That said. Have you ever been to a place wherein you don't necessarily *want* to die, but you think, "you know, if I *were* to die, things would just be much easier. No more financial burdens on my family, no more having to 'suck things up and get over it' as everyone, including myself, keeps telling me to do. It would just be better and easier." Anyone? Ever been there? And if so, did you just wake up one day and find yourself over it? Did you see a therapist? Were you mentally strong enough to just meditate your way out of it? Is it just a funk? I've never felt this way before, never had depression, it's just been a really hard year and I'm sure this will all pass eventually, la la la. I'm just wondering if anyone else has ever like, really seriously felt this way.
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blank
I'm just gonna start posting things my cousin says on Facebook. He's waaaaay funnier than I am. Here is his latest:
"Check out my line of childrens books:
The Princess and Pickle
Go Dog Go Take Your Things I Want A Divorce
Llama Llama DUI
Where The Wild Things Score Their Junk
Kids Mess Things Up
Be Pretty So The Boys Like You
Bedtime With Anton LaVey
Riding... A Bike Is Not For Everyone
If Your Happy And You Know It Eat Your Feelings
Let's Go To The Park...And Meet Guido
You And Mr. Hatchet."
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amused
- Mood: chipper
- Mood: happy
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confused
Fingers. Crossed.
- Mood: hopeful
Thank you.
- Mood:
anxious
Anyway, in addition to being on Pet Deathwatch 2009, these people have also hired me to do some organizing for them. The grandmother recently went to a nursing home and she was a huge packrat and had, over the years, become the extended family's repository for photos, keepsakes, letters, wills, etc. In other words, she had a shit ton of stuff. So they trucked it here to the house and I have been going through it, figuring out who's who, reading letters and wills and newspaper clippings and everything to figure out what goes in whose pile. Yesterday I spent like half and hour just staring at this oddly fascinating photo of a Scottish guard (some ancestor spent some time there in the 20s) and thinking, "this guy is probably dead now but this picture of him, someone's husband, someone's granddad, is here. In America. 80 years later." It felt a little bizarre.
So after I piled everything up, they bought some boxes for me to put each person's pile in for storage. The woman who hired me, Susan, said, "what the hell am I gonna do with all this stuff when I die? You think my daughter's gonna keep it? I might as well throw it away now." And it felt kinda sad to me for some reason. (This may also have something to do with the fact that I toured a nursing home this morning and really old people hunched over in wheelchairs looking forgotten kind of hurts me.) But she's right. I mean, what do you do with a funeral condolence book once the hurt is gone and it's three generations later? But what really struck me was going through and putting these people in their boxes and realizing, unless they had kids, this is really all that's left on this earth of some of these people. One of them drowned on his honeymoon at age 27 in 1925. Studying to be a doctor. Very sad. And now all the evidence of his existence fits into a small first class mailer. And there's nothing wrong with that, most people don't leave behind monuments or eternal flames on their graves. But it's kind of, I don't know, is humbling the right word? Something about it just seems, right. Like, yeah, that's how it is. That's life. You come, you do what you can, you make choices, things happen, and then you exit and make room for other people without leaving a lot of crap behind for other people to have to box up or put on eBay. I don't know how that sounds, but it's not really a sad or cynical thing. It's just an eye opening thing to me I guess. And I started to wonder what would be left of me when I die. What would be deemed important enough to keep and put into my box that goes into a cousin's attic somewhere? I think it might be better to leave something else behind, something that other people can enjoy and it can be used, not just take up space somewhere. That's the beauty of being an actor or artist of some kind. You can create things that can be enjoyed even after you're long gone.
And now Driving Miss Daisy is on t.v. I think the universe it telling me I should take this nursing home job.
Also, I totally forgot about this user pic. Seeing it now makes me sad.
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pensive
I am part of an autobiographical writing camp for teenaged girls that runs every June, with meetings once a month year round. It's an unbelievable program, one in which girls from all family situations and socio-economic backgrounds and races bond and almost always become important parts of each others lives. As young girls often do, given the right circumstances. I don't want to use some craptastic cliche about me learning so much about myself from the girls. But what else can I say? It's really hard to try to be an example to someone and counsel her when you yourself are having pretty much the same problem. With relationships, with what you want to do with your life, with friends, with the way you treat other girls in general. It gives you perspective in a way that nothing else really can. (And oh honey, these girls will CALL each other on their shit. And then give each other a big fat hug afterward and move on. It'll leave you speechless.)
One of them, a beautiful, cool, feisty 16-year-old with her nose pierced and black eyeliner who changed her name to something she liked better, was born with a serious heart condition and has had many surgeries over her lifetime. She had decided, at the age of 12, that she was done. Didn't want any more. Then at that same age, she started this program, and in the last year or two she really blossomed, started to find herself. Made bonds with other girls and decided that she wasn't going down without a fight. She agreed to let her parents put her on the transplant list, despite her rare blood type and the chances that a match would be found were slim. She knew the odds, but she chose to try. The girls in the program visited her constantly at the hospital. Texted, Facebooked, kept in touch and included her in the meetings. Refused to have her feel left out. Insisted she share her fear and pain with them. Comforted her and made her laugh as she did them. She was funny too, did I mention that? Kind. Brilliant. She was texting her friends from her room after the first surgery, chest still cracked wide open.
Sunday, after 2 transplants in the last month, her little body had had all it could handle, and she passed away. Services will be next Sunday in the park. Sixteen. Scared and fearless at the same time. When people die, sometimes the ones left behind tend to idealize them. Make them out to be more than they actually were. But truly, this girl was one of the best. The girls from the camp are conducting her memorial service.
- Mood:
sad
He doesn't skate like a man. He doesn't skate like a woman, but he doesn't skate like a man.
- Mood: amused
Last night I was at my theatre company's latest production, Simpatico. After the show, hanging out in the lobby, Emmylou Harris told me she remembered how funny I was in this show she had brought her mother to and she thought I was a good actor. And I almost melted. Not because it was Emmylou, I would have felt like that no matter who said it. But it was a little surreal. And also, it could have been a total crock. But I'm taking it to my happy place nonetheless and leaving it there.
- Mood: satisfied
Also. There are only TWO acceptable characters to kill off in this show. No, three. Well, kind of a lot really. They are: Kate, Jack, the Dharma asshole with the glasses, Phil, Ilana and/or any of the new crash survivors. Anyone else who is killed off poses a SERIOUS risk of me severing ties with this exhausting show once and for all.
Dear Lost Writers,
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Sincerely,
Everyone who watches this show. Everyone.
I'm just kidding. I would never sell this. It's going in my bathroom.
*Edited to add special thanks to
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
clockworktomato who gifted this to me!- Mood: blank
Seriously, they're full-grown, sitting in there getting fatter by the day. One of them was standing on the nest yesterday and I thought it was the mother at first. Actually, I believe as of this morning, one of them has flown. But the other two look preeeetty comfortable in there.
Elsewhere in Eofa's Wild Kingdom, I have caught 8 chupacabras and the 9th appears to have buggered off. No food left, y'see. My folks are coming over today to help close up all the official ports of entry. Then I'm going to bleach down the cabinet they got into and repaint it. I probably don't need to do both, but honestly if I could get a priest in here to exorcise it and throw some holy water around my kitchen, I would. I don't do rodents.
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I started kindergarten in 1976 and in MY day, the school told parents not to teach their kids to read before starting school, because they had to follow the curriculum of teaching us the alphabet and if we could already read, we would be bored. Ahh, the 70s. So. My first day of school I informed my mother I was NOT going back because they didn't teach me to read. (end mildly amusing anecdote and my mother's favorite school story about me) Anyway, for some reason, one day A Duck is a Duck popped into my head and then Helicopters and Gingerbread and I thought (no idea why) that I would really like to see these books again. So I went to Amazon and lo and behold, someone was actually selling them there. So I bought them. This is back when I was gainfully employed, btw, and spent money like it was going out of style. (Lesson #1 of being unemployed, you learn how to wisely spend money and vow you will never blow it on stupid crap again, knowing damn good and well that you will.)
I've been doing a lot of self reflection lately. I mean, A LOT. People, I could do a goddamned PBS fundraiser with Dr. Wayne Dyer about meditiation and being positive and Your Best Life. Wayne would, of course, be pacing around on stage doing all the work in his pajamas and I would be sitting in the rock garden stage left providing the snark. But BY GOD would would raise PBS some serious cash. My point, and I do have one, is that part of this unemployment-slash-interpersonal-relatio
( Read more... )
- Mood: amused
2. Got my official rejection email from Dave Ramsey's people. It's okay. They hired someone who better fit their needs at this time. Like you do.
3. I spent my Christmas money today on a new wallet and a few articles of clothing. I've never been one for retail therapy and I loathe shopping for anything other than home decor and exotic foods, but it did actually make me feel better. Mom took me to lunch. It was good.
4. Going to my parents' for Easter dinner.
5. My tax refund was mailed three weeks ago and I haven't received it yet. This mildly concerns me.
6. As does the fact that I'm breaking out like a teenager. What up with that?
7. Sooooo tie-tie.
8. Been working on WoW achievements. Old world instances mostly.
9. I love zombies.
10. I want to make a really good paella.
11. Got my fireplace painted. It looks hella better. Now for the rest of the living room.
12. I need to find me some tulips. They're my favorite flower and when I was in school in France I used to go to the flower market every week and buy a bouquet because they were really cheap and made me happy. My friend asked me last week what I was doing for myself lately, to make myself happy. And I couldn't think of anything. So I may have to settle for some yard flowers but if I can find some really cheap tulips, I am going to buy them for myself.
13. Netflix, I wish I could quit you.
14. At least I'm not Lindsey Lohan. Things could be worse.
- Mood: blah
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