Enough

The wisteria entwines the porch of the roofless house.  Blooming because that's what it does, regardless of an immanent demolition, for some sorta' mixed-use box.  The sun is out, a slight chill, but everything seems to have busted out in flower: roses, dandelions, lilac, hyacinth, tulips, dogwood, azaleas, rosemary...flowers, flowers, everywhere.

Took the day off having felt worse the longer I was up this morning.  Still have the headache.  Briefly walked out to get coffee, and to sit on a bench in the sun to write out the script dialogue for clarity, and because I need to get it down.  The director had said we didn't need it memorized by last night, and I didn't, but wish that I had: I work better if it's memorized.  So, that's my goal before we shoot the rest of it this weekend, that, and writing a backstory for the character.  Went grocery shopping, did laundry, made soup, and walked to the chiropractor and back, but still have the headache.  Decided today would be a good day to start eating turmeric.  Not bad.  Tried it raw, fingers yellow, teeth probably yellow.  Threw some in a pot of soup...everything stained yellow, though not unpleasantly so.  The woman bagging my groceries was excited that I bought it, gave me tips on using it.

Last night, instead of memorizing my script (I spent a lot of time stretching actually, had a wicked foot cramp that felt like someone had slammed the bottom of my foot with a 2x4), had a conversation with some other actors about Meisner.  One of them used the term "magic" to describe when you connect on stage (or in rehearsal.)  I'd forgotten about that, the term, not the connection (had moments of it both in the Macbeth work and in the film.)  Used to say that quite a bit up until recently.  We talked about "chair work" and how we'd fall in love with everyone.  That's not really a secret, I remember someone else mentioning it in class.  How it can feel so sudden when the work is done and they are gone (an unexpected feeling of loss), like an unexpected break-up.  But that wasn't real, the break-up, though the connection was.

And then talking to someone else about wanting depth.  Real connection, real conversations about things that matter.  Talking about what's in your heart.  Drowning in polite conversation (which absolutely has it's place in life), and starving to be known and loved as you are when everything else is stripped away.  When the image shaped so carefully on social media gets removed.  Finding when we are brave enough to be emotionally naked, we are still enough.  We were always enough.