i'm a pixie.

song of the moment : “clown” emeli sandé

i know haven’t been writing much these past few months. call it writer’s block…? call it being insanely busy…? call it living with my boyfriend and bitching to him instead of bitching to the interwebs…?

maybe it’s because i’ve been entirely inside my head lately, unable to look outside and find that spark of inspiration to write. perhaps everything swirling around in there is all too much and all at once to organize into words, sentences, and paragraphs.

whatever the reason… it’s mostly because i’ve been surpremely unhappy for almost a year now. and the last thing i want to do is complain, to let people know that i’m less than fine.

i don’t want people to worry, to freak out, to wonder where the happy, shiny, grateful jackey went. the answer is… i don’t know. and i desperately want her back.

i have trouble being present. i find myself not wanting to be anywhere. as soon as i get somewhere, it takes every single thread of my muscles to keep me there, to stop me from running away full tilt. it’s the same no matter where: auditions, yoga, work, home, dance class, out to dinner… new york full stop…

the infernal buzzing in my brain doesn’t cease. i feel cripplingly anxious every time i need to be somewhere, either because i’m afraid i’m going to be late, or else i have no idea what i’m going to encounter there. i’m second guessing every single move i make. “what are you doing here? why is this happening? do you really want to be here?” i ask myself. “i have no idea,” is the agitated or else sullen reply. aphorisms meant to cheer me up, lyrics both bubbly and depressing, vampiric thoughts of defeat, all headlined, “THIS LIFE IS YOU’VE GOT IS FUCKING WORTHLESS BULLSHIT AND IT’S NEVER GOING TO GET ANY BETTER.”

i don’t want to put makeup on. i don’t want to wear my clothes. i barely wear jewelry anymore. when i encounter the things that i used to enjoy - yoga, dancing, singing, reading, sunshine, fashion, food, new york - i feel like i’m going through the motions.

and the motions are painful. even walking is a struggle. my joints and muscles ache from the rushing, the running, the hustling, the wanting, the crying, the bag-carrying, the pulling, the pushing, the stressing… but i can’t stop to rest, or i’ll miss out on something important.

and i swear to god, if i have to grapple with the effing MTA one more time, i may lose my damn shit. if i have to squish into more crowded train, surf one more rocky ride, stand on one more urine soaked platform, hear one more guy suck their teeth at me, wait for one more M/R/E/6/whatever that never comes…

i honestly don’t want to do anything but barricade myself in the apartment, crawl under the covers and cry for days.

…

i am currently in upstate new york right now, near binghamton, and i feel more calm and content than i have since legally blonde closed last year. i am the young romantic lead in a production of all shook up, and i feel shades of the old me in rehearsals… working helps me feel better. i feel more focused, and i have a purpose.

i’ve been trying to find my footing ever since blonde, trying to find my peace and contentment again. trying to pinpoint what is making me so distant, angry, distrusting, frantic, and upset.

after blonde, i was cheated on. but i thought i handled that maturely and gracefully. i took it as a step toward finding what i really want from a relationship, admitting to myself that i’m done fooling around. i’m ready to throw my whole self in. so it’s not that.

then titanic. oh god, titanic. maybe that’s where i started to crumble. i haven’t experienced that kind of distrust, cattiness, and paranoia since college. it made me feel foolish for choosing the life of an actor, for allowing myself to be subjected to such abuse. and for the first time, i felt the strong desire to become equity, to be treated not even like a professional, but merely like a human being.

then oliver, the return to a theatre that felt like home, where i loved everyone and felt loved in return. yet i felt so disconnected on that contract. i knew in my heart that i adored everyone that i was working with, but my head wasn’t in the game. i don’t know why. PTSD from my previous contract…?

then i got back to the city and spent four and a half frenetic months of auditioning. singing my best 8 bars. getting callback after callback but being cut after i danced - even if i nailed it. watching all of my friends book, book, book, many of them getting their equity cards in the process. constantly shoving my envy down, the guilt for even feeling envy, and the dreadful thoughts of utter futility. trying to find my way back to truly believing that “everyone’s time will come!” and “there’s the perfect role for everyone!” ‘cause i believed it once, with all of my soul… but now my internal bullshit meter is blasting its siren “YOU ARE WASTING YOURS AND EVERYONE TIME AND YOU WILL NEVER GET ANYWHERE” every time i try to talk myself up.

loathing and ultimately parting ways with my serving job. “YOU’RE BROKE, YOU CANNOT SUCCEED IN A SURVIVAL JOB, AND CANNOT SUCCEED IN THEATRE. THE ONLY THINGS YOU ENJOY, YOU ARE AT BEST MEDIOCRE IN. SO WHAT GOOD ARE YOU?”

yoga-ing, and dancing. i pulled my piriformis muscle back in march, and it still continues to make my life miserable. “YOU ARE A FAT, WORTHLESS GIMP. YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING BECAUSE IT’S TOO PAINFUL, AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.”

missing my friends like hell. “WHY CAN’T YOU FIND TIME TO SPEND WITH YOUR BEST FRIENDS? YOU ARE A TERRIBLE FRIEND, AND YOU DON’T DESERVE THEM.”

struggling with sharing my bed and my space with another person for the first time. “WHY CAN’T YOU STOP FIGHTING WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND? WHY ARE YOU SUCH A CRAZY FUCKING BITCH? YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY IN A RELATIONSHIP.”

the over-arching theme: “YOUR OPINIONS DON’T MATTER. YOU CAN NEVER MAKE THE RIGHT DECISION, AND YOUR TIMING IS OFF. THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY ARE STUPID AND INSIGNIFICANT. YOU ARE A MORON. YOU ARE A WASTE OF SPACE AND RESOURCES. THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU.”

my parents think wellbutrin is the answer.

my surgeon thinks removing my heterotopic ossification (the bone floating in my soft tissue) is the answer.

i think that going to sleep and never waking up again sounds pretty great.

i just want the pain to go away. all of it.

i want nothing more than to flee from my once-beloved, broken down city. to leave my once-able, broken down body.

…

i guess it’s funnier from where you’re standing
cause from over here i missed the joke
clear the way for my crash landing
i’ve done it again, another number for your notes

i’d be smiling if i wasn’t so desperate
i’d be patient if i had the time
i could stop and answer all of your questions
as soon as i find out, how i can move from the back of the line

i’ll be your clown, behind the glass
go head and laugh, cause it’s funny
i would too, if i saw me
i’ll be your clown, on your favourite channel
my life’s a circus circus, round in circles, selling out tonight

i’d be less angry if it was my decision
and the money was just rolling in
if i had more than my ambition
i’ll have time for please, i’ll have time for thank you as soon as i win

i’ll be your clown, behind the glass
go head and laugh, cause it’s funny
i would too, if i saw me
i’ll be your clown, on your favourite channel
my life’s a circus circus, round in circles, selling out tonight

from the distance my choice is simple
from the distance i can entertain
so you can see me i out makeup on my face
but there’s no way you can feel it, from so far away

i’ll be your clown, behind the glass
go head and laugh, cause it’s funny
i would too, if i saw me
i’ll be your clown, on your favourite channel
my life’s a circus circus, round in circles, i’m selling out tonight

thefrenemy:

Instead of posting less because I have a book (the annoying curse of blog-to book), I have decided to post more. It usually takes me a couple of days to form the cohesive thoughts of a big ole post, which I won’t stop doing about [feminism! Body image! Lists about summer!] Now, I want you guys to kind of peek into my life a bit. If you think this is a shitty idea, let me know via compliments and praise.

Today, I’ve been thinking a lot about my desire for a real adultfridge. I went on a mini-vacay last weekend, to my BFF’s hometown, and I was quite impressed with her mom’s fridge. Now—my fridge has evolved in the past few years, but is nowhere close to being perfect. In college it was beer and mustard and three-week old leftovers. Now it’s ginger ale and three-week old leftovers and cheese of questionable age. To create a vision-board post of sorts, in the hopes I can one day obtain perfection. here is my perfect dream fridge. One must start from somewhere, and for me, that somewhere cannot be grocery shopping.

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today is my 6 year yogaversary.

holy hell.

so many crazy/awesome/horrible/wonderful things have happened since that fateful day i decided to take the plunge and go to my first class.

hillary thomas was my very first instructor. her fiery energy and down to earth approach had me hooked immediately. through these six years, she has laughed with me, cried with me, hugged me, scolded me, mentored me, and held my hand through the most scary time of my life. oh, and she has since changed her name to hilaria baldwin. crazy.

in the beginning, i lost 10 pounds, my original goal met. i also unintentionally and happily shed a year-long depression. i felt pretty, i felt useful, and i felt part of a community. i took that newfound confidence everywhere. i made love for the first time. i got my first job. i bought my first laptop all by myself. i turned 21 and drank legally in the bar below my apartment.

i became a vinyasa instructor, first through apprenticeship and then through a 200-hour certification training. i taught for 8 months before realizing i couldn’t be satisfied just teaching yoga. also in this time, i became addicted to bikram-style hot yoga.

along with this, i lost my mind and lost too much weight. i learned that we all fall of the rail sometimes. i am still learning to forgive myself for this. i have been a vegetarian, a vegan, dairy-free pescetarian, a shameless chemical nosher, a bulimic and an anorexic… and i am constantly learning that my body needs to be nurtured rather than beaten into submission. admittedly, i am still struggling with this. but i am hopeful that someday i will learn to be comfortable in my skin, no matter what shape it takes.

i moved my home vinyasa studio to yoga vida and my home bikram studio to bikram yoga nyc after a severe eating disorder related injury left me disenchanted with my former studio. i cried. i healed. i rehabilitated with the very practice that once injured me. i came through to the other side with the support of my dear, dear friends. i let go of the people in my life who weren’t helping me make the healthiest choices.

i worked the front desk at vida. i now work the front desk at bikram yoga nyc. i love both studios and all of the people who come to practice in them.

i have traveled many places, tried many different styles of yoga, learned a helluva lot of sanskrit, put myself in probably 600,000 downward dogs, conquered standing-head-to-knee, relished in triangle, bawled in pigeon, chanted numerous “om”s, breathed in a thousand different ways, been to countless studios across the country, and met so many inspiring, dedicated, and truly unique and beautiful people. some have moved out of my life, to other states and on different paths, but they always remain fondly in my memory. others i see quite often - old steadfast friends upon whom i can always count to give me a huge hug and bring a genuine smile on my face.

after six years, i am still not the perfect yogi. i don’t always provide the the best example of what a yogi “should be.” sometimes i let feelings fester longer than i ought. sometimes i catch myself making judgments upon myself and others. sometimes the things that i say don’t emerge the way i intended. sometimes my motivations aren’t the purest. sometimes i make unhealthy decisions and self-destruct. sometimes i get scared and run away from challenges. but through these years, i’ve been given the tools to deal with these problems, and i’ve learned ways to come back to peace, contentment, kindness, balance, grounding, and respect. through yoga, i have learned that as long as i TRY, as long as i am AWARE, then the hardest part of the battle has already been won.

i now have a tattoo on my wrist to remind me of the ultimate lesson of yoga - “be here.”

theatre may be my life, but yoga is truly my lifestyle. i am so lucky for all the gifts it has brought to me.

namaste. :]

heylabodega:

If there is something more irritating on more levels at once than a man you don’t know persistently calling “Miss! Miss! Miss!” at 9am on a Sunday, I have yet to experience it.

Relatedly, it’s amazing how often you have to TELL MEN you’re ignoring them. One block later, you’d think it would be clear, but instead you have to turn around and tarnish your Sunday by yelling, “I was igNORing you I don’t want to TALK to STRANGERS in the MORning.”