I am supposed to be updating my website on Weebly.
Instead, I muse.
Or try and be visited by one.
Because writing doesn't feel so much like a choice anymore. It just feels like remembering something necessary, like picking up saline solution at the grocery store. Which I forgot to do this week. Yeah, so I guess that's a bad example. Well hell, at the very least I'm a better writer than I am a rememberer...
My high school AP History teacher used to reiterate "long term drug use causes short term memory loss." He was the fuggin coolest. We all loved Mr. Johnson because he treated us like adults. He didn't talk down to us, and he inspired you to want to stay up on politics and history. He made you want to continue to educate yourself. Which is the only thing a good teacher's supposed to do, right? Or the #1 thing, at least.
What was I saying? Oh yeah, just about writing and keeping up the blog. I mean, for a minute I was feelin all obligated because I made it part of my "brand" on my website. I mean, whatever the f--- that means. Screw you guys, I might just sign off forever and go live in the woods.
Threats. Hollow, empty threats.
You can't get rid of me that easily.
But I'm supposed to be engaging through the interwebs to make it as an artist. Or as a human, I guess, these days. But I might love the human I am far from technology most. Hence the retreat center longings...though even if those dreams do come true, I will likely still be reaching out to this web of mine through the internet. I mean, God willin and the creek don't rise. (And by that I literally mean if the sun don't flare or the poles don't flip.)
Tons of casting directors in LA want folks with huge instagram/twitter account followers, and I don't engage in either because my phone's too old, but f--- you and your planned obsolescence (thank GAWD for spell check), Apple (incidentally the "most eco-conscious, ethical" technology giant out there)! I just can't y'all.
When is woke really going to mean woke???
I've nearly doubled the time I spend on Facebook these days because somehow I feel threatened by the FOMO on some random opportunity. For what, I cannot tell you. Connection I'm sure.
It's hard living apart from Jake. But not harder than a lot of things by comparison. Like remembering to pick up saline solution...I mean, remembering stuff is hard. Or is it forgetting? I had another great teacher along the way reiterate "you can't unlearn things."
And yet collectively we're so good at it. Myopic from that memory-loss. Or feigned memory-loss, anyway. Short-sighted when looking into both the past and future.
And believe me, I get how funny it is that I feel overwhelmed by Facebook when most of you fools answer the beck and call of multiple social media commitments, but I didn't have Facebook for a couple of years...and it just kept right on keepin on without me so I'm sure instagram and twitter'll do just fine. I mean, I'm willing to bet most folks didn't even recognize I'd signed off. And that is ok. I ain't mad atcha, forreal. I have so many people in my family and am blessed with many close friends...I love community, but I'm a pretty tactile person. I love touch.
Here, I would like to formally apologize to folks who may know that about me and wished they didn't. I try and get a real good read and have a real tight friendship before I start bein silly and inappropriately touching people. I've got a big love tank and I got lots of good friendly folks to fill it (get your mind outta the gutter...I mean with platonic affection).
I may have inappropriately touched people before, but no one's ever been deeply offended to my knowledge. And I've never wielded any real or perceived power over these people. I think I can read the signs when folks aren't int'touching, and thankfully most theatre folks are, but I am a fallible human being. I'm not trying to be glib...I am sincerely sorry if I ever crossed a line. A line that I may not have recognized because maybe my boundary lines have always been a bit fuzzy.
Well not always. My kindergarten teacher expressed concern to my mother because I was so stressed and neurotic about coloring in the lines. I outgrew it pretty fast, but my mom noticed it pretty early on. I was a neurotic cleaner as a toddler (clearly not a trait to which I held tightly). I'm a lot like my Aunt Chris who's been on my mind all day while a doctor's been in hers (she's having DBS for Parkinson's today...if there's anyone to celebrate on international women's day, it's her badass, but that's a whole other story). She still indulges her neurotic cleaning, but I let it go. To which anyone who's ever ridden in my car can attest.
Pretty soon I was coloring all over the damn page and pushin all the boundaries. To show strength and bravery and to lighten up a bit, and not take everything quite so seriously. I found humor. And how good it felt to make people laugh. So I became a bit of a clown. Every teacher after that expressed concern for other reasons. "Emily's quite the social butterfly," they'd say through gritted smiles at conferences. She needs to focus and quit distracting her classmates with chatter. One quarter in 4th grade I had a straight A report card with D's in conduct from talking and disrupting class.
So I guess I've always had some stuff to say...
I like that the lines in society are becoming more defined around the topic of sexual harassment and misconduct so I'd like to color inside the lines on this one. My sincere apology for any misconduct or if I've ever made anyone uncomfortable in the work place.
Someone did that to me recently and it was a powerful man. And I felt like I had to report it as misconduct. I hemmed and hawed (as any good Southerner would...not to imply Southerners are indecisive, just fond of that colloquialism), and in the end, it felt like even though I did not personally feel sexually harassed, the misconduct was affectionate in nature and would have easily made someone else uncomfortable. Also the immediate reaction of his subordinates/my authorities made me feel even higher authorities should know about his behavior. I told 3 teachers about the situation. Both men acknowledged said powerful man had severe boundary issues and often made women feel uncomfortable with his speech or physicality, and expressed fear and empathy for him along the lines of "gee, I hope he doesn't f--- everything up...he's so close to retirement."And the woman was absolutely furious. Because...well, her too, of course.
I don't always have the healthiest boundaries and sometimes find myself comfortable in just accepting what the world throws at me. A yielding nature might be a super power or strength when it comes to bullets or say, in my case, asphalt, but it doesn't help in leading. I am not a leader, so to speak, so I guess I'm ok with so few followers.
Those of you new on the outskirts of my web, or reach, in this blogsphere, may not know but I was hit by a car on my bicycle from behind at nearly 40mph, and came away with a separated shoulder, a concussion, terrible road rash, survivor guilt and acute post traumatic stress. Survivor guilt because my best friend was killed in a car accident on an interstate over a decade ago, and my brother is paraplegic from a car accident in 2002, and I...had road rash?!? Without the protective layer of a car between me and the driver??
Why am I here??
It was 4 years ago, and I've spent 3 of those exploring if I'm here to act. And I believe yes. As a means to an end. An end to having to deal with social media.
Mostly I want to dig deep and connect the dots. The roots. I want to make a difference in my micro that might just reverberate out in waves to the macro. And maybe the channel for this wavelength is this internet realm for some...but for me it could just as easily be a cooperative or hostel circuit of bicyclist and climbers and eco-tourists and artists.
Who am I kidding? It's all still gonna need to be the on the net.
Luckily, there are webs that are fostered enough to withstand social media hiatuses. And you guys know who you are. I'll catch ya outside.
Writing no longer feels like a responsibility to my brand, but more like a self-care thing. I am processing so much right now. WE ALL ARE. I haven't been able to see my therapist in weeks. I am uninspired by my own broken commitments. My own failure in the face of high ambition. I am driving more than biking these days AND eating fast food. Who the f--- am I? Ughhhhh.
The shift has begun. Right? We're waking up right? I just got cold chills thinking about Samatha Bee's (all hail Sam B, and happy international woman's day) recognition in this episode.
I didn't know this "red pill" culture existed. I mean, we joked about the matrix analogy in my yoga teacher training, and I worked with fuggin Morpheus this summer. And I didn't know alt-right bastards had co-opted the red pill narrative to idolize f---sticks like Elliot Rodger?!? I had only read his manifesto to study for my role in the play I'm in...it didn't occur to me so many others had read it and felt kinship with him and camaradarie (f--- spell check!).
And then I heard Barry Crimmin talking about his battle with AOL over childhood pornography on NPR today, and I thought THIS. THIS. This is why I'm a luddite...this is why I hate technology and the internet. Human beings are garbage.
Or as Peña laments in the strangers, "the world is fucked up."
And then I heard about the Florida legislature and saw an ad for an oncologist running for congress on a "science should lead us" platform, and heard my aunt is recovering well from surgery.
And I saw the glimmer of hope.
This week has been all about defining things that are very important to me. Drawing my own lines. I think my vices and pitfalls and weaknesses (hello sugar, hello laziness, oh hey Cook Out) have had a lovely "death throes" display of dominance because I feel like I am waking up. Remembering all the stuff I forgot I forgot. Things that I feel obligated to use this platform to discuss because they are parts of my self pushed aside to practice acting.
PRACTICE AND ALL IS COMING.
It may have taken three saturated years of studying acting to make me desperately miss other previously rich parts of my life, but I am feelin the ache now. My yearning for those aspects of my life currently supersedes any hot pursuit of the successful acting career. Which makes all of the work necessary for finishing up my degree especially arduous.
Sadly, I have not found a yoga teacher here in Knoxville that inspired me in the ways my NY and KY teachers did towards asana. I did go to yoga last night and did a smidge on my own today, but I also had fast food after the show tonight, and I don't even really care about my own personal health that much...it's the overwhelming, disgusting literal garbage that this particular indulgence produces. I felt equally disgusting about left-overs from a nice restaurant the other day...it's not only the fast part that bothers me, though I'm sure my body is less appreciative of the milkshake than the salad, but they both came in styrofoam guilt-containers.
Now, I try to be mindful of the plastic I buy (and clearly steer clear of styrofoam most days), but recycling really only helps assuage my guilt. I have to change more at the consumer level. I have mixed feelings about the efficacy of the recycling industry. Mostly because sometimes well-meaning ignorant people throw bullshit in the wrong bins because they never bother to look anything up (prolly the same people that don't fact check their facebook posts). Truly a large portion of my diet comes from produce, but I am often overwhelmed by short-term frugalities and poor white trash diet tendencies that then take over my control board.
In my defense, cooking for one is a lot harder than two (especially when your husband is a big hungry workin man and eats twice as much as you so it's really like adjusting shopping and cooking for three down to one...love you, boo).
And the world is f---ed up and falling apart.
And human beings are...
Well, except you. You're swell! You made it this far.
To find out that if you are what you eat, I am the garbage I despise.
(I get that this self-loathing doesn't help anything, but don't worry. I needed to go here. To push off and swing back the other way. To relate. To find compassion for those people that get the wrath of my judgement. To get ahold of myself.
To remember me. And start there.)
Maybe I can be more accountable for me and that's what will ripple the wave out? Not my website. Not my instagram and twitter followers. Not my blog. Not even my facebook.
My actions. My habits. My character.
The one I am truly here to play.
No comments:
Post a Comment