Chicken Soup for the Cheesy Soul

If you know me, you know I love a metaphor, and when life gives me one, I have to share it. Hey! Chicken Soup for the Soul, NOTICE ME! Ima talk about how things happen for a reason, and stuff.

I'm amazed at how little I care about getting dirty, and uncomfortable. I remember a time just a little over a year ago when I approached nearly EVERYTHING with trepidation. I suppose it was the fear of being uncomfortable, of getting dirty, of not being able to enjoy myself. Seems a bit OCD thinking about it now. I carried around a lot of anxiety about...everything. I don't know what has happened to me. I don't know if it's medication induced, or if I'm actually growing out of my fearful self, but I like it.

Saturday afternoon I was out at the Garden (you know) with good friends/awesome people, working on a horror film we wrote together. Final scene! It was the end of a "chase," and Mr. Foy Tootle (yes. that's his real name), God bless him, decided it would be cool to have me running through the creek and up the bank before running into my scene partner (Julie Best-est). Usually creeks don't tend to get much deeper than mid-calf, but this was a bend, and a deep one at that. It was a deep bend full of rotting fallen trees and stagnant cold water. I know. I had draped myself over a fallen tree to get my nose close enough to the water as to catch a glimpse of some secret underworld. No such luck. Just muck.

My first reaction was to say "Hell no! It's too deep," and I did. But my next sentence was, "I mean, I'll do it if you think it will actually look good," which was a totally STUPID thing to say. OF COURSE it was going to look good: Me scrambling through the mucky water and up the bank. It was going to look terrifying and desperate. So, it should have been no surprise to me that I found myself doing just that mere moments later.

The first thing one instinctively does before endeavoring to cross any kind of body of water is to look for ways to avoid getting wet at all. I climbed gingerly from one fallen tree to another, throwing my body against the high bank and hanging on to visible roots, and it worked, that one time...for the practice shot. For the first shot, I slid down the opposite bank and stepped clean through the first "stepping stone" covering myself with mucky cold water.

It was then that Carrie remarked, "Okay. Now, you're ready." And I was. All bets were off. I was already wet. It was time to go all in. So, for the next shot, I threw myself across the creek towards the pile of fallen rotting tree branches that had collected in the bend, but none of them would hold. Everywhere I stepped, they gave way until I was desperately gripping the roots on the bank with my body in cold water up to my waist. I made it. I pulled myself up, and the shot was great. Better than great.

And there it was: the metaphor glaring me in the face. Do this thing. It will be good. It will be awesome even. And don't be afraid. But you are. And you step cautiously. Trepidation. Then, your footing gives way, and you fall in up to your waist. NOW you're ready. Forget those initial fears. You're already wet. It makes the feeling when you get to the other side and you get dry that much better.

Half-living is not living at all. Fear is a liar. Trust me.

This message brought to you by the fact that I'm getting more and more sentimental. Suck it.

Tricycle

I was sitting in the backseat of Matthew's car last night on the way to Dad's Garage, when I realized. I'm the third wheel. I'm actually on a date with my friends Matthew and Carol, two really awesome people, and super fun, but in a relationship with each other and not me. Have I become that person? I mean, it's one thing to be young and hanging out with your dating friends, but I'm 30-something with a job, and a sense of responsibility. I had this bazaar vision of myself at 50 in the same position. Hey! Let's invite our funny single friend, Caroline, along! She can sit in the back and make jokes about the date MST3K style. And that's pretty much exactly what I do. But hey, I look damn good while doing it.

So, in general, my third wheel status doesn't usually occur to me because I'm so awkwardly starving for attention anyway. However, next time I demand that someone whisper sweet nothings into my ear, so I don't feel too ostracized. It doesn't have to be sexy. You can say things like "man, kittens are awesome!" You just have to lean in close and whisper it in my ear. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!

Does Seltzer count as water?

I'd go so far as to say that I've spent so much time with myself this past year, the two other people in my company are the 2nd and 3rd wheel on my unicycle. It takes a while to figure out the correct balance for riding one of those, but once you do, it's exhilarating. So, if anything, joining a couple for a night of free/discounted fun is pretty much like riding a tricycle, and I get to be the big wheel up front, the one that determines the direction in which the unit goes. I win!

Is it obvious that I'm an only child?

Closing That Door

I have now been single for almost ten months. It is time for me to stop being bitter about my breakup and start being bitter about being awesome and single. No more sad blogs about disillusion. Let's move on to ironic blogs about disillusion. No more questions about the meaning of life. More jokes about the meaninglessness of daily battles.

So. Let's begin.

Oh, my good Lord. My wit has left me. I'm sitting here with a cup of coffee in my hand, and I can't think of a damn thing to say but "yawn." Last night I had a glass of wine with dinner and a beer when I got home. I was going to go to karaoke, but the beer (unit number two) knocked me down. I watched Scott Pilgrim again, curled up in a ball on the little couch, smiling to myself because I liked it. I wish movies were cheaper to see at the theater. I wish Dahlonega HAD a movie theatre.

Sometimes, despite the fact that life is awesomer at age 30 something, I DO miss parts of my twenties. The newness of everything. The stress. The confusion. The hilarity. The camaraderie. Life now is a different kind of awesome.

Then, going to bed with a little beer buzz was a warm and happy occasion. It meant I was previously out with friends, and I was currently choosing to go to bed. Now, going to bed with a beer buzz means I had a couple of beers with my dinner...in front of the television. But, hey, I made the dinner, and I listened to NPR while doing so, and I'm awesome.

Then, going out meant I was going to see a million people I knew for impromptu partying. No invitations required. They would all be there, wherever I was, and if they weren't, I would find them at a different location, but I would find them. Now, going out means making plans to make sure I'm not the only one there, and a good time is ensured by the people that agree to come out. If I go out on my own, there's a 90% chance I'm going to be sitting at the bar alone chatting with the bartender while occasionally striking up a conversation with another bar patron. Great way to meet people, though.

Then, being with friends meant drinking, dancing, social networking. Now, being with friends means making art, drinking, cooking, eating at the table and telling stories, dancing, and social networking.

Then, everyone, and I, was single, even the people that weren't single were totally single. Now, 80% of everyone is committed in one way or another, except for me, and the other 20%.

Then, I had no idea how pretty I was, how much value I possessed. I just knew people liked me. Now, I see myself, and I try to share my value, and I know people like me, and I like them.

I'll try to be more cynical next time.

Girl and Dog Go for a Walk

Girl puts on a scarf, hat, and jacket. Dog wears his collar and a leash. Girl and dog go for a walk. They find a secret path through the woods off the square. Girl and dog follow this path happily.

They are surrounded by leaves of red, gold, and orange. They climb over fallen trees, soft from decomposition. Girl climbs, and dog leaps.

Soon, girl and dog realize that they are lost. The path is gone. Girl tries to find the easiest way through, while dog tries to convince girl to follow him to a small creek. Girl finally gives up and follows dog. Dog leads girl out of the woods.

Between the woods and the road there is a giant muddy patch. Dog prances over the mud, while girl gingerly attempts to avoid getting too muddy. Girl steps in every wrong place. Girl steps in mud up to her knees. Girl is upset for a moment, then she shrugs.

Dog pulls girl away from the mud. They are in the back yard of someone's dream house. Girl and dog hide in the woods and rinse off in the small creek. Girl rolls muddy pants up and continues on the walk with dog.

Despite being muddy and having cold feet, girl and dog are very happy.

Girl and dog watch the sun set behind a red, orange, and yellow ridge.

Girl and dog walk home in the dusk.

Girl makes spinach and goat cheese pizza, and girl and dog curl up on the couch to watch a movie. Tabby cat joins girl and dog.

Everyone is warm.

An old friend did this: http://killmommynetlabel.blogspot.com/2010/10/kil023-thedirtycoast-thedirtycoast.html give it a listen.

I'm sitting at my kitchen table, calm and warm. I've had a couple of fairly normal days. No more rehearsal. No more fast food. No more gasping for air. I'm ignoring my cat. He can't decide whether he wants to be inside or outside. I'm making him stick to his original choice: outside. I'm also wondering what sort of wisdom, if any, I have to impart. I'm not sure.

Walking back to my house from school today reminded me of London: Spitting, cold rain, the smell of diesel as a truck or two passed, no umbrella. Nothing ever seems quite as clear as it does when I'm looking back at it. Even the moments that felt more alarmingly real, they look like raw film shots that have yet to be layered. If that makes any sense. I'm slowly learning about film by listening to my friends as they chat about it over storyboard drawing and motion graphic type headache work. But looking back on it all, it's art...in my brain...the finished product. I have no fascinating stories yet, I mean, I'm sure I do, in the recesses of my brain, but nothing comes to me right now.

I was thinking the other day, I don't really have ideas. I mean, I have ideas that are good ideas, but I don't have great ideas. I haven't been inspired by myself in...I don't know how long. Maybe my head's in the wrong place. Can anyone remember any really good ideas I've had in the past...two years?

You know what (my brain's a little fragmented right now)? It'd be nice to find people that aren't afraid of me. It'd be nice to never have to apologize for myself. It'd be nice to not get knocked down for a little while. It'd be nice to be able to let go. It'd be nice to be able to trust. Anyone. Ever.

That's as good as it gets right now.