Just Wow.

My black and white cat, Pepe, cries when he thinks there are no people around. I guess he's afraid of being abandoned. I understand that a bit myself. I'm 25 years old and I still feel that way sometimes. There are some things that we just don't grow out of, I guess.
I don't miss California, but I do miss the way things used to be. I miss the comforting knowledge that things were stable. It was a sad little lie, but it was infinitely comforting. I miss the people that were once all together, creating (yes, I do have that here, and it is v. comforting, but not quite the same), and working (and gossiping) in tandem. We all knew each other's secrets then, and knew each other maybe better than we knew ourselves.
And now we're all off in the Diaspora, floating on our own little islands with our own new circles, new communities of understanding. And we still want the same things, but we are maybe a bit disaffected, discouraged. It's a weird thing, this theatre community; it seems we start over fresh, too often, creating a falsified sense of intimacy in our minds as we jump into the next big thing, the next show. And when it's over, we're off again, the Diaspora calling, and we answering, diving in again, another show, another group, more false intimacy.
I'm not good at reaching out, at calling old friends, at keeping these cherished friendships alive. I'm terrified of rejection on some level, a failing of my own personality, perhaps. Partly too, it's hard because I have spent so much time running away from certain parts of my past -- the baggage that weights a person down -- that I have lost the ability to aptly communicate honestly with anyone any more.
It's not that I don't love the people here in Chicago, either. I do. But it's damned frustrating for an antisocial misanthrope to start afresh, again, in building new friendships, new connections. I can put on the act of being outrageous, talking freely about sex, love, comedically failed relationships, and the like, but in the end, I have revealed nothing too dear about myself. I won't tell you about the pain I've felt -- when my parents split up and my father told me my mom just wasn't very interesting, when I unsuccessfully (obviously) tried to off myself in high school during a severe bout of insomnia, when I accidentally drugged myself into a drunken stupor freshman year of college and what happened after. There's some dark shit for you.
Whether I like it or not, I am like my father in that I compartmentalize my life. Certain people know certain things about me, but others see me in a very different light. No one has all the facts. Maybe not even me.
I saw the first run-thru of Closer last night. It really fucked me up mentally, but I had a dinner date with an old friend from college afterwards, so I'm slowly dealing with how it affected me today. It's going to be a good show. I will see it on opening, but after that, I am booked solid through the rest of the run. I need to stay busy now for my own mental health. It's been a crazy and fucked up month. (But our 1 year anniversary was lovely.)

That is all.

Amazing

That is all.

Normal?

Somewhere in the last week and a half, I have gone into such an extreme tailspin that I have forgotten what normal might feel like. So many ups and downs (mostly downs). I am exhausted, but I cannot sleep. I have never wanted to get the hell out of here more that I do now. The cavalier attitudes, the absurd picture of GWB on the wall in the "library," the oppressive nature of it all... it's absolutely stifling. It's actually as if I can't breathe.
Somewhere in here, there used to be a sense of grouchy, self-deprecating humor... see this entry for a taste of said humor. Or this gem. If humor is what you're looking for, this is not the entry for you. I have none left. I've become terribly boring. And I totally miss Chicago. It's officially my home.

Maybe the worst part of all of this is the self-doubt aspect. What if I am wrong? What if I'm over-reacting? I hate feeling so alone. It's terrible up here in my head. I can't wait to get back to work so that I can be occupied with other more pressing matters. Goddamn it!!!!!!! Oh, yes, there are lovely bouts of severe uncontrollable anger, mixed in with crying over literally what seems to be nothing... as Bostonians are to honking horns, I am to the facial waterworks--at a mere moment's notice, I can turn these babies on. This family reunion should be fun! I just hope there's enough booze. It's gonna take some serious drinking to get through it. God help us all.

When I return to Chicago I will be better, promise. I'm just thoroughly ensconced in this mess right now, and I have no useful escape. It's really shitty. But I will conspire to return to my cynical, bitter, self-deprecating, bitchy, "fucking actors!," eye-rolling, grumpy, misanthropic self upon my return to the windy city. I can't wait. Seriously. I've got my bag all packed up in anticipation. It's going to be a long time until I return to CA. It's too hard now. And it's really going to suck after.

God, people, why are you reading this awful drivel? Seriously? If you are reading this, I am really doubting your sanity. My own is already really shaky... I am probably going to lose friends over this... it's so bad. Do yourself a favor and stop reading. Right now. Ok?

That is all.

Mere minutes left. I feel absolutely ill. Fuck him for making me feel like this.

Silent Sigh

I've been here not 5 days, and already I have made some interesting and frightening discoveries about the Geminis in my family. My immediate family. I don't know what to do. I have some very damning information about them both. Not that I want to hurt either of them or anything.... it's just that each in his/her own way is being very deceitful and now, I feel similarly because I am burdened with these secrets. I hate feeling like this.
I am sick from one particular discovery. I thought that we had moved past all this.

I guess I thought that people changed.

I was so wrong.

People don't change.

Alphonse Karr, a French writer, once said, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." The more things change, the more they stay the same. So many things have changed during the last decade in my life, and still certain themes persist.

I wish I could go back to not knowing. Ignorance was bliss.

And knowledge makes me use overused colloquialisms. Life is truly not fair.

I don't think I have the capacity to forgive anymore. I reached my threshold for forgiveness in December of 1999. Take a number... we're running about 7 years behind schedule and there's quite a line... you might want to bring a sack lunch.

And you wonder why I trust no one? This is one of the big reasons. I'll never trust him again.

Confidential to my two readers: if this doesn't make a whole lot of sense, I apologize. I'm discombobulated right now... apparently I'm no stronger at 25 than I was at 15. This is not a comforting notion.

That is all.

Oh, to be in So Cal.

Weird to be back here after nearly a year away. I hadn't seen my family (except my mom) in nearly a year, and I hadn't seen mountains in nearly a year. My parents' house is like the Winchester Mystery House.... always under construction. It's strange that it has always metamorphosed somewhat between my increasingly rarer visits. It's hard to see the house in which I grew up anymore. So much of that has been lost in the addition of new rooms, new decor, new furniture and carpet, even new toilets. This perpetual state of construction has been going on for nearly five years with no signs of slowing or stopping. It's frightening.
I'm not going to lie; I love my family and I love seeing them, but I hate being here. All of my demons are here, and it's always a fight in my head to be here. This is really and truly no longer my home, and it's weird to hear my parents tell me I should move closer to home, as my home is now Chicago, where I live.

Demon #1

Being in suburban Southern California, where I grew up, reminds me tremendously of the demons I tried to escape in college, and later the greater expanse of the country. I was literally running away from shit; tragically obvious, I know. But what else could I do? I was too cowardly then (and now) to face certain of those issues, those demons that even now haunt me in the night. Running away where they couldn't find me was preferable.
There is a person who used to live in town (don't know if this is still the case, hope fervently it's not) who I am very afraid of running into. You never want to revisit the people who damaged you a bit. I like to pretend that I'm a strong woman, but i might just crumple if I run into this person. It would be a combination of anger, rage, fear, bile: an overload. I've been dreading it ever since I found a note on my car two and a half years ago, taunting me, "Why aren't we frends enymore?" There was more but I'm seeing red recalling it. And yes, I spelled that verbatim. There is so much wrong with this statement, and no, I'm not sharing more than that with some strange large man in his underpants chillin' on the 'net at 3am in Kansas... if you really wanna know, get me drunk and ask me. Very simple.

Demon #2

Some people seem to find it funny that I once had acrylic nails and rarely left the house without some sort of makeup on. This is truly a reflection of where I come from. In my natural state, I soooo don't belong here. Took my sister shopping for a dress for her senior Homecoming dance today and remembered all this anew. Firstly, I just don't bother with makeup. I tell people it's because Bil's totally stuck with me anyway, so why bother, but it's a pain in the ass, it totally fucks up my skin, and I'd much rather apply makeup to someone else's face that I can see, than struggle to see my own face in a mirror sans glasses. Also, I'd rather leave that run-on sentence than repair it. So we go to this really high-end, expensive boutique with pushy salesladies who try to pretend that they're younger than they really are. So lame. They kept trying to get M. into these fancy (and pricey...like my half of the rent pricey) ill-begotten halter dresses. I'd try to help her tie the dress, and Pushy Saleslady Susan would push me out of the way in her efforts to make a sale. Had I been in $200 jeans, and a faux-vintage T instead of my fave Guster concert T and a pair of $4 thrift store Gap jeans, maybe she would have been nicer to me, but really I have the credit card, and the car keys... my sister can't get the $$$$ dress without me, no matter how much she begs.
There's a huge emphasis placed on appearance in this town. Nails, pores, hair, clothing. It seeps in and takes control of what might otherwise be perfectly lovely human beings. It turns them into catty horrible fashion robots who don't understand that wide-legged cropped pants make their short, fat legs look shorter and fatter. (I, too, have my catty moments.) I hate that people judge me this way. Mostly, I don't like being judged by people I don't really even know, and secondly, I dislike being judged based on such shallow grounds. It hardly seems kind or fair to me. Yes, I am an awkward, short, pimply twenty-something who hides behind my giant glasses. What's it to you? If you talked to me, I could explain to you that the '70's disco look did not, in fact involve tie-dye. At all. Really. I promise. Sigh. It's really OK. I'm quietly judging you back.

Demon #3

Early mornings and an order of sudden adult-onset ADD, with a side of narcolepsy, please! It's part of the process of cutting off the stimulants from my system. I have no attention span and worse, I am perpetually on the verge of napping wherever I go. I'm so tired that I'm actually nearly slurring my words. It's a bit like being drunk without the fun side effects. This, people, is the real reason that I have never successfully quit before. Because I'm deathly afraid of driving without the influence of my favorite stimulant on my body. No amount of caffeine can compete with my exhaustion. I get halfway through a story and get distracted and cannot for the life of me remember where to go from there... or even what I was just saying. It's disappointing.
My family believes that travel just makes me extremely weary. Little do they know.

Demon #4

oh, crap.... I'm two hours into the writing of this stupid little blog and I just realized that I still need to check all the doors (all 7 of them) and lock them..... be right back.......................
OK. I'm back. And i can't remember what I was going to write. But, god, I'm tired..... off to bed.

Also, FYI, in my dozing state, I have plenty of time to consider Taylor Hicks, which is decidedly a good thing.

That is all.