Monday, November 26, 2007


Everything is mysterious, confusing, muddling. I feel like life is running me over, and I get so afraid that I sabotage everything. I think I must do it on purpose, albeit subconsciously, so I don't feel completely blindsided. I suppose I'd rather walk straight into traffic so I can brace myself before being struck down. If that makes any sense. Instead of being run down on the sidewalk, unsuspecting.

I was in a very frightening car accident in august and I now have a very visceral memory of what it felt like to be the one careening out of control, feeling yourself floating in air, about to hit cement and feel glass and metal crushing but not feeling it yet. And powerless, in the hands of God some would say. Suspended in time between the unchangeable past and an imminent razor-sharp explosion.

You hold your breath.

And I mean its nothing so serious. This feeling now, it isn't life and death. But you're still running out of air and the consequences are coming closer and closer. It all happens so fast. One gesture and its all over.

And you can stop everything and at the same time you can't. You're omnipotent and yet crippled by what you can't control. You're just scared scared scared.

That's what's horrible about falling in love.

I think I need to breathe. I think that's the key. I think I need to breath and let go. Why do I worry so much? If I'm suspended, frozen between what I've already done and the inevitable consequences, then what have I to worry about?

Today I will ground myself and focus on what's at my fingertips. And breathe.

Saturday, November 17, 2007


You know, its funny. On television, particularly shows with a primarily female audience like my beloved Gray's, there are always these intelligent, sensitive, emotional available, giving, respectful men who just wait around for some certain adorably complicated, tortured, scared and commitment-phobic woman to finally get over her issues and fall in love with them - because why wouldn't she? He's perfect. Its like some sort of sick (i.e. very clever) emotional pornography, we just eat it up - and whats funny about it is all of us women watching the show aren't Meridiths, we aren't represented by the actual woman in this situation. We aren't tortured and self-loathing and emotionally unavailable (not more than usual anyway). We're the McDreamy's. And we're always falling for men who are exactly like Meridith, and that's why we keep coming back, even though this season kind of sucks. Because we all have that male-meridith (or in my case a grand parading series of them) and we long, we long so tenderly for the day that we meet a Dr. Shepherd who lives in the wilderness in an incredibly spacious and well-furnished trailer and gets up at 5am to catch trout every morning before kissing us awake and ravaging us so we can make it through our harrowing (yet sweetly hilarious) day of back to back surgeries with a smile.

Plus, I mean, I wish I had someone to pick out indie-folky-rock gems for my life's soundtrack.

And I mean...let's not forget that he SAVES LIVES.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

I don't know what to do with myself.

I was getting ready to go to the gym this afternoon. I'd had a strange night of unsatisfied sleep, it took me hours and hours to finally get comfortable, I couldn't even keep my eyes closed until practically 4 am. I woke up and slept again, woke up and slept again, and I couldn't drag my body out of bed until past noon. I should have known something was very wrong.

My mother called. My Aunt Diane is in the hospital on life support. She may not make it through the night. The woman who survived multiple surgeries on her inner ear and brain, who survived breast cancer all on her own after her husband left her, the woman who is always there for my mother and who had become a fixture in our family even though she lives in Chicago, the woman who sends me three email forwards a day with pictures of kittens...she could be gone in the blink of an eye.

The man who basically is her only family and friend, her life companion, the man who had quit his job basically to take care of her in the last couple of weeks while she was suffering from what she thought were severe panic attacks, was the one who called 9-1-1 when he discovered her unresponsive in the middle of the night. Her lungs had begun to collapse and her heart stopped beating. He was DENIED to right to see her and to speak with her doctor because he's not a relative.

And now I'm sitting here in my room in sneakers and workout clothes, and I'm staring at my telephone and the clock and thinking about what I should do before class and rehearsal, what could possibly make sense to do right now. I can't go work out, I can't go to the grocery store, I can't run to the bank, I can't do anything I need to do, I'm rooted to the spot. I can't do anything that makes any sense because nothing makes sense. Nothing makes any sense.