I said I have no feelings on anything. That I was so neutral, the good thing was I could go anywhere, the bad thing was I was going no where. I said something along the lines of:::

I’m on a path, my journey and if let arguments of this or that get it my way I am not moving forward. So, if someone wants to ask me a question, sure I’ll stop my walk, I may even sit on the park bench on the side of my road. But it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped moving forward.

Someone asked me what makes me angry in a split second, and I couldn’t think of anything.

Apparently, although I thought I had passion for certain things, in the art of statements – I am passion-less.

Passion, I suppose, in something that leads to being vulnerable. Vulnerability gets me no where. It’s based in emotion and I’m trying to be logical. Vulnerability is excellent for acting, it’s excellent for trusting people, and reaching out to them. I just don’t see it helping me right now.

Candybars, balance, energy, public schools, private schools, media, fat-girl syndrome based in what media decides, superheroes, school food, home food, restaurant food, diets, stupid people, smart people – all of it I could have one sentence to say and leave it at that. That does not an argument, or case, make. Because those topics lack a magnetic pull of passion for me? Because I’m unable to be vulnerable to the needs of children? humans? Am I just a machine needing to cold boot?

The freedom to choose is terrifying. It’s terrifying because with in free reign lies hidden expectations, and expectations lead to failure. Boundaries are good, but the keep you inside a shell sometimes. Boundaries are a safer bet then you can just say “hey crossing the line their, pal” and gesture for them to step back. Expectations are like what you fantasize when you think of someone, and when they don’t follow through, not only is your fantasy shot by reality, but the labels and titles that fall with in the confines of “expectations” also drop dramatically, and change. Now instead of just “lowering” the expectation line, it sky rockets and tests the next person, or it falls to the ground and everyone trips on it. Also, with expectations being met, there is never true contentment. There is only acknowledgment and a new expectation placed, only now the line is higher, which inevitably means if it’s higher, and there is failure, the fall is farther. Who the hell wants to climb a ladder leading to just another ladder? Don’t we climb to get to a place of solidarity? Is there something about climbing that has been decided that it’s best? And once at a solidified area there is even bigger risk. The fall will, as I already said, be farther. Will you knock down anyone climbing the ladder you just finished? SHould you even LEAVE your ladder THERE? What if someone climbs it and pushes you off the ledge? So we climb up, and set boundaries and essentially “hope”…? Hope that I don’t fall. Hope I dont’ get pushed or surpassed. I mean I climbed the ladder pretty far, but Woman B is climbing fast, and she’s younger with better legs, and she’ll get to my level and pass me – and then what? Hope she doesn’t dump her garbage over her new ledge just so it lands on mine? I mean, levels can suck right?

No, no we WANT to be told what to do, where to go, how to do it, what to do with it once we have it. We need the advice and recognition and someone older, and wiser or better at it than we are to TELL us when to start, how far to go, when to stop and it goes on and on and on. We need the pat on the back once we’ve accomplished something. Then we need to be able to complain about it too. Otherwise, there’s no problem with it – and there is ALWAYS a problem, am I right? There’s always SOMETHING to be done, to be upgraded. Someone to be educated and disciplined. There’s always a better method in which to do it and we have to come up with the method in order to keep our place on the ledge, by the ladder while looking up to the next level, not shoving anyone off yours, helping the person coming up but hoping they’re not better than you, but of course complaining if they can’t do it like you. If we come up with the next best method, then we have earned the ride on the escalator or elevator and we forget what it took to get up the first ladder to begin with. We stop honoring the push, the drive, the encouragement. We take for granted what we have because the value lowered when we left it on the lower level after getting to the next floor. We stop having expectations of ourselves and others because we get comfortable. Well – what’s wrong with comfort???

I mean, if we essentially “drop” the expectations after clearly stating that they only lead to failure, where else can we go? What will drive us to do more or better? What will make us WANT the next level? How many FREAKING LEVELS ARE THERE??? Comfort is cushy. It’s soft, and after all that climbing if we just sit, the lower levels will send us anything we need because they want to please you, so they’ll be invited up and given the access code for the private balcony.

What if you’re afraid of heights? Literal and not, but lets go with not literal. The higher you are, again – the farther you potentially can fall. The more people you can potentially take down with you or injure on your great fall. Can you just …pay for someone to catch you? Can you have someone send over the big cushy net to catch you? Do you fall then grab at anything to hold on to? Do you sacrifice others so you can stay put? The higher up, the more cushy, the more cushy the more expensive, the more expensive the bigger the tabloid. So, does money give comfort? Does earning the special code for the private balcony mean anything more than “i had to work hard to get here?”

Who decides to stay put? Someone has to teach the others to climb once they’ve gotten to the next level? Someone has to encourage the continuous reach for something more, right? Well, are the people teaching holding any expectations of themselves or others? Do they stop trying, because they are afraid to fail? or afraid to succeed? Either way the fear is very present because their society wants them to CHOOSE. Choose to DO…SOMETHING….AAAANNYYYTHING. But….but…it’s TERRIFYING!!!! What if I choose wrong?! what if I choose right by the standards of my parents, or friends, but I am passionless about my choice – can we choose, not to choose? How do you even TRY to not choose??? Do you stay stagnant and watch the world build quite literally around you and the very ground you stand on. If you dont’ move with them, they could run you down, push you over, drop something ON you, either way – you could get crushed if you don’t choose to move up or over or out of the way, either way you HAVE to choose apparently.

With so much freedom, comes so much MORE responsibility to make good, sound, and reasonable choices that reflect on you as a person, a human. And with those good, sound, and reasonable choices comes debt, and time lost and money lost, and opportunities lost and friendships lost, but you supposedly also GAIN but will it EVER BE ENOUGH?? Do the opportunities you lost mean anything if you never had them to begin with? Because you lose touch with your best friend of fifteen years because you are pursuing the fifth level, do you lose a piece of who you are and how you got this far – to begin with? How do you pay homage and ditch out? How can you EXPECT to succeed without making sacrifices??

you can’t, and so – you fail…at something…always. You stop looking at the dollar earned and start going “it could’ve been two…” then you blame someone, or yourself and set new expectations and somehow realize you haven’t …even..be climbing the right building.

F. Word.

You were so passionate about excelling and pursuing before. You had such freedom with no expectations and no boundaries, then you look up and go – oh…wrong place..hmm…how do you get back? I mean…sure you have the freedom to get back, but now you’ve been in it, and at it for twenty five years and have other shit to worry about and take care of, you have someone else’s freedom to fight for and encourage. If you lose yourself, can you retrace your steps to see where you went wrong? Is there a time limit on backtracking? Will it be frowned upon if I back track? I mean…everyone was so supportive before, then I made it – but I didn’t like it…will they support me if I try something different? Or…did I have my chance, and did I blow it?

Chance at WHAT???

Everything.

Yep, and that’s what passionless, terrifying freedom can get you too. Everything. Freedom can get you anywhere. It’s making the choices, within the confines and boundaries – yes boundaries – that will get you there. Because freedom has no restraints, and neither do boundaries, once you choose you leave the boundary in pursuit of whatever you’ve decided – keeping in mind the life you want to have, the money you want to make, the company you want to keep, the food you want to eat, the bills you’ll have to pay. Freedom is just another kind of line we cross or path we use, or ladder we climb to get somewhere else Hopefully though, you won’t lose yourself, you’ll learn from the sacrifices that had to be made, and you’ll honor the people who encouraged you to climb, as much as the people you walked over to get there.

Freedom is something you have to do something with, in order to get anything out of it. It is the consequences of every choice made that requires any real movement that can be absolutely paralyzing.

I have the freedom to move. Should I?

This song is just…very present right now. Not exactly sure why. Maybe I just like the lyrics, or the mellow music. I can relate to it at times, and other times I think of others. Other ladies, other gents. It’s like, I can see a different video almost every time it plays – almost…

Click here to Listen

You’ve got the best of both worlds
You’re the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you’re needy,
Humble but you’re greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I’ve been reading
Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It’s like picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don’t mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions dear
‘Cause here we are, here we are

Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they’re quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There’s no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words I’m paraphrasing this relationship we’re staging

And what a beautiful mess, yes it is
It’s like picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life I’ve heard
But it’s nice to say that we played in the dirt
Cause here, here we are, Here we are
Here we are [x7]

We’re still here
What a beautiful mess, this is
It’s like taking a guess when the only answer is “Yes”

Through, timeless words and priceless pictures We’ll fly like birds not of this earth

And tides they turn and hearts disfigure
But that’s no concern when we’re wounded together

And we, tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But its nice today. Oh the way it was so worth it.

The only comforting thing to me at this very moment is the color of my walls. That is not to say I’m extremely worried, or have anxiety or stress about something, it is to state, simply – that the color purple on my walls right now, is the only comforting thing to me.

The clutter that has become my room reminds me of a a stereo typical bachelor pad in that papers and books are everywhere but in files and shelves or binders. Clothes are on the bed, the desk, the boxes, but not in the dresser drawers or closets. The DVD’s seem to be holding true to their original home, on the shelf, although the lack of use results in dust that stares at me begging to be taken care of.

I’ve never been a super messy person.

I have very few pairs of shoes now, and a designated space in the closet for them to reside, but instead the majority trickle out of the doors and sleep by the bed or door to my room, or by the wall, by the desk, in a bag, or under the bed. This is only tricky when I can’t find matching shoe, and incidentally with a room not much bigger than a shoebox I’m not sure how it’s possible I lose shoes.

I’ve never been one to misplace things.

When I was an esthetician in CA I had a “room” as they call it where I did my work. This room was the home to a massage table and fresh linens, and smelly-good candles, and music by Enya and the likes. This room was where clients came to have hair removed by my cunning technique with wax, or to have facials or back treatments in order to take better care of their skin, or pamper themselves. Currently, my wax pot sits on my desk next to a stack of books I’m reading, or want to read, which are next to loose papers ranging from returned homework to receipts and assignments, and next to those a stack of plays and books I’m required to have and read for school. Above this desk is a cork board with pieces of projects popping out at me. They are thumb-tacked to the cork securely and yet they reach out to me in chaos.

I’m not one to cross over different worlds in which I play.

On the far wall of my room, the dark purple paint blankets the only piece of my room that makes me feel truly home. That wall has no window, or door on it, it stands firm and alone, but not untouched. This wall, the one that makes me feel truly home, has two framed pictures of me and my siblings on it, and a bevy of postcards and cards from people across the United States. These postcards are individually pinned to the wall with pictures facing out, and the love notes, special notes, advice and ideas pressed firmly to the purple wall. At any given time, I can pull a tack out of the wall and read the back of a postcard or the inside of a card. At any given time when I do so, it just so happens whatever the words say, are important for what’s going on in my life at that time. The words of my friends and family members resonate on a daily basis as I continue on my unknown journey.

I’ve always been sentimental.

Even now as I sit on the edge of my hard and squeaky queen size bed the radiator whistles and howls signifying heat is being sent to my room. I am elated. The cold breeze has also ceased to exist in my room because my best friend, Antoan, has successfully removed my air conditioning unit out of the window. With the unit in the window, there was always a breeze from the outside blowing in. Although that was amazing and wonderful during the summer, the restless winds and sporadic rain leave me to desire an air tight, and sealed window – especially since my bed is near it. The silver radiator and pole are becoming my new favorites, and consequently they share a corner with the purple wall with the postcards and pictures.

I’ve always believed it is the little things that count.

The mere fact that I even have a closet is apparently a huge deal in New York. Having been accustomed to the likes of a closet, it was not a huge deal to me, although I appreciated it none the less. My closet here in New York is smaller than any closet I’ve ever had, but still spacious because of what I actually have to call mine. I downsized heavily in the past year, or four, and have been able to function fine with the things I have. Necessities have priority, wants are secondary, and typically I never have money or time for a want.

I was raised to appreciate what I have, and I still choose to do so.

It doesn’t matter that the calendar I have is pinned low and next to the light switch by my door. It matters that it was given to me by my sister and brother-in-law, and it includes birthdays of family members, and each month houses a picture by Matt Schmitz. It matters, because of what’s behind it.

It doesn’t matter that the desk cannot be sat next to and worked upon because it is covered with papers and binders and plays and supplies. Nor does it matter the cork board overflows with what could essentially be a visual aid for a list of things to do. What matters, is what’s behind it.

No matter the clothes and the shoes, the bed or the heater, the DVD’s or the dust, what brings me to the place of purple-wall-comfort is this: I have them. And that allows the possibility of anything else.

If I can find a place of comfort, then the chaos is not as chaotic as it could be. If I can collapse after an eighteen hour day of reading, writing, working, erasing, thinking and trying, on bed that is uncomfortable and cluttered, then turn my head to the walls that reflect a combination of the red fire and passion in me with a cool flowing blue, I can be comforted in serenity. The kind that means I can catch my breath, or allow myself to breath. The kind that means I can become overwhelmed with all that sits before me, or momentarily relish in what I have accomplished so far.

The walls close me in as much as they keep the rest of the world out, and that particular kind of space and freedom is a kind of protection as well. And, if I can be protected and comforted by the likes of purple painted walls…the sheer simplicity of what that even means – then my next question is:

What else?

Every college student I’ve ever known gets ridiculously anxious around the middle of a semester, and the end of one.

That’s not true, that was a lie.

The problem with statements like that is its so broad even though it’s trying to be specific. Do I truly and honestly think EVERY college student I’ve EVER known gets RIDICULOUSLY anxious around mid semester and end of? No, no I don’t. So – to be more specific, although that actually means my statement will be more vague – if you can follow that train of thought…

Most of the college students I’ve met get a bit anxious around the middle of a semester.

(Continuing)

They cram as much information in their minds as they can over the course of a few days in order to spend a few hours showing their teachers what they’ve learned in the past few weeks. It seems to be a waste of time to do it that way.

I have enough anxiety and stress in my day-to-day life that exists without forcing myself into a position of even MORE lack of sleep, resulting in MORE coffee and caffeine shakes and MORE clumsiness and curtness.

Instead, I will pay attention in class, do my homework, do extra work in the areas I’m not confident in, ask questions that help me move forward in the work and I will manage my time as best as I can with what has to get done.

To date:
Stage Management: did not have a mid term
Acting: A-
Voice & Speech: A- on written, will find out tomorrow on oral
Writing: Current grade C, yuck and I turn in my final draft of my comparative essay tomorrow (tuesday)
Logic: Mid Term is next monday. To date I have high marks on all homework and I successfully solved the extra-credit work as well.

Am I a rockstar? eh.
Do I want to be? eh.
Would it be cool if I was? Absolutely.

And so, I will just keep doing what I’m doing and try to get better at that which I am not excelling. But I refuse to get winded, over-whelmed, or terrified because of mid terms.

Expectations can be just as difficult as not having expectations, therefore, appropriating boundaries seems to be a more successful objective.

It’s my understanding, that back home , in CA, there is loss.  A plane crash with no survivors has left a black mark on hearts.  There are no words I can say, and no hug tight enough to make a pain of loss go away.

This is the only way I can think of to reach out to you from New York. . .

Click here to listen to The News, by Jack Johnson

As I have every year for the past eight years::::

Happy Birthday to You,

Happy Birthday to You!

Happy Birthday dear John (Mayer)

Happy Birthday TOOOOO YYYOOOOOUUUU

Unfortunately this year, John, I did not bake – I couldn’t.  =( Sad Panda.  Love you still, and hope to see you soon!