Summer Un-Vacation

I've just signed up for a couple classes that ought to keep me out late on school nights: An acting class, and a comedy sketch-writing class at the theater where I learned improv. Should keep me busy, especially since the writing class will involve -- of all things -- writing assignments. Like, school or something!

Holly will coherent sentences make have to.

Headaches in Hiding

I've had so few headaches over the last month or two! Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles. Hurrah!

The Exploration Stage

I've got acting on the brain. It's been several months since I did improv, and that comedy troupe I got into appears to have fallen through, so I'm now looking into other options. It's even occurred to me that I could go to grad school to study this stuff, which is funny because I've steadfastly avoided school since I got my postgrad diploma in '99. I wanted to be out there, living life, instead of just preparing for it. But the idea of diving into the deep end and being completely immersed in All Things Drama-Related for a year or two certainly holds its appeal.

It's also occurred to me that I could go back to the UK to do it. What's better than being immersed in acting? Being immersed in acting and Scotsmen.

Of course, there are all kinds of issues with the practicality of adding an acting degree to music degrees (unemployable in two artforms!), the matter of finances, and the reality that if I did head back overseas, I'd once again be foreign and unable to work, both of which rather stink. And this time I'd be old enough to be everyone's mom. (Did you know you can go to university at 16 over there? Good grief, I'd be older than half the professors.)

In the meantime, I've signed up for an acting class at the local center for adult ed. Maybe I'll sign up for another class or two, as well. I occasionally toss my hat in in response to requests for local actors, like I did with that comedy troupe. Lots of exploration. Not quite sure where it will lead or how. But I'm dipping my toes in again. I still think I can do this. I still want to do it. And along with all those annoying practicalities, I have this God fellow who seems to think that I could use some fun.

I've come to agree.

But Probably Not Bunjee Jumping

I'm heading into The Risk-Taking Zone. Where if God doesn't come through or things don't work out, I'll fall on my face in spectacular fashion.

Spectacular.

11/4/2010: Save the Date

How do, folks!

I'm in transition -- or at least, I hope I am -- and thought it might be good to let you in on the process.

As you can see in the blurb at the right of this blog, I've been in a time of Serious Waiting for going on a decade now. In 2000, I returned from a second year in England, moved to D.C., and planned to head into my grown-up life: a music career with, hopefully, a comfortable income (it is possible!); an apartment of my own; a church; some long-term friendships; and meeting and marrying the right guy.

Well, I got the apartment, anyway.

The rest of it either crashed and burned or never quite got off the ground at all. There have been some changes, most of them slow. I believe God has been at work, both in me and behind the scenes in my life, but I'm still waiting for some of the big things that I've wanted my whole life.

So, 4 weeks ago, while praying, I found myself asking God to cap this season of waiting at ten years. If I remember correctly, I moved to D.C. on Nov. 4, 2000. As of today, that leaves just over five months. Yikes! I don't know if that sounds like a long time to you, but after ten slow years, it sounds incredibly short to me. I prayed that God would bring the big changes I've been waiting for in both the career and romance departments, and that I'll recognize and enjoy these changes when they come. I'm not letting God or myself off the hook with this one! The prayer is prayed, and it stands.

I know that in letting the world in on what I've done, I open myself to all kinds of opinions, advice, and concern: What am I doing to make this happen? What if it doesn't happen? If it does happen, how can I say it's God and not me? I'd ask you to trust me, since I've had years and years to wrestle with these issues, but you don't have to trust me. I'd ask you to trust God with it, but maybe that's not your thing. Whatever happens, I think this is an important risk in my relationship with Him, and I'm just trying to walk it out. And I'm sharing it here to give Him a chance to show Himself to be big, and to show myself to be... well, whatever I am in relationship with Him.

I'm both afraid that it all won't happen, and afraid that it will. After all, I'm used to things being slow and quiet, and I've asked for things that are new and scary.

But I'm also hopeful.

Skype Lessons

Don't pick your nose.

Do wear clothes.

Don't take it into the bathroom. For the love of Pete, this ain't a phone call.

Moving from Depressing to Creepy

After that last post, I got an ad for a Hoveround in my email inbox. Not only is Big Brother a creepy freak, he thinks I'm a frigging grandma.

GILF

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My height: 5'6"

Other things I'm up to:

--Still experimenting with eye makeup. Getting OK at the eye shadow. Eyeliner still scary. If my life depended on my ability to accurately apply eyeliner, I'd be shot on sight. Also, I start to look a little like I have a black eye. Or two black eyes. And Emo.

--Sung along with a worship music CD tonight. Haven't done that in yonks (to use one of my favorite British slang terms, though I'm told most Brits find it dorky).

--I prayed a big-scary-crazy prayer.

--I mentioned the honesty and trombone already. These are biggies.

Taken all together, I'd say strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

I Am a Horrible Person. Also, I Played My Trombone

Today, I was finally honest enough to get somebody good and mad at me.

In other news, I've taken out my horn a couple times now. I expect it will be a long, slow process, getting back in shape. My breath is shaky. My left hand and wrist (which bear all the weight) are weaker. My tongue is slow. But the great thing is that I don't have to do any of this. I can spend the next year doing nothing but warm-ups, without the pressure of making a piece of music sound good. Or, I can focus only on the music I find fun, and not be accomplished in all styles for the sake of being a well-developed musician. Or I can just learn one song and play it everywhere and be absolutely dreadful at everything else. At this point, I don't think any of my local friends has heard me play, so anything they hear will be revelatory, even if it's just some simple honks.

And truth be told, my honks ain't sounding too bad.

I'm finding my voice in more ways than one :-).

HVAC Blogging

The latest in blog posts designed to help me vent a little.

First, I've finally begun hiding the Facebook friends whose posts consist of little but "It's Friday!" as if it's not true for the rest of the world. As oblivious as I can be, I do not need other people to tell me what day it is. It's insultingly boring.

Also, I'm not sure whether someone was grateful that I turned off the fire under their food while they left the house for an hour, or whether they were upset that I touched it. It just never entered my head that anyone would do that on PURPOSE.

When the day comes that all my media outlets come under the heading of my full name, I'm going to have to delete some of these posts, along with some tweets.

But not today.

It's Too Darn Hot

The temperature's risin'
It isn't surprisin'
She certainly can Can-Can.

It was in the 80s today. This is inconvenient. I get most of my exercise from walking, and if it's hot the instant I step out the door, it ain't gonna be pretty after I've been moving for half an hour. In work clothes. With my hair getting frizzy. The alternative is to take the (sometimes) air-conditioned bus, and get no exercise. Holly no likey. I'd much, much, much rather trudge through the snow. I spend all Fall and Winter listening to people whine about the fact that we have weather. Well, now it's my turn.

All the Winter Whiners can kiss my sweaty ass.

Easter Weekend

Friday: The menfolk fly the model airplane around.

Saturday: The family spends a couple hours dislodging the model airplane from a very tall tree.

Easter Sunday: They fly the model airplane again, and also shoot off some bottle rockets. Because it's Easter, duh.

Noteworthy: My nephew is becoming way fun. He learned to say my name (sounds the same as when he says "Hi"). He's also a budding mash-up artist. When you add the sounds he knows to the words we grown-ups were singing, you get, "Jesus Christ is ris'n today, E-I-E-I-O." He's also arranged the Beach Boys. "Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up, 4-0-9" has been simplified to, "Clip clop, clip clop, NINE!"

The original was a bit wordy, if you think about it. And surely two-year-olds are nothing if not economical.

Things I Like

God. He's nice.
walking
watching TV
eating
reading
9 hours of sleep. in a row.
stretching, even though I'm not very flexible
applause
the way I look in my long leather jacket. you should see me in it. really.
not having to go anywhere
funny YouTube videos
furry, friendly dogs

The Vatican's Chief Butt-Kicker

I'm not Catholic, but in a comment on another blog I read, someone referenced articles about Gabriele Amorth, for years the Vatican's head exorcist. Some fun facts:

The Exorcist is his favorite movie.
He shares some theology with Verbal from The Usual Suspects ("The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist").

Some links to interviews:

http://www.vaticans.org/index.php?/archives/61-An-interview-with-the-Vaticans-chief-excorcist,-Father-Gabriele.html

http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/religion/1260364/posts

Mostly, I just love that this guy sticks it to the Devil on a daily basis.

More Acting, Less Drama

Shit been goin' down.

As one might expect when sharing a planet with other sentient creatures, there is occassionally tension. And sometimes outright conflict. And sometimes high drama that makes living as a hermit in a cave for the rest of my earthly existence look like an extremely attractive idea.

I'm trying to navigate it all as best I can, because lessons unlearned are repeated, and no more fun the second/third/fifty-seventh go 'round. But as frustrated and angry as I get with other people, I'm more frustrated and angry at myself for not being better at dealing with the confusing mess. And it's not encouraging to think that even if I weren't messed up and were perfect in every way (which, alas, I'm not -- I know, shocker!), everyone else would still be messed up and it would still be hard.

Hard is hard. Why can't all difficult situations be condensed into a movie montage with a rockin' soundtrack, so I could feel awesome?

And why can't I have more upper-body strength so that throwing and punching things would be worthwhile?

You Have Been Warned

I have decided that I am not pale; I am white hot.

You'll want to wear sunglasses if you come to Boston this summer, though. Wouldn't want to go snow-blind should you catch me in shorts.

Things I Would Do if I Had the Money to Be as Eccentric as I Want to Be

Wear costumes
Get a giant trampoline and/or moon bounce

That's all I've got at the moment. I'm a simple woman.

It's My Brain's Fault

I may have figured out why I cannot, for the life of me, stay awake in meetings and training sessions: There are no Attention Triggers.

I've made this up, but it makes perfect sense to me, so you can't disagree even if you disagree.

Here's my theory: Our minds, as we grow up, become conditioned to pay attention to certain triggers -- someone calling our name, a raised voice, the mention of subjects we're interested in. As a musician, my ears perked up at the mention of "trombones" or "brass," and tuned out when other sections were being spoken to. Parents learn to pick out their children's cries. Without being fully conscious of it, we probably know when the commericials are done and we need to get from the kitchen to the living room to watch more of our favorite show, or we can tell when a family member has pulled into the driveway.

The meetings at work have a complete lack of Attention Triggers for me. They don't discuss things that I'm interested in, or even fully understand, and they're usually explained in a drone by people who are perfectly nice and perfectly knowledgeable but not exactly on their way to winning Entertainer of the Year. I try to pay attention, but every ounce of gray matter floating inside my skull is convinced that there are at least a dozen other things worth thinking about, so it does that instead. OK, there is one small part that cares about being good, but the rest of my brain seems to believe that, to quote Dark Helmet, "Good is dumb."

Mutual Anger. Nice!

I was annoyed at my roommate for not being like me. I just found out he was annoyed with me for the same reason. Somehow, that made me feel a whole lot better. I think that, more than anything, I'd been struggling with my own anger, and how it made me feel like a bad, judgmental person. Now I feel like we're even, and have a mutual understanding about our mutual misunderstanding.

Being a messy human is awkward and gross, but getting it out in the open can be relieving and fun*. The rest of this day will be much better now.


*That's what she said.