Move Over Mr. Clean

Since I am currently looking for work and no one wants to hire me to put my contacts in, I've had to find other things to keep me from pulling my hair out, rocking in a corner, etc. This is harder than it sounds. As much as I love to play Sudoku on my phone, more than an hour a day actually reverses the desired effect- instead of more logical and aware, I become less logical, and suddenly I'm living for those little boxes and the feeling of completion and total fullfillment that comes only with 9 little sets of 9 numbers, arranged so every row and column contains no repeated numbers. Even now, just typing that, I am tempted to stop typing... but I digress...

I've tried to watch the entire series of Ab Fab, but for anyone who doubts that excess can be excessive, I dare you to watch Ab Fab for more than 3 hours. I double dog dare you. By 2.5, you'll be so tired of hearing "sweety darling" and quite frankly, watching 2 drunk british women, your disgust will force you to turn it off. Perhaps it's hard for me to watch simply because I want to be working but don't have a job, and they have a job but desperately do not want to be working. In any case, I couldn't make it all the way through.

I've tried exercise, but lack of gym membership really puts a damper on my enthusiasm to work out. One can only do the plyometrics DVD from p90x so many times before one loses hope. And until today, it's been bloody hot out.

Of course, I'm still job hunting as well, but that hardly takes my mind off of not having a job.

No, I needed something else. Something like...

Housework.

At first, I was skeptical. I did a little bit of yard work because this yard needed a little bit of attention (actually, what it needed was a LOT of attention, a chainsaw and a weed whacker). I cleaned up a bit because we were having visitors over, and those visitors happened to be my parents, and my mom believes in maintaining a certain level of cleanliness (right beneath hospital sterile) for good living. (A note: this house hardly was/is dirty- but mothers being mothers, effort must be made)

And then suddenly, almost without warning, it was upon me.

Was that ME waking up and making the bed immediately? Only to be followed by loading the dishwasher and starting a load of laundry? What was happening?

Who knew keeping house could be so satisfying? I clean up the kitchen, keep the laundry some kind of caught up, make the bed, vacuum when the dog hair becomes a fine coat on the stairs. It's like the chores you had to do as a kid, only instead of them being chores you didn't want to do, now when you do them, it's like you have a job.

Let's be clear- it's not a job. It doesn't pay, there's no discount. But I don't have to go any where, I don't have to get dressed to do it, and I get immediate gratification for a) doing it and b) knowing that I'm the one who benefits from the fruits of my labor. So until there's something else to divert my attention, just call me Mr. Domestic.

To the Artists In My Life

Serious-ish post. Still funny, and definitely positive (I think), but it's from the heart.

Right now, I work at a theatre. This theatre is in a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. The panhandle is very flat. I think, and often I feel a bit alone in this, the flatness is beautiful in it's way. It is however, in the panhandle of the state, and if you have looked at a map any time recently, you'll notice a lack of pretty much everything in that area. And that's because, there IS a lack of pretty much everything. Amarillo is the nearest city, and it's small as far as cities go.

The canyon itself is quite beautiful, but I confess, after having done the show the entire summer, I'm a little tired of it. What I once saw as an exquisite place of natural beauty has become rote, routine and non-discript. Sometimes, even, a place I resent because it's miles from town, even further from drinking establishments and hours away from any cities of size. When I go down into the canyon, I am a commuter going away from the places I want to commute to. I'm going to my job.

Most of the time, it's a pretty good job. There are the occasional occupational hazards- beetles the size of credit cards, tarantulas, getting kicked by horses, stepping in horse poop, 100+ degree heat- but then, who doesn't have a few pitfalls to be avoided in the workplace? And I'll be honest, the view of the stars is unmatched.

The show itself is simple. The plot's not hard to follow, the music is easy to grasp. The dancing is (for us, the singing ensemble) essentially step touching with a Texas flavor. After months of doing it 6 nights a week, I have it down pat. In fact, it's gotten to be something that I can do on autopilot. One could even say that it has become boring to perform.

The real deal is- I'm ready to end this job that I am very over. I'm ready to be away from this place that I don't love. In two sentences I've summed it up. Simple.

Unfortunately, it's not so simple. I'm moving to a new city when this show is over. I'm terrified. I'm excited. I don't have a job. I know two people there. I'm in love with the man I'm moving to be close to. I'm scared shitless that I will mess that up. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. I want to do everything.

Suffice to say, my insides are doing triple sow cows.

I'm usually pretty good at projecting a calm exterior. I keep telling myself that it will all be okay and it will all work out, and for the most part I can pass it off that I believe it.

And then, art happens to me.

The cast of this show that I'm in is doing a side project, a talent show of sorts. I know I know. A talent show. Commence the eye rolling. I'll lead you. I imagined the worst memories of the high school talent show- awkward pauses, flat pitches, sad little tap numbers. In spite of that, I submitted (along with 3 others) a quartet number for the show. We got in. We pieced the number together. A quaint couple of songs to go in the (as I envisioned it) high school drama club annual revue.

Today we had the final dress rehearsal.

Wow. I cannot believe the scope and richness of the talent of the people that I work with. Words fail me. I was choked up more than once during the run through. I'm getting choked up now thinking about it. I am so proud to be on the same stage as these people.

And I'm amazed because suddenly all this change that is happening in my life and the anxiety it is causing me- it makes sense. Or it fits. Or somehow, I fit in it. And it's messy and beautiful and unfinished and then, in an instant, a moment takes my breath away. And this show we are doing- the show We are doing because we are artists and its all we have; because we have gifts that we must share, sometimes in spite of our own selves, and things that we must say because saying them is what makes us alive- this show is as much for us as it is for those smart enough, aware enough, privledged enough to be there to share those moments with us.

I am an artist. I will laugh and hurt and cry and sing and dance and laugh more because I have to and there is nothing else to do in the face of death. The chaos and harmony we create is how we fit into the universe. I count myself most honored to be surrounded by so many people with talent that runs so deep. Thank you thank you thank you, everyone.