Woke up to the sound of a firecracker being shot off in the alley, and a wicked dehydration headache. The heatwave has been back, and I'd forgotten to open my window earlier in the day, so the room (and house) were sweltering. Can't remember what I was dreaming about, but I thought of the "Great Gatsby" (because I finished it on Monday-one of the faster reads, he was a good writer, and it's short) and when I awoke I wondered why, on the day that everything happened, Gatsby says to Nick, about Daisy, that her voice is the sound of money? There is disdain, but he still somehow wants her, or what she represents, even though by the time he says it, his dreams of a life with her are already slipping away to nothing. (Though, I suppose it's the clinging of the desperate to an obsession his whole life had been built in service to.)
Was up writing in the middle of the night. Couldn't sleep. Seismic shifts in my head from a conversation, one line of it really. And you can't change the outcome of something that happened almost three decades ago. But I regret my own lack of self-love or self-worth that caused my own blindness at the time. But there were still things none of us said to each other, things we didn't know about each other, and who knows at the time, what will matter in the end? (And the sudden joy of remembering that someone made his life hard at the time, the joy now not because I wanted him to suffer, but more because she (because anyone) cared enough about me to defend me. That someone thought I was worth defending. And the core group of friends during those two years...I would choose them all again.)
I remember the last time I saw each of two friends from that era, right before I moved to finish college. One instance I've thought about a lot over the years, the other, I'd somehow forgotten. A close friend had come into where I was working (I was waiting tables) and asked me a favor, which I said I'd do, but I never saw him again, because we somehow lost touch. I remember having the impression that he had shrunk, that all the air of his life had been sucked out. I tried to hug him, but he pulled away. The other set of eyes disapproving, which I get, a new phase of life and all...to you, I hope you got yourself back.
To me, I've lived my life way too cautiously, worrying about the wrong things.
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Thursday, April 14, 2016
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.
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.
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