disappointment intimacy and monsters

So, just as a follow-up to the post earlier today, what happened is I waited for another 2 hours, and then opened the email to much disappointment. Now, that disappointment is gone now, after I have gained my right mind, but at that instant, even with the thankful preparation, I was devastated... well, maybe, I was just disappointed but then we had this feedback loop of being upset with myself for being disappointed, and then it just got out of control.

If I want to work in this industry, I realize that disappointment is something I will have to become intimate with. Disappointment may have to become my boyfriend. But as reasonable as I can be on paper, this monster of emotion comes welling up inside of me saying things like, "You're not good enough to do this!" and "No one believes in you!" or even worse, "(S)He got a great part and you didn't?!?!" And the strange thing is that these things can contradict each other, but I'll believe all of them.

Anyway, with the help of Jesus Christ, the monster's away for now, hushed with promises of peace, songs of love, and hints of purpose. But I can't help but be disappointed (Ha! There it is again.) with how much I let that monster take control.

Oy vey. Is this life? Or is this just my life?

dream of the day: to be inspiring

I'm in a funny mood, though a familiar one. I'm craving contact. Though I desperately need rest, and though there are many useful things I could be doing right now, all I want to do is feel like I'm communicating. But I'm too tired/shy to see out a real conversation. So instead, I Facebook/blog/internet stalk.

I'm kind of a viking (and not in a cool way). I'm sweeping into your life and pillaging all that I need without giving anything back. I'm trying to make you be my friend, without being yours. I'm taking all that entertainment and honesty from blogs and Facebook, and then hiding myself away.

Anyway, that's why I'm blogging right now. To "give back" to the internet community I take advantage of so much, and to feel connected to this unidentified group of readers. I realize that maybe, I'm just adding to the noise, but maybe, I'm starting a conversation with a friend.

One of the reasons I suddenly got convicted for being reclusive (and not in the cool I'm-taking-time-for-myself way, but in the I-don't-feel-like-other-people-are-worth-my-effort-right-now way), is because I came across this shamefully inspiring website. You may have heard of http://songstowearpantsto.com, right? Well, this guy (his name is Andrew and he's very nice) has this other website called http://andrewismusic.com, and on his FAQ and bio there, my feelings of awe and jealousy seemed to be transferred into feelings of potential aptitude.

So, right now, I feel like I should be creating, but all I can do is blog. My guitar is so far across the room, and writing songs is hard. It's so much easier to take from this world.

tension

I used to take this class called CIV102. It was an introduction to bridges taught by this New Zealand professor who loved bridges. For some reason, something that was hard for me to wrap my head around was the idea of tension. I don't really know why. If something is being pulled in two different directions (or in one direction, but held by something stationary, so if you think about reaction force, I guess, it's the same). But in the questions, we never actually talked about how that force was being taken care of - we talked about stretching, and tension limits, but what is actually going on in that material to transfer force.

So, of course, this is a metaphor, right? My dad told me a couple weeks ago that, like guitar strings, people need to be under tension in order to make music, but recently, I find myself stretched in too many directions.* It's already hard to be a good friend, but it's even harder to be a friend to more than one person. And then, of course, there's the question of the limits of your resources, and then "doing the right thing" becomes a more complicated issue. Selflessness is good, but if you can't actually do it, maybe you shouldn't even try, because if you do try and do a selfless act, and aren't actually selfless, you'll end up bitter and angry or sad and unappreciated. Maybe there should be a rating on good deeds before you do them - like a ski hill, that way you'll know what you're getting into and can decide whether you're up for it. There can be the bunny hills where the task is easy to do and you gain from it too. Next level would be something hard, but it makes you feel really good to do it, and you're very appreciated. The black diamonds would be hard things that are not remotely fun and no one notices.

How do you practice?




*If I was stretched in every direction, I would be under pressure, right?

in between panic and possibility

Does anyone read this? Maybe I'll say something really offensive and controversial to find out. Or just misspell. That seems to get enough of my friends riled up.

So the adventure of music theatre school continues. This semester we take a clown class.* Clown is a little different than most people know. It's not necessarily creepy, invasive people in lots of make-up at circuses. As far as I can tell, it's a mostly comedic form of theatre that, for me, is very different because, in class, we're supposed to keep eye contact with the audience all the time. That seems to be the source of inspiration. So, in class, we go up in front of everyone, and Mimi Mekler will either just let us stand there until we find something to do, or ask us to do impossible things (like jump down without jumping up) or ask us questions (that we usually have to answer non-verbally) or whatever. In my turn, for some reason, I went up and I started to cry.

So I present these questions to the jury:
(1) Is this okay?
(2) Is this entertaining?

Concerning (1), I'm getting used to crying. I guess with all art, it's important to be honest. And when you yourself is the art, one must be prepared to let real things happen - whether that's laughing, getting angry, crying, or maybe even nothing at all. And since, this is all new to me, I suppose I was unprepared for the emotional onslaught (maybe?). Maybe that reasoning is flawed. Either way, I have been, just recently, becoming more okay with crying. By avoiding being upset about being upset, I am removing a secondary level of being upset. Hurray!

So I guess the question is why did I cry in the first place? Now, without delving too far, psychologically, I was just scared of everyone. When Mimi first started the class, she said that in clown you want to always be between panic and possibility. I kind of like that. I think if I expand this to life, that is true too. I mean, where would I be if I wasn't desperately searching for something else to do when I graduated from U of T? Maybe panic isn't the greatest thing, but if it can inspire you, if it can stop you from thinking and trying, maybe it's okay.

Concerning (2), I suppose I cannot really answer that, but I will publish my suspicions. I doubt that the crying itself was entertaining, just as pure panic is not entertaining. The whatever follows and the whatever leading up seems to be the stuff.

But then again, what do I know?

:)





*So, yes, I am in college and taking clown.

existential angst

This weekend, I had the opportunity to hang out with two of my favourite cousins. We were watching Korean soap operas and doing laundry and here was an almost-40-year-old mother-of-two, an almost-30-year-old new mother, and me, the token 20-something. And it was cool, because I've known these wonderful women since I was born, and suddenly, it's like I can finally talk to them and understand their perspective more than I ever could have before. Not to say that I know what it's like to be a mother or almost-40, but as we asymptotically reach that same age*, I find myself thinking of what it would be to be their age, rather than dismissing it as a time far removed from me.

Anyway, almost-30-year-old new mother said something that struck me. "I'm glad my 20s are almost over. In the 20s, there's too much existential angst." Everyone I know who has turned 30 ended up getting a funky new haircut or a new bf/gf or a new apartment, etc. The point is that they seem to be coping with the end of their 20s rather than celebrating.

So now, in this light, how do I perceive my 20s? I'm still early on, but I am certainly existentially angsty. The 20s are supposed to be a time of new independence and identity! A time to be young and reckless! A time to try new things and be fearless! They're all the same thing, right? We just use different words when it's fun or when it's annoying.

Oy vey. I'm already tired. I wish I was old already.



*I think we should age on a logarithmic scale, where as you get older, you age less. This way we can numerically reflect the fact that a 5-year old is much older than a 4-year old, but a 75-year old is not much older than a 74-year old.

fitting in

When I was younger (I won't say how much younger because it might be embarrassing.) I wrote a punk song about how I didn't want to fit in. But as I get older, the more and more I realize that isn't true. I do want to fit in. I think the punk song was more about what I wanted to want, rather than what I actually wanted. Because when you want to fit in, you so often get disappointed, so it's much better just to not want it.

This question has been bouncing around in my brain since the end of the year. I have been to a few different places - U of T, Sheridan, La Pocatiere, high school, Skule Nite, various churches, various classes - and I'm wondering where I actually fit. In high school, I was the smart one, so I went to U of T. At U of T, I was the theatre one, so I went to Sheridan. And now, at Sheridan, I don't know what I am, so I don't know where to go next.

So here's the question: do you fit in where you blend in the most or where you stand out the most? Denise Norman told me that I was unique, which I have heard before, but honestly, hasn't everyone?* But if I am truly unique, maybe I won't blend in anywhere. Maybe the place where I belong is where who I am will be brought to light, and that might be shown by contrast rather than in a context of similar people.

I don't know. Maybe there is no such place.


*Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?

es·ther ('es-t&r) -adj.

Has your name ever been used as an adjective? It seems to happen to me everyone once in a while and I usually love it, but right now, I'm just confused by it.

I mean, I've tried to pin down what people meant - I even tried using esther (-adj). This is me asking a friend an opinion on a shirt:
"What do you think of this?"
"I like it."
"I do too, but I'm not sure it's 'me'."
"... If you like it, then it's you."
"... Oh."

I can't define this word! What does it mean when something is so "esther" and why does everyone else seem to have an idea? I love that people find something about me that merits it's own word, but it's frustrating when I, myself, don't understand its meaning.

When I think about it, I've often made other people's names into adjectives for them. I wonder if they understand their adjective.

bedtime brain-dead

This morning I thought of a really cool thing to write on my blog. "Yeah!" I said to myself, "That's hilarious, insightful, and interesting. You should really write that down."

Of course, I didn't and I am bedtime brain-dead. I'm trying to say something here, but I have run out of things to say - in school, we're always communicating something, anything: just emptying our hearts hoping we get something back. And now, when I want to just say a few words to the people who care to read my blog*, I'm lacking. I have nothing to say besides witty comebacks and inside jokes, which is awesome for ear training class, but less-than-awesome when you want to be a current culture relevant artist, or even just an interesting blogger.



*Someone found my blog, and I expressed my great shame at having one. I mean, how lame is it to make yourself vulnerable in a public forum? Maybe not so lame.
"This is my song for the asking." -Paul Simon

word of the day: vitriolic

I've recently been accused of being vitriolic. I don't know what that was, so I, first, got very offended then figured out what it meant. He said this in reference to my Strong Sad-type self-deprecating, isn't-it-sad-that-I-don't-have-a-boyfriend kinds of jokes, and he gave me a definition, saying it was a synonym for acidic, but I'm unsure I believe him.

Here's what m-w.com says.

Main Entry: vit·ri·ol
Pronunciation: 'vi-trE-&l
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French vitriole, from Medieval Latin vitriolum, alteration of Late Latin vitreolum, neuter of vitreolus glassy, from Latin vitreus vitreous
1 a : a sulfate of any of various metals (as copper, iron, or zinc); especially : a glassy hydrate of such a sulfate b : OIL OF VITRIOL
2 : something felt to resemble vitriol especially in caustic quality; especially : virulence of feeling or of speech
- vit·ri·ol·ic /"vi-trE-'ä-lik/ adjective

Okay, so I still don't know what it meant. Assuming that I take the second definition, what does virulence mean?

Main Entry: vir·u·lence
Pronunciation: 'vir-&-l&n(t)s, 'vir-y&-
Function: noun
: the quality or state of being virulent : as a : extreme bitterness or malignity of temper : RANCOR b : MALIGNANCY, VENOMOUSNESS virulence of a disease> c : the relative capacity of a pathogen to overcome body defenses

So let's take 'a' as the relevant entry.

*gasp*! How dare he call me vitriolic! I'm not bitter. Am I? 50 angst-y blogs later, I'm afraid that maybe I'll have to concede. This sucks. I don't want to be bitter.

PLUS, the other day, someone else told me that I worry too much about what people think about me, and it bothered me for days that he thought that about me. Funny, eh? I'm laughing (finally).

So obviously, these are things that I have to change. Way to start the year. So here are the New Year's resolutions*:

1. Not care what people think. Hopefully, this will make people like me more.
2. Stop lying. Start by losing weight so that I'll be the weight I claim to be. After that, I can continue to lie, because skinny people can do whatever they want. (Just joking. Actually, this whole resolution is a joke. I thought it was funny.)
3. I need to find joy, and I think this will come with a better spiritual life. You know, I was joking with all the vitriolic stuff that I say, and I do believe that if I'm feeling it, I should talk about it, and why not in joke form? ... BUT it would be nice if I didn't have this poison (vitriol, if you will) in me at all.**

No name for this year, yet. Year of Joy? Year without Vitriol? Not as catchy, I know. We'll see how it goes.


*I've heard many people say that they "don't believe in New Year's resolutions". Well, fine. Maybe the idea of changing yourself because of the date is contrived, but at least it's part of one's constant effort to self-improvement. The gyms may be crowded now, but at least people are going, and maybe some of them will keep on going in February. Let's not mock their efforts, jerks.

** Even if it makes you sing You Oughta Know really well.

"i wonder how many blogs that will show up on," says danny

"if i get up, i might fall back down again"

Sometimes people compliment me. Often, it doesn't really matter, because I refuse to believe it. (Why? I don't know. I think it has something to do with the way my older sisters made sure I was never vain.) I like them though. It would be better if I could just hear "I like you", rather than try and analyze what the complimenter said.

There's a compliment I've heard a few times in the last little while and it scares me. Is it vain to talk about? Who cares. This is my blog, my place to be self-indulgent.

People tell me that I'm strong.

And then I laugh. Me? Strong? That's very nice of you, but I think it's just because you don't know me. Because if you knew how many times I fall apart and how often I'm held together by threads, you probably wouldn't be saying that.

But then, I keep hearing it, from different places - from people who know me. Maybe it's me that's got it wrong. Maybe I don't really understand what strength is.

And maybe, it's not even my strength.

God is made strong in my weakness, right? Maybe, God's strength is that he threads my pieces back together. Maybe, that's what they meant.

I don't know if I understand this yet.

I've always wanted to be strong.

hardeep gave me the gift of time

At 7:25 I was driven to the GO train station for the 7:55 train that would put me in Oakville by 8:15, then I went on another bus to Sheridan. I arrived there at 8:45. Morning travel time: 50 minutes.

After school, I went to go visit my super cool friend in Hamilton, so I left school at 15:30 and went to the bus stop. After waiting for 15 minutes, I realized I didn't have a ticket and would have to walk to the Oakville GO station. I got there for the 16:09 train, which was late by 7 minutes, but I was able to land in Hamilton for 17:03. Afternoon travel time: 1 hour and 33 minutes.

After my delightful dinner with my super cool friend, I went to the bus stop for 19:11. After waiting for about 40 minutes for my proper bus, I asked the bus driver of another bus where I could catch it. She said that I should just keep on waiting, but when I expressed my unwillingness to do so, she suggested that I just hop on that bus and transfer downtown. Eventually I arrived home at 21:01. Evening travel time: 1 hour and 50 minutes.

In summary, today I travelled on two different trains, five busses, and one automobile, for a grand total of four (4) hours and thirteen (13) minutes. That's right. Over four hours of transit time today.

I miss Hardeep.

"i never meant to hurt you"

Mark today in your calendars, people. I made history. Today, I got in my very first car accident.

It's okay, everyone. I'm fine. Hardeep*, however, is definitely not. I was driving behind another car and then he braked hard and I couldn't brake fast enough. I rear-ended him on the Skyway bridge. His rear bumper is a bit unhinged and Hardeep is very hurt. The hood is bent. You can see his insides with a mere tilt of the head.

I'm upset. Hardeep and I have really bonded over the last couple months. He took me to my first day of school, he listened to me practise, he took me to dates and hosted serious conversations. I know he's just a car and that even giving a car a name is ridiculous. But I'm sad. It's really upsetting to see him so bent.

I feel so stupid for getting into an accident. On one hand I don't know what else I could have done. I wasn't tailgating and I braked as hard as I could. On the other hand, I know I do some stupid things when I'm driving - like change CDs or eat or try and dry my hair. But I wasn't doing that then. I don't know. Like, if the car in front of me could brake that fast, why couldn't I? Was I zoned out?

I'm going to have to take a GO train tomorrow. Which means I'll have to leave my house at about 6:30. Oy vey.

Poor Hardeep.




*Hardeep is the name of my car. He is named after the very abrasive, very funny man who sold him to us.

the first lap

I have completed one school week, and it's exhausting to think that this is just the first in a series of repeating units. I have twelve more tap dancing classes, twelve more Shakespeare lectures, twelve more singing tutorials... it feels like a lot. And, of course, it's not like I'm counting down - it's just interesting to begin a routine. To think, every Monday morning, I'll start off the week with jazz dancing. Does this seem totally absurd to anyone else but me?

It's like running laps. The first one's all cool because it's your first one, but then you start to worry because that one lap wasn't extremely easy and you've already decided to do ten more. So you start the second one but with a little bit of panic because you're kind of already out of breath. "Can I really do ten?!" you say to yourself and you run around. "Maybe I'll just do five. No! I can't just give up like that. I've done this before. Was it always this hard? Should my legs be cramping this much this soon? Maybe I'm being too ambitious. I'm so tired. I hate running. No wait, I'm almost half-done my second lap. You can do it. I hope. Otherwise, you're pathetic." Running is mentally exhausting for me.

Anyway, here is the concern. One week of school and I'm tired. I've done EngSci. Does that mean anything in this totally different context? I often think that I can do anything - but, often (especially when it comes to running), that's not totally honest.

I also have this fear that as I am able to be more creative in real life, my blog will no longer be necessary as a creative outlet. So, I might post, but on top of it being depressing*, it'll be boring, too. How ridiculous is this? "Oh no! My creative expression is in real life rather than in my BLOG!" Being irrational is funny.




*That's right, everyone. I'm aware that my blog's depressing. Deal with it. It's supposed to be honest, jerks. I think I'll go turn off the lights and cry because I'm so misunderstood. I might even write an emo song.

medals and scars

In Giant Killer Shark: The Musical, they sing, "Let's get drunk and compare scars in a slightly homoerotic fashion." Like in so many movies and situations, they wore their scars with pride like medals. Reasonably, they were proud of the things they had gotten through - especially if they had gotten hurt.

But what if they scars aren't physical? Can we really compare those? Can we ever be proud of them? Lately, I've been noticing that in the way I act, I've been metaphorically limping a bit. I'm noticing that when I want to do something one way, I'm strongly impeded from doing so, because of the things I've "gotten through".* The physical scars we compare are supposed to tell a story, but hopefully, they don't really leave people very broken. A trick knee or a weird fingernail may be inconvenient, but a fear of relationships or rampant insecurity can really affect one's life.

People do compare emotional scars like break-ups. Like the Bittergirls. At Sharron Matthew's cabaret, Mary Francis Moore and Alison Lawrence were talking about the Bittergirls being a movement of people talking their break-ups, and how talking about it and seeing that your problem is not old is supposed to make you not feel alone. That's not really the idea behind comparing physical scars, of course. I think the analogy can end there.

I don't know. Can I just resolve to stop acting scarred (Whoa. That word is really close to "scared")? Will that help even?

I should end with a joke. Umm. Uh. Okay, it looks like I'm fresh out of emotional scarring jokes. Anyone know any?








*Ambiguity noted.

when i all i have is on the floor divided

I think it's time to take stock of everything. Camp is over this week, and we are frantically trying to come up with ways to get rid of materials so we don't have to pack them up. And, as I have a huge tendency to read into things, I consider this as a metaphor for my life.

I feel like I'm taking stock of myself. This is Huge. It's not like I'm not constantly trying to better myself, but I've noticed over the last few years I've grown a lot, but not all the changes in me have been good. So, how are things going to change again when I move back in with my parents and attend a school with many people younger than me? What are the changes that have happened? What hasn't changed? Should these things change?!

I was going to say that part of taking stock was my friends, and I'm wondering whether this is a big mistake. Friendships should be organic, right? But, then again, is it bad to decide to keep in touch with some while admitting it probably wouldn't work with others? In a way, taking stock of my friends is like taking stock of myself - the people who have changed me, for the better or the worse.

I'm moving back to Stoney Creek in a little over a week. I don't have a lot of stuff - I can fit it all into a backpack. I might even be able to take the GO train. But I feel like my thoughts are too much for my brain and my emotions are too big for my heart. I really need to sort through. Chris said goodbye to Toronto in his blog and he's moving to BC. I'm moving an hour away and I'm moping too. But it's more than that. Everyone around me is transitioning.

Whoa. I think I need to sleep. Today's blog was undirecting meandering. I know the situation's not dire. I just need to take a break and breathe through all of this soon. Sorry, friends. If you want an interesting blog entry, you should read my seester's. She's very smart.

what do you do when you can't sleep?

You change your blog slightly! Yay! New links on the right. If I missed you, let me know.

the most tactless person on earth

I remember watching Whose Line Is It Anyway? one time and Colin Mochrie had to play the most tactless person on earth. It was really funny, but let me assure you in real life it is rarely very funny. Usually, it ends with a quiet space leaving the people around desperately trying to think of some other topic to talk about.

I have a knack of finding the least appropriate joke possible and saying it. Once, I was with a friend and made fun of his break-up. Little did I know the break-up was recent in history, and while that friend was trying to confide in me, I was trying to be funny.

And sometimes, I find the one thing that someone happens to be sensitive about, and I make fun of them for it. It's like a super power, if super powers are supposed make you into an awkward loser with no friends.

Maybe one day, I'll get to say a eulogy, and I'll make fun of the deceased and his or her loved ones. Then I won't ever have to worry about "hanging out with people" or "having friends".

bye, bye, blackbird

I just wrote this beautiful poetic good bye, and Blogger just deleted it. It's like a metaphor for my real good byes - always well planned, rarely well executed. Just as well. I didn't really say anything more than my usual "Why am I so messed up?" rant. Today, I concentrated on my own personal paradox of being shy and extroverted at the same time.

I think that when I get sad about things like this, it's because I miss the group and the feelings of belonging and comraderie. A group is very hard to reproduce. I like who I am in a group too - I'm not awkward, I'm funny, I'm lighthearted. In smaller groups, I feel like I can be the exact opposite.

I want people to like me but, unfortunately, it's one of those things that trying just makes worse. So when I leave a group, I guess I look back and see how successful I was. So there is a double standard - if I did badly, damn; if I did well, I'm now saying good bye (damn).

I forget what I said in the entry that was deleted. I bet you it was way better than this one.

jazz singers

I don't like Billie Holiday. I never thought her voice was something nice to listen to. I preferred the smooth voice of Ella Fitzgerald. However, I must concede that there is a rawness in the song Lover Man that Billie Holiday really pinned. Ella's version, though good and sad, doesn't beat the real pain Billie seems to get across.

A trumpeter friend of mine told me, in response to my negative opinion of Billie, that the reason why all the amazing jazz players wanted to play with her is because she didn't hold back, and she just put her all into the songs that she sang. Now, to me, sometimes that just comes across as sloppy, but then again, what the hell do I know?

Anyway, Lover Man, if you don't know, is the sad aching song about someone whose never experienced romantic love and is longing for it. The other day I showed this song to a friend in need of some wallowing, as it is often my wallowing song. I have a sort of inkling that I won't be singing Lover Man forever, but as it is, sometimes it's nice to sit and sigh.