... living alone...

... is that sometimes you get lonely.

>_<


Today's been weird too. I guess some days you put out energy and work hard and reap the spoils immediately. And some days good things just come to you without hardly any effort. And some days you just need a rest so you rest and recover.
And some days you work your ass off and don't get shit done. You broadcast yourself to the world, but the world just isn't paying attention.
Well, I guess that's the price we pay for those amazing days when the good stuff just keeps coming in so easily. Meh, it's worth it.

:-/

:)

... euh, je suis timide

P.S. (2 posts in 1 day, what?)


Part 1

I don't know if I've discussed this in my blog before, but one of the wonderful things about living in New York City is I fall in love every 5 minutes (if I'm out and about, that is). I'll be on the subway or walking around the park and I'll see someone that just epitomizes everything I've ever wanted in a relationship/soul-mate/one-night-stand and as long as that person is standing/sitting/walking/dancing in my field of vision I can let myself go off on a beautifully romantic fantasy where we two find oneness in one another, exploring the mysterious depths of each other's souls while experiencing every detail of each other's bodies, finding love and inspiration in each other's arms...

And then he/she will disembark at his/her subway stop, or whatever, and I'll blissfully forget about the whole thing.


Part 2

New York City is the most linguistically diverse city in the world. I haven't checked my sources on that, but just from personal experience I can confidently say that it's gotta be in the top 5 at least. This is AWESOME, but, at least for now, it's only really significant for me personally when I hear people speaking french. Alors, je parle un peu le français. Mais, je suis très, très timide pour parler, especialement avec des gens francophones. Mais les gens francophones ont les meilleurs pour m'aider apprendre la langue, mais oui. Oh, ma grammaire! Je ne veux pas savoir.


1+2 (=3)

Anyway, a guy with a french accent came in to drop off laundry, and I said one phrase to him en français ("je parle en peu le français") and I'm pretty sure he fell in love with me just for the 5 minutes he was in the store. In reference to Part 1, it was wonderful to be on the receiving end of that blissful and forgettable love-at-first-sight. In reference to Part 2, I'm never gonna let myself be debilitatingly timid about speaking French again. Who knows how many other native speakers may fall in love with me when they hear their own language? What opportunities have I been missing!?!?

;)

... my window

Roof cats

There are cats. So many cats. One day I counted 15 cats on the roof of the building across the backyard from my window (I think there are about 12 in the photo above), and I'm quite certain there were some missing that day. You see, I've kinda gotten to know some of them.

I keep waiting for this situation to be horrible and annoying. I'm pretty sure most people would be upset at the idea of 15 or 20 alley cats camping out by the window. Especially if any of those people have allergies, which I do. Allergies aside there's still the caterwauling to consider. The noise of fighting... and fucking.

But, strangely enough, these cats have been rather a pleasant commodity in my tiny rented room with no kitchen (at all) and no bathroom except the rather filthy one down the hall. They're less noisy than the train that comes by every 10 minutes. They're far enough away from my window that they don't aggravate my allergies. They're ADORABLE! And every time I hear them meowing as I'm drifting off to sleep I think of Audrey... in a happy way. (For those of you who don't know who Audrey is, there's a rather hefty post about her in the works, so stay tuned.)

I have a tiny room. I have no furniture. I'm working overtime and making less than my rent. I'm not acting or taking dance classes or doing any of the things I came here to do. But I have kitties to make me happy.

:)

...pastels

...human trafficking.

Bear with me for a minute here.

This post is about self-worth, but not in the beautiful, happy, flowery, "we're all pricelessly unique" kind of way. I'm talking about money. How much am I worth? Not how much to I make or own or have access to. How much money am I worth? It's a difficult question because, yes, I am pricelessly unique, but I KNOW that, and that information isn't helping me form an idea of how much money I believe I deserve to make each year. I hit a wall when it comes to thinking about myself monetarily, and I'm taking a wrecking ball to that wall right now.

So, to make the question more palatable I'll change it up a bit. The new, and more effective question, is this. How much money are my skills worth? Well, hmmm. The question is more specific now, but also somehow more overwhelming. I have so many skills, you see. Surely my versatility alone is also a skill?

So that's on my to-do list. Make an inventory of my skills and set a price point for each of them. Good. But I'm not going to do that here, because really, who wants to read that shit?

I'm gonna test out a cultural/sociological theory on you guys; poor, unsuspecting readers that you are. So often we are discouraged from thinking about self-worth in monetary terms. Now, I agree, one should not develop a sense of self-worth that is tied to one's salary. But what a person makes is different from what a person deserves to make, and my theory (here it comes!) is that ENTIRELY separating money from self-worth serves to keep poor people poor. They make what they make, and if they feel they are worth more than what they make, it's an intangible worth. That intangible worth is HIGHLY valuable, but it won't necessarily help you change your stars. Those who are able to connect their sense of self-worth to a specific monetary sum are better equipped to actually go out and actually make that much money. This is what the children of rich people learn how to do from the moment they are born.

I'm learning it right now.

I deserve to make at least 6 figures. I'm gonna start with a high 5 goal (high 5!). I'll get to work on that.

...happiness

I've been here in New York for nearly 2 months and I have never looked back. Moving here from Minnesota may be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. It's at least up there in the top 5. I'm working every day for hardly any money. I already know I won't make rent this month on my tiny little single-room, unfurnished apartment with the bathroom down the hall and the subway right outside the window. I still haven't gotten the results of my food stamp application, in the meantime I'm being fed by friends and my employer. I can't even afford train fare to get around, I'm walking everywhere. I'm in a new place with new people who don't know me that well, who I don't know that well. And I'm kind of infatuated with a completely unavailable man. Or two.

But this is the important thing.

I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.

I'm more and more convinced that there is nothing like suffering to teach a person how to find joy in, well, everything. It's not just a philosophy, it's neuroscience. Everyone has a kind of happiness set point in their brain. The brain will regulate chemical levels to keep itself approximately at that point. Constant, mild suffering keeps the brain working to maintain happiness. In other words, it releases more happy chemicals. Based on my own self-observation it is my belief that this is the most effective way to raise the brain's happiness set point.

Blissing out.

I mean, I get to work without worrying about my hours! I can be entirely self-motivated and my level of success is directly related to my level of dedication! I get to walk everywhere and see the city! I have a WINDOW! I get to work on films for the love of it instead of for the money. I have activity and responsibility without obligation! I have independence without loneliness! Such independence! I've never felt more free or more full of love. And hope. Rationally or not, there's so much to hope for here.

I still get anxious, worried, and upset. I still have days when I feel ineffectual and defeated. I still say awkward things, offend people sometimes, feel bad about it. But usually I just have a good cry and move on with my life. I used to hate crying, I used to be embarrassed by it. Now I think it's fantastic. Like laughing. Or sex. Or a punch in the face. Life.

I just can't make myself worry about things the way I used to. It's not worth it.

Ecstasy vomit.

...theatre

For all my natural talent I honestly can't help but feel that my acting is no better than mediocre.  Maybe I'm just subconsciously fishing.  But I do know that with everything else I'm doing I'm having some trouble doing all the character research I should be doing.  I just used the word "doing" three times in one sentence.

Despite my feelings of inadequacy the Metro State production of Homeland Security is really coming together.  Every time we rehearse it gets more and more real.  And more and more absurdly hilarious.

It feels so good to be part of a creative ensemble.  And it feels so good to be performing again.