Tuesday, May 31, 2011


First off, thank you for the comments of encouragement.

And secondly, I am giddy with anticipation. For those of you that know me, I’ll give you a moment to picture that.


For those of you that don’t know me outside of this, my friends would not describe me as usually giddy. Even after several drinks.

Talked to Fisher this afternoon. He called me (yay.) And he’ll be able to visit during the dates that my sister and her husband are out of town.

No, I’m not giddy. Anxious. Herp-derpy? Lack of coordination because I’m nervous and have butterflies in my stomach.

Overcome. Being able to talk to him face-to-face about all that has happened. Being able to share what I went through watching my father die. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will be attentive.

Since forever, all I’ve wanted is for that special someone to kiss me on the forehead and tell me that everything will be ok. Neither of my parents told me this. Early on my mom told me that life wasn’t fair and my dad told that boys and girls are different. Masters of advice and comfort, not so much. I’m pretty happy with how I’ve turned out, so my mom did a decent job setting me forth on my path. My dad just wasn’t meant to be a dad, much like I’m not meant to be a parent. Neither my dad nor I are very patient.

I have a terrible habit of interrupting people in conversation. Like what I have to say or ask is more important than anything they could possibly be discussing. Aware and working on it.

Back to make it all better, please- I want everything to be ok. For me that means unconditional love. A person that will hug me at the end of a crappy day and be my happy place. For better or worse- we’ll be ok. There’s something solid about being ok. More like all right, but it doesn’t fall off the tongue like “make it all ok.”

Unconditional (except for major acts of stupidity) love. Cheating not ok. Despite how long a stuck around in my last relationship- it’s never ok to cheat. Maybe if I was in a coma, never to recover or incapacitated in a major, not gonna get better kinda way.

I’m having a case of the herp-derps tonight. I am beat. Tired. Kapoot. And I need to clime into bed, turn out the light and sleep. No thinking or playing games on my i-pod, just give into the sleep.

I have sleep anxiety. Have I mentioned that?


Saturday, May 28, 2011

Id vs Ego

I just geeked out by making a mix cd for the Fisher King. Mix tape sounds so much better, but then I remember tapes and how much went into making a good mix tape. There was no drag, drop and burn. More like a bunch of curse words, mixed with forward, reverse, pause, flip tape, get more tapes…

Anyway, I had fun putting together the play list insert and cd design. I always get a little manic when I’m being crafty. Sewing, photoshop, paper- manic. I guess it’s those creative juices bubbling over.

I don’t know why I go over the top and out of my way for guys that I’m not even dating. For all I know, once again, this will not work out. Six hours away, he’s too busy, I’m taking classes and broke. We lived together for about six weeks about ten years ago. Have a lost my mind? I’m talking about a guy that I lived with ten years ago for a whopping six weeks, not even two months. Go ahead, shake your head, it’s ok.

But here’s the rub- My id keeps putting him in my dreams. Yes, I know dreams are a lot of times a bundle of gobbledy-goop that has no real meaning. For me dreams seem to be a mixture of stuff that went into the noggin during the day plus memories and some fears and desires mixed in for good measure. However, there are two people outside of my immediate family that are reoccurring figures- Fisher and a cousin.

In my dreams both Fisher and the cousin are destinations that I’m trying to reach. Only they can save me or with the Fisher sometimes I must save him. More often than not the cousin is salvation, a person to protect me and the Fisher, a victim that I must save. You see, Fisher isn’t happy. Happy on the outside, picture of vaudevillian health to all around him, but brooding inside. Makes me wonder if all comedic actors are that way- tortured.

The cousin- let me explain. In my formative years I spent a great deal of time on my uncle's (by marriage) farm. My uncle has five sons, my cousins. The youngest, five years older than me, was my nemesis, but also kinda my hero. I was a tomboy and he was able to do all the stuff that I wanted to do. He once took me for a ride on his dirt bike- highlight of my childhood. We played doctor where the object wasn’t sexual exploration, but testing reflexes and inflicting pain.

Up until my grandmother’s funeral a year ago this past December, I hadn’t seen him in 28 years or so. However, when my dad’s mom died in Feb of 2007 I started to dream about him, consistently. So here’s this person that I haven’t seen in ages and he’s become a central figure in my dreams. And I knew that the next time I would see him would be at my mom’s mom’s funeral and to boot- it would be the last time I would see him.

And I did see him at my grandmother’s funeral in Dec ’10. He had changed quite a bit and I wouldn’t have recognized him if he hadn’t been pointed out to me. Growing up he was very cute, I was infatuated with him. As a grown adult he has lost most of his hair and the boy-ish good looks. I gave him a hug and that was it. No life changing moment by seeing him again, seeing him for what I know to be the last time.

And I still dream about him. He’s older, but with his boyish good looks. The dreams aren’t terribly sexual, but I guess he would be described as a romantic figure in my dreams. Side note- my mom thought that something had occurred between me and my cousin- nope. I hope she believed me when I said that it hadn’t. Yes, she asked me. I went through I really tough time when I was in middle school, bad case of agoraphobia. Not getting into that now. However, my mom has her own demons, that aren’t under control and she likes to form her own reality.

F*ckin’  Midwest weather patterns are killing me. Allergies mess up sinuses, sinus pressure causes headaches that may or may not be migraines. Regardless of classification, they suck and I’m getting them almost every other day. I took a muscle relaxer a little bit ago, so soon I’ll get loopy from that. Nice.

I am giddy about Fisher visiting. He’s in one more show the ends next month and then my sister and her husband will be out of town and I’m hoping he’ll visit then. Of course my head could do me in and I’ll see him and not feel a thing. That’s happened twice, his visit to the desert and and four years ago when he came down to see me when I lived by the ocean. Please, for the love that is all holy and sacred, let me look at him and want to jump him. You can pray for me, too, I won’t be offended. Dear Lord, let this anonymous blogger be attracted to her soul mate, let her want to rock his world.

Was that too much info, dear friend who knows about this site?

Dear good friend, who needs a name- my Buddha? Yes, you will be my Buddha.

This is plenty for tonight, gentle readers. 'night.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Variations on a Theme

Listening to Neko Case- Middle Cyclone (album)

 The Fisher King, my obsession. He probably pushed me away because I was a little over the top and well, would’ve been the typical crazy ex-girlfriend. Surprisingly I never had the cops called on me. Did some stuff that deserved a good stern talking to by some authority figures. I couldn’t stop myself; it was like a train wreck that couldn’t be stopped.

I get like that when I’m angry. The angry part takes over and I have to do what my mind is set on doing. Most of the time the doing is not healthy or helpful. Right now, I must do this right now. It feels like tunnel vision and I have no alternative. Once the spell is broken, usually by finally reaching the object of my bullet, I feel really stupid by having made such a big deal out of it.

I once asked the Fisher King to drive from College Town, USA to the desert to see me. A three-day car trip in the winter. When he got there I was a complete putz and had to tell him that I didn’t love him. I was so enamored with him finally admitting that he loved me that I ignored the fact that I didn’t have feelings for him. He wanted so much to kiss me and I put him off. There were so many days when we first dating that I wanted him to say that he loved me. He would push me away and I would wait and wait, hoping that he would say it was all a mistake. So, maybe I needed him to drive there and back, but it wrong.

I used him to make me feel better. And all I did was hurt him and I felt lousy.

The relationship I just ended, too soon to talk about. I hope he finds happiness. I hope he finds the girl, the one he’ll actually be in love with and not me, who he settled for.

I think I’m better at being introspective late at night than at dinner time.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

The Day after the First

He has always been a slow burning obsession. Always there, in my dreams. We’ve kept in touch over the years. Getting together long enough to hurt each other and then shooting off like sparks traveling away from two metal pieces that are hurled at each other. It’s always been long distance. Him in College Town, USA- me like a spoke on a wheel around his axis point.

Speaking to him makes everything ok. Suddenly all the worry and anxiety that consumes me like fire is extinguished. And all I want is to return to that place with him where I felt safest. Drinking red wine, smoking some pot and playing cards. I feel like he knows me inside and out. Knowing me like I wish I new myself. Yeah, it’s that bad.

Occasionally I’ll fall for someone else. I become consumed with the start of a new relationship. The time where it’s all passion and it hasn’t become stale. When flirting and dating combine. Where you anticipate being with each other. Nights are planned and not taken for granted. When the passion seeps into the everyday ordinary, I become restless. And I start thinking of him again, my Fisher King.

I know we’ve both changed. I’m a slightly calmer person thanks in large part to drugs and in some part to experience. He’s gotten older, maybe older than I think. If only he would take time for himself, but no he goes on and agrees to help all. A Mother Theresa of the Acting World.

God, I’m so stuck. Mud – me, Me – mud. Stuck. I need to get a job, but doing nothing consumes me. So, nice to stay up late and sleep in. But money equals independence and the ability to buy stuff.

The Very First One

The time is 2:34am. Perhaps that will show up somewhere else to let you know that. Only slightly important to show that I stay up later than I should. I'm not necessarily a night owl, however past jobs have been this late and I find it hard to turn off my brain and fall asleep.

Should I get the big stuff out of the way first?

Sure. I have a fear of death. An awful phobia that causes me to lose sleep, hurumph, and terrible panic attacks that raise my body temperature. I don't want to not exist. I like existing in the world around me. For better or worse, I'd rather be alive. Blessed with depression and anxiety, I have never seriously contemplated suicide. Wondered in a vague, abstract way, wished for a better life, sure. But end it- No.

A year ago this past March my sisters and I lost our father. Three months prior we lost our last surviving grandparent, my mother's mother. Now I'm down to a parent and two sisters. My grandfathers died when I was young. I have very vague memories of my dad's dad and slightly more substantial ones of my mom's dad. I'm hoping for a long healthy life. Although, how healthy I've been up to this point is debatable. I like to think that I'm getting all my senior ailments out of the way.

Now though, Fear of Death and Lovelorn.

I'm quite awake for the hour, so I'll continue.

Ideally this is all anonymous and for my own musings-- details with out the names.

I'm 35 and unemployed of my own doing. I now live with my sister and her husband along with my two cats, my dog and her very old hound that no doubt won't last through the summer. I'm camping out in a spare room and in few weeks will start taking some online classes. The plan is to get a certificate that goes well with the useless MFA and BA that I already have.

Starting to feel the tired...

I moved from a very warm climate to a much colder, inclement one. I like warm weather. The past 13 or so years I've lived in the southern half of the US. No terrible winters, only one place even had ice and even then not on roads. Wearing Birkenstocks year round is my ideal. However, I don't wear shorts, unless I'm at the beach or bike riding. 80 degress- pants. 95 degrees- pants. Lightweight sure, but pants.

This isn't at all interesting. Is it? I should rejoice in my normality. My blog is like everyone else's. Yay!

Personal life- bleeding heart, wishing for happy ever after, little girl whose parents separated when I was 3 and divorced when I was 5. Separation anxiety issues.

I fell in love for the first time at 19. And for the past 16 years, he's always been in my heart. I have never felt that fierce love for anyone since. Now I realize I was 19, not emotionally stable and he was the first in all ways. You don't forget your first, so I'm told. No regrets, I was in love.

I wasn't stable, though and neither was the relationship. He is ten years older than I. I was 19, an undergrad, living in the dorms and he was working full time and close to 30. This guy, Fisher (name changed), was in love with me or at least enamored to a great existent, but he didn't want to be. Even after talking to him years later, I'm not quite sure why he pushed me away and then sucked me back in. If he was afraid that I would stay in College Town, USA and not live up to my full artistic potential, well I left and still didn't.

His sense of humor pulled me in and caused me to fall in love with him. Amazing actor and director, funny as hell and passionate. Dark and broody, intellectual and just all around cool. F*ck I miss him. And now that I'm six hours away from him and not six states all I want is show up on his doorstep. I hug, a kiss- what that would do to heal old wounds.

So, not good at healing my own.