And now, for something totally different! I've recently stumbled upon a drinks series called "Neuro". Each one has a different effect. This is as close to alchemy as we're gonna get, folks. Tonight, I'll be testing "NeuroSleep".
9:54pm: I'm just cracking open my Neuro. I'm slightly tired already, but I could still go for hours. I have video games to watch, the internet...
10:13pm: Strong desire to eat his mini donuts. Unsure if this has anything to do with Neuro.
10:25pm: Mmm. Donuts.
10:54pm: Bed. Now. Bed now.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Love and Marriage
What is marriage? In my mother's most religious days, she once said that although her and my father weren't legally married, but that in God's eyes they were husband and wife(That didn't translate to the church, however, and they had to get married before she could become an official member). The idea was that they were living together, sharing a bed and finances, raising me, etc., and that in olden days those actions did constitute marriage without a ceremony.
So, now that my beautiful boy has decided that we should give up the pretense and consolidate our bedrooms, it has brought this old thought of my mother's to mind. What is marriage? Is it a ceremony that costs way too much money, or a state of being?
He and I live together, share the finances, and are faithful to each other. With this next big step- having our room rather than his or mine- I feel like I'm making a commitment. There's no big fancy wedding with horrible bridesmaid's dresses, but we're merging the last of our real separateness. I'm still in show-shock(the feeling that comes from being in the final stretch of a show, it's a mix of soreness, exhaustion, irritation, and satisfaction), so the situation itself hasn't been absorbed. This did only happen an hour ago, so...
So, now that my beautiful boy has decided that we should give up the pretense and consolidate our bedrooms, it has brought this old thought of my mother's to mind. What is marriage? Is it a ceremony that costs way too much money, or a state of being?
He and I live together, share the finances, and are faithful to each other. With this next big step- having our room rather than his or mine- I feel like I'm making a commitment. There's no big fancy wedding with horrible bridesmaid's dresses, but we're merging the last of our real separateness. I'm still in show-shock(the feeling that comes from being in the final stretch of a show, it's a mix of soreness, exhaustion, irritation, and satisfaction), so the situation itself hasn't been absorbed. This did only happen an hour ago, so...
Friday, November 22, 2013
Solidarity
"To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, for better and for worse".
Let us focus today on the "for better and for worse", because this past week has included both.
For the past month and a half, my sweetheart and I have been involved in a show at our local theatre. We both hate it, for a variety of reasons. It's last-minute, thrown together, and the director isn't quite the best at communication. It's been more stress than fun. And, frankly, the show just isn't that funny.
But of course, in my usual way, I have resolved to do my best with this show. I can't be crummy and expect the theatre to (eventually) let me direct, right? And, you know, the good of the show is the good of the theatre and so on...
He has no such feelings. In fact, he gives so few fucks, that he quit the show. An hour before we opened.
I'll give you a moment to pick your jaw off of the floor. Oh, yes. My beautiful bastard. Thursday, after a rather unpleasant final dress rehearsal, he admitted his feelings to me. He felt the show was a sinking ship, and that the whole group was a giant clique. What could I say? He wasn't wrong. I didn't take him too seriously, though-Surely, he wouldn't do that.
The next day, it became apparent that he meant it. he meant it a lot. He was joyously describing the look on everyone's face when they realized that he wasn't showing up.
It was a rough two hours before I went to the show. We had a long talk(not an argument, believe it or not). He explained his reasoning, and confessed that his only source of guilt was that everyone would assume that I was in on the plan.
There were tears. All mine. The majority of those two hours were spent with him telling me how much he loves me, and how sorry he is that he's doing something that's going to cause me so much stress, and me telling him that I understood, and I wasn't angry at him-that I was tired, and stressed, and worried about how I could look these people in the eyes and tell them there would be no show. My dear friend Tony Snark(whom we kind of.. forgot for awhile)livetweeted the entire thing. Read from the bottom up, because that's apparently how Twitter works?
Ignoring the AWFUL pun in the beginning, he did highlight my favorite part. My beautiful pulled me close, and told me that he loved me, and always had, and always would. Call me pathetic, but I couldn't even focus on the show-dropping part.
I finally reached a compromise; I would show up to the show acting as though all was well, and he would call Mark to give his resignation soon thereafter. All I had to do was act the part to preserve my innocence(if I couldn't convince him not to drop, I could at least not be the one people blamed). The plan worked, they got another actor to replace him, and all is now going well.
Now, the point of the story. Monday, we had rehearsals for the Christmas show, which is largely improv-based. An actress that I have continuously shown irritation with for dropping out of a show during tech week(to be replaced by yours truly) was assigned to the group improving the scene where the star of the show doesn't show up. Of course, the first line out of anyone's mouth was "He pulled a Kevin." Ok. They're all a little miffed, and I can't blame them at all. But later, as my group came to the stage, I heard this particular actress say "Good job on the Kevin line, I think it was the funniest one", as I walked by. I will, for now, disregard the timing of her comment and the fact that there were several funnier lines in their skit, and focus on the pure hypocrisy. I turned and said "I didn't think it was that funny. Besides, it's not like nobody has dropped out of a show before." I finally understand the metaphor of words dripping with venom. I turned on my heel and strode on stage, holding my head high and feeling good.
I can't defend the choices he's made, but you can damn well bet I'll defend him. That's what "for better or worse" is. That's what solidarity is. That's what love is.
Let us focus today on the "for better and for worse", because this past week has included both.
For the past month and a half, my sweetheart and I have been involved in a show at our local theatre. We both hate it, for a variety of reasons. It's last-minute, thrown together, and the director isn't quite the best at communication. It's been more stress than fun. And, frankly, the show just isn't that funny.
But of course, in my usual way, I have resolved to do my best with this show. I can't be crummy and expect the theatre to (eventually) let me direct, right? And, you know, the good of the show is the good of the theatre and so on...
He has no such feelings. In fact, he gives so few fucks, that he quit the show. An hour before we opened.
I'll give you a moment to pick your jaw off of the floor. Oh, yes. My beautiful bastard. Thursday, after a rather unpleasant final dress rehearsal, he admitted his feelings to me. He felt the show was a sinking ship, and that the whole group was a giant clique. What could I say? He wasn't wrong. I didn't take him too seriously, though-Surely, he wouldn't do that.
The next day, it became apparent that he meant it. he meant it a lot. He was joyously describing the look on everyone's face when they realized that he wasn't showing up.
It was a rough two hours before I went to the show. We had a long talk(not an argument, believe it or not). He explained his reasoning, and confessed that his only source of guilt was that everyone would assume that I was in on the plan.
There were tears. All mine. The majority of those two hours were spent with him telling me how much he loves me, and how sorry he is that he's doing something that's going to cause me so much stress, and me telling him that I understood, and I wasn't angry at him-that I was tired, and stressed, and worried about how I could look these people in the eyes and tell them there would be no show. My dear friend Tony Snark(whom we kind of.. forgot for awhile)livetweeted the entire thing. Read from the bottom up, because that's apparently how Twitter works?
Ignoring the AWFUL pun in the beginning, he did highlight my favorite part. My beautiful pulled me close, and told me that he loved me, and always had, and always would. Call me pathetic, but I couldn't even focus on the show-dropping part.
I finally reached a compromise; I would show up to the show acting as though all was well, and he would call Mark to give his resignation soon thereafter. All I had to do was act the part to preserve my innocence(if I couldn't convince him not to drop, I could at least not be the one people blamed). The plan worked, they got another actor to replace him, and all is now going well.
Now, the point of the story. Monday, we had rehearsals for the Christmas show, which is largely improv-based. An actress that I have continuously shown irritation with for dropping out of a show during tech week(to be replaced by yours truly) was assigned to the group improving the scene where the star of the show doesn't show up. Of course, the first line out of anyone's mouth was "He pulled a Kevin." Ok. They're all a little miffed, and I can't blame them at all. But later, as my group came to the stage, I heard this particular actress say "Good job on the Kevin line, I think it was the funniest one", as I walked by. I will, for now, disregard the timing of her comment and the fact that there were several funnier lines in their skit, and focus on the pure hypocrisy. I turned and said "I didn't think it was that funny. Besides, it's not like nobody has dropped out of a show before." I finally understand the metaphor of words dripping with venom. I turned on my heel and strode on stage, holding my head high and feeling good.
I can't defend the choices he's made, but you can damn well bet I'll defend him. That's what "for better or worse" is. That's what solidarity is. That's what love is.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
It Has To Be Me
Sometimes, when we see homeless man on the street, or a Facebook post from a friend asking for donations, we tend to shrug it off. "Someone else will get it", we think. "Surely it will work out."
I never read The Lorax when I was little, but the most famous quote of the book speaks volumes.
"Unless someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It's not."
But liking a quote doesn't mean you automatically apply it to your life. So I have gone about my way, holding a quote in my head and doing nothing with it.
Today, as I browsed Facebook, I saw a saddening post from an old acquaintance who had been trying to raise money to study in New Zealand. I had thought about giving money, decided to wait until payday, and bookmarked the link for later use. Then, naturally, I had completely forgotten about it.
I saw another post from her today about being unable to go. I quickly went back to the gofundme link, and sighed deeply.
No one had donated a thing.
This girl is truly one of the sweetest people I've ever met, and I've seen her worth undervalued more times than I can count. So, I whipped out my debit card and made a donation.
It was a few minutes after that transaction that it hit me; Unless someone like me cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not. Every good deed done by mankind has started with someone saying "I will do this", rather than "Someone can take care of this that isn't me".
From now on, when I see things like that, I hope I'll try my best not to put them off. I hope I'll keep today in mind.
I never read The Lorax when I was little, but the most famous quote of the book speaks volumes.
"Unless someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It's not."
But liking a quote doesn't mean you automatically apply it to your life. So I have gone about my way, holding a quote in my head and doing nothing with it.
Today, as I browsed Facebook, I saw a saddening post from an old acquaintance who had been trying to raise money to study in New Zealand. I had thought about giving money, decided to wait until payday, and bookmarked the link for later use. Then, naturally, I had completely forgotten about it.
I saw another post from her today about being unable to go. I quickly went back to the gofundme link, and sighed deeply.
No one had donated a thing.
This girl is truly one of the sweetest people I've ever met, and I've seen her worth undervalued more times than I can count. So, I whipped out my debit card and made a donation.
It was a few minutes after that transaction that it hit me; Unless someone like me cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not. Every good deed done by mankind has started with someone saying "I will do this", rather than "Someone can take care of this that isn't me".
From now on, when I see things like that, I hope I'll try my best not to put them off. I hope I'll keep today in mind.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
At Least I Have Clean Dishes
I've been dealing with a lot of anxiety lately, over a variety of things. My father is out of the hospital, and that's the top of the can of worms. My mother had offered to take him in while he was healing, but now swears she never said that, but what about her cats, and why can't he stay with me, and I just forsee becoming more involved in their lives than I had ever planned on being.
There's the general anxiety of being twenty-three and not knowing where my life is going. Once upon a time, the twenties were a time to figure out your life. Nowadays, it seems like you should be going into them with a plan. I'm not headed towards a career or marriage, I have no intentions of having children- It's an overwhelming feeling of "What am I doing with my life?"
Ladies, is there any worse feeling than wearing the same garment as someone else and holding the belief that they look better in it? Yes, actually. Having the love of your life mention what a booty she has(not even in positive or negative terms, mind you) and THEN going to rehearsal and seeing that you're both wearing the same jeans. God knows he doesn't mean any harm, and he's told me at least three times this week that I shouldn't worry and that he loves me unconditionally, but he doesn't get that he just can't say that sort of thing around me. I compare myself to everyone around me, constantly. I really can't understand how he hasn't figured that out yet.
Of course, there are various smaller anxieties; the show, my car, et cetera. They pile up until I feel like I'm going to explode and it keeps happening at a more rapid rate.
I have found, though, that it helps to clean the house. Something about taking the negative energy and using it for something productive helps me chill out. A load of clean dishes is a sign that the day was rough, but I feel better now. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand that.
"It's 9 o'clock at night."
"And?"
"You're not doing dishes. They'll be fine for another night. Go to bed."
"But-"
"Seriously. You are exhausted. You don't need to do everything all the time. It's not the fucking sixties. Go to bed."
His complete and total lack of misogyny is really getting in the way of my stress relief.
There's the general anxiety of being twenty-three and not knowing where my life is going. Once upon a time, the twenties were a time to figure out your life. Nowadays, it seems like you should be going into them with a plan. I'm not headed towards a career or marriage, I have no intentions of having children- It's an overwhelming feeling of "What am I doing with my life?"
Ladies, is there any worse feeling than wearing the same garment as someone else and holding the belief that they look better in it? Yes, actually. Having the love of your life mention what a booty she has(not even in positive or negative terms, mind you) and THEN going to rehearsal and seeing that you're both wearing the same jeans. God knows he doesn't mean any harm, and he's told me at least three times this week that I shouldn't worry and that he loves me unconditionally, but he doesn't get that he just can't say that sort of thing around me. I compare myself to everyone around me, constantly. I really can't understand how he hasn't figured that out yet.
Of course, there are various smaller anxieties; the show, my car, et cetera. They pile up until I feel like I'm going to explode and it keeps happening at a more rapid rate.
I have found, though, that it helps to clean the house. Something about taking the negative energy and using it for something productive helps me chill out. A load of clean dishes is a sign that the day was rough, but I feel better now. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand that.
"It's 9 o'clock at night."
"And?"
"You're not doing dishes. They'll be fine for another night. Go to bed."
"But-"
"Seriously. You are exhausted. You don't need to do everything all the time. It's not the fucking sixties. Go to bed."
His complete and total lack of misogyny is really getting in the way of my stress relief.
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