blog, paper street

i updated my privacy policy

It’s been two weeks since I’ve spoken to the one person I’ve communicated with almost every day for nearly two years.

I’ve never really talked openly about my relationship because I’m terrified of jinxing it. This far into it and, yes, I keep thinking about messing it up. Besides, there’s not much I believe in but of the few things one of them is that a relationship is between the people involved. And I’m selfish. I want to keep the good times all to myself and the not-so-good times… Well, those get buried so deep they’ll never again see the light of day.

Plus, this is the internet and it’s totally passé to be in your feelings about a significant other. No. It’s all “delete his number, eat mangos, and move on with your life”. We romanticize the gooey bits of love and all of its varying forms but reach for the ripcord at the first sign of discomfort. How the hell is anyone supposed to learn how to cope and persevere during turbulent times when all the hip advice is to jump out of the escape hatch?

The one consistent thing I had in my life is gone, halfway across the country on an army base, and I’ll admit I’m flailing a little bit. I’m closing in on myself while simultaneously looking for my own escape hatch. Because this, too, is un-friggin-comfortable. What do I do with all this free floating energy? All these insecurities someone else has regularly assuaged, they’re still here. They’ve always been here and right now they’re staring at me with hands on hips and accusatory gazes.

Here’s a misconception I’ve found: a relationship does not heal you. All those doubts and ugly stories you tell yourself about yourself… It doesn’t matter if you go to sleep with a warm body curved around you. It doesn’t matter who’s texting you good morning or who’s forcing you to watch some cheesy anime on Netflix at two in the morning. You can still smile in a depressive state. You can still have a panic attack wrapped in someone else’s arms. You can have weeks and weeks of really great days, but one bad day can warp how you remember each day before it. Believe me, I know.

You have to heal you – and I have a lot of healing to do.

I know this because I see how it trickles into other parts of my life. I’m currently employed but have been interviewing for other possible opportunities and the job market feels like prostitution. I am selling myself and hoping I get a return on my investment. And it sucks! I’m constantly at war with my self-worth, constantly trying to prove my value in a concise and itemized package to a hiring manager. All this to extend my livelihood just a little while longer. Pay my next bill, get back a few points on my credit score.

And I am a hard worker, a boss ass bitch if you will. I know this by all the responsibilities my supervisor trusts me to take care of myself, by myself. In action, I’m impressive. That’s the exact word one of my co-workers used to describe me just days ago when I was in a full state of panic. I don’t wilt and I’m not a quitter.

But I am only human. A very self-critical, anxious bean who is prone of isolation. I’m a trustworthy woman who has an extremely difficult time trusting others. My love language is acts of service (what can I do for you? how can I help? how can I show you I care?), but I shut down when I don’t feel reciprocity.

Not to mention I’m big on distractions. Blaring music on my morning commutes so I’m not stuck in my thoughts. Hiding myself in my writing because it’s easier to solve someone else’s imaginary problems. But the things I’m feeling and the fictions I tell myself, this stuff can’t be fixed by doing something drastic to my hair and trying a new face mask. If only…

I wrote this all out to say @universe, take it easy on me, will ya?

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The Owls Are Not What They Seem

There are a little over two weeks until opening night for “Almost, Maine”, the John Cariani stage play I’m directing, and I just lost two cast members.

I’m not surprised, honestly. We can’t predict health problems, but then again I’ve often felt like Murphy’s Law operates frequently in my life. Ya know, things going wrong at the worst possible time in the worst ways. It’s not as if this production has been smooth sailing from the get-go. No.

This show was meant to have happened a year and a half ago. I was always meant to direct – just with a little help from my friend. He flaked on me. I floundered for a bit, half-heartedly looked at alternative methods. The non-profit I work for finally got me to push through on my own and we set things in motion. Set a date. Held auditions. Bought the rights. Found the venue.

Things came together. And then they began to fall apart. Again. The friend who let me down before did it once more. Committed to being an actor, took on a few scenes, and then stopped showing up to practices. Wouldn’t answer phone calls. Won’t respond to texts from his scene partner. I reiterate, not surprising.

I’m grateful to be surrounded by a talented and understanding group of actors, who banded together and found four guys to replace the one. And somehow they encouraged me to take on a scene, one of the more lengthy ones in the play.

Only now I’ve got one scene that I’m constantly putting a pin in and, unless I insert myself – mind you, sixteen days prior to opening, will likely lose another scene.

It’s also Twin Peaks Day! Twenty-six years ago, Special Agent Dale Cooper drove into Twin Peaks, Washington and changed my life. Really. I knew the theme song in utero twenty-five years before I ever watched the show. I even have the same tattoo of the marking the Log Lady (Rest In Peace, Catherine E. Coulson) had on the back of her leg and Audrey Horne herself, Sherilyn Fenn, responded to me on twitter this morning at the exact moment I received the bad news.


Naturally, I keep thinking about one of my favorite lines from the show. “The owls are not what they seem.” Things are not as they first appear, they don’t happen the way we expect them to. And maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe things fall apart so better things can fall into place. Who knows? I don’t, but I’m still optimistic.

Odd.

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this is how you lose her.

i’ve been thinking a lot about fire escapes. about lofts high up in sleepless cities. about clear night skies and clearer days. about vitamin d deficiencies and short daylight hours. about very little daylight. the sun marred by cloudy skies. maybe it’ll rain, maybe not, but here’s four or so days of the sky making up its mind. about red meat being good for nails – but terrible for my skin. about my terrible skin and how certain times of the month it’s all i can do to stop myself from taking sandpaper to it. instead i just slather on layers of foundation, and going on about my day with painted nails growing longer than usual.

i’ve been wanting to write, thinking about it, but not seriously doing it. i’ve been reading. maybe not as much as i make it seem, but more than i have in recent months.

most of all, i’ve been hurting and i’m trying to be okay with that.

she’s sensitive, too. takes to hurt the way water takes to paper.

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“i’ve been practicing a spell…”

i went into this new year with the ache of the last. having grown complacent, i, foolishly, started to long for another. any other. as if i don’t know better. as if i’m not constantly telling other girls better.

wanting someone else to do right by me should never mean i stop doing such for myself. are you fucking kidding me? i ask myself, tossing and turning in bed.

so, yeah, this year is meant to be plot progression but since when did that translate to a lose of focus on character development? here’s to knowing better, doing better – but actually doing better.

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‘got my vices in a vice again’


i collage’d my face yesterday because sc was/maybe still is under a state of emergency due to all the weather and flooding (i don’t actually know; i stayed in bed all weekend) and i had writer’s block but also allergies so why the hell not? (there are fifteen pictures of me in this one photo alone)

“you’re running like you’re being chased. you’re not running like you want to cross the finish line first.”

whenever life gets hard – and my best friend will not let me gone girl myself, ugh – i come back to this scene from season two of scandal. it’s got its quirks and faults and it’s on my list of shows i should probably catch up on, but the show has its very poignant moments. so i’m going to stop running like i’m being chased – or, well, like i’m being pushed.

if there is one person to which i attribute why i write/why i still write it’s nikki reed. this spans all the way back to me being a fourteen year old making my mom watch thirteen with me. she does a recurring column with elle magazine and it’s always a pleasure for me to read.

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5.

  • at a snail’s pace, i’ve been filling up my moleskin but it’s the only story that’s held my attention for this long. the muse is pretty loud.
  • when you have to distance yourself from something you actually really like to the point that your pavlovian response is abivalence or even negative and you have to be like “whoa, no, you don’t think [the thing] is gross.” yeah.
  • i’ve forgotten how to pack to fly. i’m generally a driver – i-95 is kind of home – or i take amtrak. but 25 is special and i’m confused about this whole deal with lotion and how much i can or cannot have in my suitcase.
  • oh my. that means i’m almost old enough to rent a car. dunno why that’s exciting to me. but it is!
  • “double bubble disco queen / headed to the guillotine
    skin as cool as steve mcqueen / let me be your killer king”
    – victorious | panic! at the disco x.
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3.

spent the weekend in bed with a headache so the only thing i was good for was watching netflix and pouting that it was too cloudy to make out the super moon blood moon eclipse fuckkin moon moon…so here’s 3.

ah, a musical incarnation of that familiar feeling, self-doubt. probably one of my favorite mashups ever.


halsey. badlands. i’ve had this album on repeat for weeks now. give it a listen if you haven’t. it’s got some poignant lyrics like “meaner than my demons” and “clinging to a little bit of spine“.

i’ve been having some thoughts about love and stuff and maybe i’ll write them down some day, but until then here’s my friend kelsey‘s take on being broken.

(and the blacklist is still on netflix, but you knew that already…)