it to work early (by which I mean one MINUTE early) for the first time in WEEKS. Pretty damn good start to my week.

Hm. Difficult position. Current residents

Hm. Difficult position. Current residents of new house have had someone new move into the basement room. Originally, he just wanted to use it as an office, so he would only be around occasionally during the day, but he would still have been paying some of the rent, so that would have been okay with me. However, now he’s decided that he wants to LIVE there, and I don’t know that I’m so cool with that. I mean, okay. I’m sure he’s a nice guy. But after being told that I would be able to fill the house with whoever I wanted, I feel sort of bad that I may be put in the awkward position of saying “I’m sorry, but your friend can’t stay here. You said it was up to me, and I really want to live with women. If he wants it as an office, that’s fine … but I don’t want him living here.” I know that by all rights, I am ALLOWED to say this. However, just because I am the kind of person I am, I resent being put in the situation where I HAVE to say that. He may be very cool, and that’s fine. The problem is, I signed my name on the dotted line under the assumption that they would leave,and then the house would be mine. I am not so happy about this latest development.