Monday night, I made up a missed Second City class with Grandpa Improv, my teacher from last term. During the class, he quoted Del Close. The line goes something like, "If you don't know what to do, fall; then figure out what to do on the way down." Then Thursday, in my regular class, Mama Improv said the same thing. (Though she added that Del possibly meant literally what she believes should be followed more figuratively.) Anyway, last night, JPL and I went to a show at iO. They were running quotes about Del on their big screen, and I shared this story with her. A few minutes later, a guy in the row behind us tapped me on the shoulder. It was my old friend, the Prince. I stood up to face him, and we all had a nice chat. If any of you have been to iO, you know that it's like five really long rows upstairs. Close to show time, I was the only one standing up. So after visiting a bit longer, I started to feel kind of in the way, or at least like all eyes were on me. So I said, "Ok, I feel a little awkward. I think I'll go sit now." If any of you have been to iO, you also may remember that the chairs upstairs are really tippy--as in, if you put any weight on the back of the seat, it folds up with a snap. So I headed back toward my chair, and I did something stupid. As I lowered myself down, I placed my hand on the back of the seat, planning to lean on it as I sat. So... my hand hits the seat, which immediately folds up, sending my arm shooting toward the floor as my ribs land sharply on the front of the seat. And this all made a really loud noise, so if they weren't before, everyone was definitely looking at me. It was fantastically embarassing, pretty funny, and quite painful. I laughed that "Oh, I feel stupid (and I'm alright)" laugh, and I got up. My sister mused that if I was feeling awkward before, I had surely topped myself.
And so, it turns out that I followed Del's advice. In a moment of uncertainty, I fell to the ground in a fantastic moment of failure, and I got up smiling. (I'm not sure I learned anything on the way down, though I bet I got a few laughs.) Of course this morning, I got up, felt my ribs, and did not smile. In fact, I groaned, as I have a pretty awesome bruise going... And my whole body may be leaning a little to the right...
It was kind of perfect, though... because we can't always choose the times we make an ass of ourselves, so it's really nice when it's at least a little poetic.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
One order of yoga, coming right up...
I consider myself a very patient person. I'm incredibly understanding and tolerant. And I'm very patient in conversation.
But this stomach of mine. It's not patient. It tugs at me, like a child pulling on its mother's shirt. Nagging at me to exterminate the butterflies.
I have a life, you know. I am perfectly capable of going about it. But then something reminds me, and my gut is fluttering once more.
Maybe it's the tremendous amount of trust I've placed on that shelf. Waiting for answer A or B is easier than waiting for the unknown. I may be patient with people, but I'm not patient with mystery. And I'm not good with 'off limits.' I'm nosy. And jealous. Though that's all easy enough to wrangle. But my imagination is worse than my stomach.
And then there's time. She's been both so good to me and such the little bitch lately. So these butterflies are flapping, and I've got more piling up each day on different shelves of my life.
Nobody's asked that much of me. In fact, I was right there, agreeing all the way. I just didn't expect my stomach to be so much like my animal. Roaring and pacing and interrupting... and difficult to tame.
Something will unclench me one day soon. I just wonder when. And I wonder what.
But this stomach of mine. It's not patient. It tugs at me, like a child pulling on its mother's shirt. Nagging at me to exterminate the butterflies.
I have a life, you know. I am perfectly capable of going about it. But then something reminds me, and my gut is fluttering once more.
Maybe it's the tremendous amount of trust I've placed on that shelf. Waiting for answer A or B is easier than waiting for the unknown. I may be patient with people, but I'm not patient with mystery. And I'm not good with 'off limits.' I'm nosy. And jealous. Though that's all easy enough to wrangle. But my imagination is worse than my stomach.
And then there's time. She's been both so good to me and such the little bitch lately. So these butterflies are flapping, and I've got more piling up each day on different shelves of my life.
Nobody's asked that much of me. In fact, I was right there, agreeing all the way. I just didn't expect my stomach to be so much like my animal. Roaring and pacing and interrupting... and difficult to tame.
Something will unclench me one day soon. I just wonder when. And I wonder what.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Pinky Swear...
Sometimes, there's a bride on "Say Yes to the Dress" who finds this seemingly perfect gown. Everyone cries, and the sales lady thinks she's made bank. But the bride stands there looking in the mirror, and something isn't right. The sales lady senses something fishy and talks the bride into confiding that there's maybe another dress on her mind that she saw the week before. The sales lady always comments that it would have just been better for the bride to be honest upfront so that the sales lady could base the appointment on all of the information.
I'm starting to think most people are like that bride. We're almost totally open but holding one card to our chests, just for ourselves, just in case. Someone asks us how we are, and we give a general, "good." I don't often hear people say, "I'm good, other than being a little worried about paying my rent, and I had an argument with a friend today." I know growing up, my friends thought I led this little miss perfect life because I was private and didn't complain about much. I wasn't being dishonest; I just wasn't airing the dirty laundry. We talk to our friends and family, and we're honest...ish. Right?
There's that whole truth setting us free theory, so why do we hold back? To spare feelings, to sound more 'together,' to save face, to keep secrets private, to sugar coat, to protect someone else, to uphold those 'good lies?' There are so many reasons, and our relationships function just fine despite that card we hold.
But I find myself thinking today how valuable it can be to let that all go sometimes. Set it all down on the ground, and take a step forward... I'm talking sit down at a table, pick a personal topic, agree to lay it all out, do just that--say whatever you're thinking, and still want to stand up and hug the other person at the end.
How many people can you have a completely honest conversation with? I consider anyone incredibly lucky to have that with at least one person. I know I have that in my life currently, and I don't think I ever want to be without it. It's... a great feeling.
I'm starting to think most people are like that bride. We're almost totally open but holding one card to our chests, just for ourselves, just in case. Someone asks us how we are, and we give a general, "good." I don't often hear people say, "I'm good, other than being a little worried about paying my rent, and I had an argument with a friend today." I know growing up, my friends thought I led this little miss perfect life because I was private and didn't complain about much. I wasn't being dishonest; I just wasn't airing the dirty laundry. We talk to our friends and family, and we're honest...ish. Right?
There's that whole truth setting us free theory, so why do we hold back? To spare feelings, to sound more 'together,' to save face, to keep secrets private, to sugar coat, to protect someone else, to uphold those 'good lies?' There are so many reasons, and our relationships function just fine despite that card we hold.
But I find myself thinking today how valuable it can be to let that all go sometimes. Set it all down on the ground, and take a step forward... I'm talking sit down at a table, pick a personal topic, agree to lay it all out, do just that--say whatever you're thinking, and still want to stand up and hug the other person at the end.
How many people can you have a completely honest conversation with? I consider anyone incredibly lucky to have that with at least one person. I know I have that in my life currently, and I don't think I ever want to be without it. It's... a great feeling.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Life is like sorting laundry...
I often sing to myself while I'm sorting my laundry. "Light, dark, dark, light..."
And then I pick up the black and white hounds tooth skirt, and there's my brain all over the bed.
Don't you all worry now. I'm alright. I'm beyond the illusion that life is black and white. We all find and live in new shades of gray every day. But I've been thinking about last week's episode of Dexter. No spoilers here, and if you don't watch the show, it doesn't matter either. He's just been contemplating the darkness and light in people a lot. And I've found myself doing the same thing. I think human instinct begs us to pick ourselves up out of the darkness and run toward the light. But what if you have to embrace your dark side, cast a few shadows, on your way to the brighter path? It can be so clear which way you need to run, but that doesn't mean the path is white. I guess I'm really talking about the whole means to an end thing, aren't I? I guess I am. And suddenly, this feels much less interesting. But that doesn't make it less true, does it? I guess not. But now I've lost interest...
Do you think this whole black and white thing would be less of an issue if we didn't set up norms? Do you think we've made it harder for ourselves? If we're not kind people who pair up and procreate by a certain time period, then, for some, we're not doing it right. So what if the shadows are just different, not dark? What if white is archaic? Or maybe, we bash the norms so that we have an excuse for running them over. Maybe we accept shades of gray because we know we're incapable of living another way. Maybe we've set things up so that our failures are the failures of the system instead of ourselves. Maybe...
Something to end on:
I'm reminding myself more and more lately how precious life is. I tend to tread carefully because of that, attempting to avoid wrong turns. But I think I'm starting to trust my sense of direction and show life how much I care by just embracing it really hard... in one of those hugs you never want to end. The ones where you breath in. And sigh out. And there's life.
Oh, and:
On a somewhat unrelated note, sometimes music and silence speak volumes. I know it's an old saying or something, but in case it doesn't come up again for a while, I just wanted to tuck that thought in here. And now, I shall tuck me in, too.
And then I pick up the black and white hounds tooth skirt, and there's my brain all over the bed.
Don't you all worry now. I'm alright. I'm beyond the illusion that life is black and white. We all find and live in new shades of gray every day. But I've been thinking about last week's episode of Dexter. No spoilers here, and if you don't watch the show, it doesn't matter either. He's just been contemplating the darkness and light in people a lot. And I've found myself doing the same thing. I think human instinct begs us to pick ourselves up out of the darkness and run toward the light. But what if you have to embrace your dark side, cast a few shadows, on your way to the brighter path? It can be so clear which way you need to run, but that doesn't mean the path is white. I guess I'm really talking about the whole means to an end thing, aren't I? I guess I am. And suddenly, this feels much less interesting. But that doesn't make it less true, does it? I guess not. But now I've lost interest...
Do you think this whole black and white thing would be less of an issue if we didn't set up norms? Do you think we've made it harder for ourselves? If we're not kind people who pair up and procreate by a certain time period, then, for some, we're not doing it right. So what if the shadows are just different, not dark? What if white is archaic? Or maybe, we bash the norms so that we have an excuse for running them over. Maybe we accept shades of gray because we know we're incapable of living another way. Maybe we've set things up so that our failures are the failures of the system instead of ourselves. Maybe...
Something to end on:
I'm reminding myself more and more lately how precious life is. I tend to tread carefully because of that, attempting to avoid wrong turns. But I think I'm starting to trust my sense of direction and show life how much I care by just embracing it really hard... in one of those hugs you never want to end. The ones where you breath in. And sigh out. And there's life.
Oh, and:
On a somewhat unrelated note, sometimes music and silence speak volumes. I know it's an old saying or something, but in case it doesn't come up again for a while, I just wanted to tuck that thought in here. And now, I shall tuck me in, too.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
propaganda...
it's science that's to blame.
not intentions or choices or actions,
not logic or emotion,
but chemistry,
stopping time as flesh reacts.
particles form symphony, and there's singing unexpectedly.
there's a hum. a buzz. and a quickening somewhere.
hard science, foreign to the oblivious artist, sets something in motion.
we're grinning puppets
further spellbound with each inhalation.
and it's involuntary, so it's that much more real.
it's ancient and human,
chemicals coursing through veins instructing bodies.
it's how we know to run or stay.
it's how we know it's undeniable.
protons are purists and cannot tell a lie.
so we can't blame the puppets or the strings or ourselves.
it's all an experiment, isn't it?
so we stir up some questionable solution.
we clink our glasses. take a sip. and smile.
not intentions or choices or actions,
not logic or emotion,
but chemistry,
stopping time as flesh reacts.
particles form symphony, and there's singing unexpectedly.
there's a hum. a buzz. and a quickening somewhere.
hard science, foreign to the oblivious artist, sets something in motion.
we're grinning puppets
further spellbound with each inhalation.
and it's involuntary, so it's that much more real.
it's ancient and human,
chemicals coursing through veins instructing bodies.
it's how we know to run or stay.
it's how we know it's undeniable.
protons are purists and cannot tell a lie.
so we can't blame the puppets or the strings or ourselves.
it's all an experiment, isn't it?
so we stir up some questionable solution.
we clink our glasses. take a sip. and smile.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
My body Myself...
It's pouring opportunities right now. It's what I always hope for. Then when it happens, I remember how crazy and weird being an actor can be sometimes...
I've been called back for two projects this week. The first is a commercial campaign that has to do with a healthy eating plan. I could legit stand to lose five pounds of fat and put on some muscle, so I definitely qualify. But to try to bloat up just a little more noticeably, I spent the entire week stuffing my face and hoping it would help.
I got called in for project two today. Project two includes a bedroom scene--nothing too risque, but I'd likely be in my underwear. On film. On Friday! Just that possibility makes me want to start working out right now and not stop, like, ever, regardless of whether or not I get either job.
I used to think it was crazy for actors to put on or take off weight for a role. I totally buy into that whole body as a temple thing. And here I am playing the game without even thinking about it--until today. I guess it was easy to embrace the whole "eat whatever you want" thing because food is awesome. But it would be much easier to embrace any future scantily clad experiences if I were in prime shape. I guess what I'm saying is that I should probably just be my best self until anyone asks me to do otherwise. It's tempting, you know? We want to work. We want to be right for the part. And we want to dive in. But seriously, I've gotta just be my health food munching self... plus cookies... until further notice.
On the other side of the table (no pun intended), I've realized lately how much I prepared myself for this career as a child. Or more accurately, that my playful self was doing exactly the things people are asking me to do now.
Exhibit A) My mom, my sister, and I played this game growing up. We'd go around the house singing instead of speaking. We'd pick a theme like "Modern Dissonant Opera" and communicate as such until we were laughing too hard to continue. A couple weeks ago in my Second City class, one of the Music Directors came by to do some musical improvisation with our class. And the final challenge? Improvised opera. I was probably the only person in the room who was thinking to myself, "Psh, I've done this a million times." It was certainly still challenging, but I was laughing the whole time in my head imagining I'd be the first person to reveal that I'd done it before--and not in a class. I didn't tell my story because it didn't matter. But I laughed. Because as ridiculous as everyone thought it was, we never once thought it was ridiculous in my house. : )
Exhibit B) As a child, I would often disappear into one of the bathrooms at home. Fast forward a half hour to my mom knocking on the door asking if I was alright. I was fine. I was merely going through every product on the counter and doing commercials for them in the mirror. I'd read the bottles to my mirror audience, and I'd add my own touches and personal endorsements here and there. This week's commercial audition was completely unscripted, but I found myself so comfortable, selling the product off the top of my head. Sure, it took every bit of concentration and creativity I had in me. But I felt like I was in the suburbs--I felt right at home.
I'm constantly fascinated by the work/life dynamic. Sometimes, the two worlds seem worlds apart, one real life, one something plastic and fantastical. And sometimes the fabrics find each other, and while your head is turned, they weave themselves together and wait for you to notice. Sure, you were the one who put them there to begin with, but they found each other seemingly seamlessly. This week I turned back to find mine laced there, natural as can be. Everything is starting to fit...
I've been called back for two projects this week. The first is a commercial campaign that has to do with a healthy eating plan. I could legit stand to lose five pounds of fat and put on some muscle, so I definitely qualify. But to try to bloat up just a little more noticeably, I spent the entire week stuffing my face and hoping it would help.
I got called in for project two today. Project two includes a bedroom scene--nothing too risque, but I'd likely be in my underwear. On film. On Friday! Just that possibility makes me want to start working out right now and not stop, like, ever, regardless of whether or not I get either job.
I used to think it was crazy for actors to put on or take off weight for a role. I totally buy into that whole body as a temple thing. And here I am playing the game without even thinking about it--until today. I guess it was easy to embrace the whole "eat whatever you want" thing because food is awesome. But it would be much easier to embrace any future scantily clad experiences if I were in prime shape. I guess what I'm saying is that I should probably just be my best self until anyone asks me to do otherwise. It's tempting, you know? We want to work. We want to be right for the part. And we want to dive in. But seriously, I've gotta just be my health food munching self... plus cookies... until further notice.
On the other side of the table (no pun intended), I've realized lately how much I prepared myself for this career as a child. Or more accurately, that my playful self was doing exactly the things people are asking me to do now.
Exhibit A) My mom, my sister, and I played this game growing up. We'd go around the house singing instead of speaking. We'd pick a theme like "Modern Dissonant Opera" and communicate as such until we were laughing too hard to continue. A couple weeks ago in my Second City class, one of the Music Directors came by to do some musical improvisation with our class. And the final challenge? Improvised opera. I was probably the only person in the room who was thinking to myself, "Psh, I've done this a million times." It was certainly still challenging, but I was laughing the whole time in my head imagining I'd be the first person to reveal that I'd done it before--and not in a class. I didn't tell my story because it didn't matter. But I laughed. Because as ridiculous as everyone thought it was, we never once thought it was ridiculous in my house. : )
Exhibit B) As a child, I would often disappear into one of the bathrooms at home. Fast forward a half hour to my mom knocking on the door asking if I was alright. I was fine. I was merely going through every product on the counter and doing commercials for them in the mirror. I'd read the bottles to my mirror audience, and I'd add my own touches and personal endorsements here and there. This week's commercial audition was completely unscripted, but I found myself so comfortable, selling the product off the top of my head. Sure, it took every bit of concentration and creativity I had in me. But I felt like I was in the suburbs--I felt right at home.
I'm constantly fascinated by the work/life dynamic. Sometimes, the two worlds seem worlds apart, one real life, one something plastic and fantastical. And sometimes the fabrics find each other, and while your head is turned, they weave themselves together and wait for you to notice. Sure, you were the one who put them there to begin with, but they found each other seemingly seamlessly. This week I turned back to find mine laced there, natural as can be. Everything is starting to fit...
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The creativity curse...
Children have so much imagination. As my improv teacher, Michael, reminded us our first day of class, kids are the best actors. They assign the roles of Mommy and Daddy, set the location--a house--and they live it. But what about imagination as an adult? As adults, particularly adult actors, we have to see the potential for a scenario to go in any number of directions. We read into what our partner says, we dwell on history and subtext. We fill in the blanks.
But I'm afraid that's become second nature to me... the filling in the blanks. I remind myself I have to talk to Bob about the leaky wall. I play out the conversation in my head, and I find myself reacting, feeling that conversation. If I know Bob, I'm probably just using the facts, what I know about him, to predict and prepare for what's next. But as I return to daily life, I've started thinking about Bob in terms of that conversation. And it's not just Bob. I can think myself into worrying over nothing, and I can think the problems away until I believe everything is just fine. But it's all in my head. Am I crazy? No. Am I am over-thinker? Yes. Do I have an "overactive" imagination? Maybe...
What does that mean anyway... overactive? Imagination is beautiful. And it happens to be one of the things I was gifted with. If not for my imagination, I would not create. The more I embrace this gift, the more active I let it become, cultivate it to become, the more I grow into what I love to be. But living in my head, I can make something of nothing and nothing of something. I can think my way into a corner or into judgment. I'm just a child with an imaginary friend... and then what does reality matter? Or what if it matters tremendously as reality collides head on with what I've been brewing all on my own? What happens when I meet the characters face to face, and I can't remember which version of themselves they actually are--one of my creations, exactly as I remember them, or some stranger? But strangers can become friends when I close my eyes. And those closest to me can become unrecognizable when I open them again.
Making something of nothing and nothing of something... creativity at it's finest and most confusing. And where am I in this--running around playing with all that I've made or sitting in the corner with my eyes closed imagining I am?
But I'm afraid that's become second nature to me... the filling in the blanks. I remind myself I have to talk to Bob about the leaky wall. I play out the conversation in my head, and I find myself reacting, feeling that conversation. If I know Bob, I'm probably just using the facts, what I know about him, to predict and prepare for what's next. But as I return to daily life, I've started thinking about Bob in terms of that conversation. And it's not just Bob. I can think myself into worrying over nothing, and I can think the problems away until I believe everything is just fine. But it's all in my head. Am I crazy? No. Am I am over-thinker? Yes. Do I have an "overactive" imagination? Maybe...
What does that mean anyway... overactive? Imagination is beautiful. And it happens to be one of the things I was gifted with. If not for my imagination, I would not create. The more I embrace this gift, the more active I let it become, cultivate it to become, the more I grow into what I love to be. But living in my head, I can make something of nothing and nothing of something. I can think my way into a corner or into judgment. I'm just a child with an imaginary friend... and then what does reality matter? Or what if it matters tremendously as reality collides head on with what I've been brewing all on my own? What happens when I meet the characters face to face, and I can't remember which version of themselves they actually are--one of my creations, exactly as I remember them, or some stranger? But strangers can become friends when I close my eyes. And those closest to me can become unrecognizable when I open them again.
Making something of nothing and nothing of something... creativity at it's finest and most confusing. And where am I in this--running around playing with all that I've made or sitting in the corner with my eyes closed imagining I am?
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I miss you...
I'm not often lost for words. And it's not that I am now, but I'm trying to turn some awfully swirly thoughts into a clear post.
Let's start here: Today, I rocked an audition. I rocked it so hard.
Remember I mentioned my Grandma was a singer? She died before I was born. Throughout the years, every time I've come across someone who knew her, they only have the most wonderful, magical things to say about her. It seems she lit up a room brighter than anyone and touched everyone she met.
One day my senior year at NU, I brought in her copy of "My Funny Valentine" to Music Theatre class. It must have been from the 50's or 60's, a little browned, with her original markings in it. I set it down on the piano for Patrick (who had been accompanying these classes and my lessons on and off for two years) to play. He handled it like I imagine an Archeologist would handle a fossil. I think he told me I shouldn't have even brought the original in, but it was still cool. Anyway, I mentioned it was my grandma's, that she had been a singer around Chicago. He asked her name.
"Phyllis Spellman," I said. "But her stage name was Phyllis Parker."
He gasped.
"Phyllis Parker was your grandmother?!" I had stirred the soft spoken right out of him.
In the day of the big bands in ballrooms, I guess they all knew each other. Plus, I think Patrick and my grandma worked on a TV show together, too.
Ever since then, when I see Patrick at an audition, I treasure that for that 30 seconds, I'm performing with someone who knew my grandma, who respected her, and who lived through the things she did. (Of course, I've been doing this with my mom my whole life, but not at an audition, you know?)
So today, I get to my audition, I walk in, and (I've already ruined my punchline, but...) I see that the accompanist listed for the day is Patrick. There's a little tug on my heartstrings.
I greet a friend I haven't seen in far too long. A few minutes later, it's goodbye again, with a hug and three words whispered in my ear that give another bigger tug.
I think about the song I'm about to sing. It's about a pianist, but I've been thinking all week that it's actually a great description of what it feels like for me to sing. Tapping into that passion and emotion has already come easily. But on audition day, I, more often than not, fall victim to some amount of nerves that either leaves me feeling like I wasn't absolutely, completely in the moment, or I under or over sang just a little bit. Yes I'm hard on myself, but I know my 100%, and I don't often hit it when I get in the audition room. I know that's my job and all, but you all know I've been on this mission to be back to my old self, not me at 85% or even 90%.
So there I was, with this perfect material, this screaming heart, and a very warm welcome when I walked into the room.
Patrick and I were so, so in synch, building the song together as if we'd rehearsed it. It was effortless. And beautiful. And I was completely there, soul and voice.
I've said this before--I love the way it physically feels to sing. And I love to sing emotion--I've always felt the music along with the text. Today, I let myself go and do exactly what I love to do. No stifling of any sort. Just me, as I should/can be every time, pouring out... everything. And it wasn't just an audition win--I was able to enjoy the ride... so, so much.
Patrick told me after that I brightened his day, and when he told me I was great, he had that look in his face that meant it was more than a courtesy compliment. I really nailed it...
There are two reasons we don't get hired: 1) The audition wasn't great. 2) We just weren't right for the job (or someone else was more right).
Job or no job, this time I know I did everything I could. That's a pretty great feeling. And I am going to carry that feeling to the next one and as many more as I possibly can. Confidence goes a long way, and what I did today leaves me both hungry for more and very, very satisfied.
So... who wants to come tug at my heart next week? Actually, never mind. I think I've got it.
Let's start here: Today, I rocked an audition. I rocked it so hard.
Remember I mentioned my Grandma was a singer? She died before I was born. Throughout the years, every time I've come across someone who knew her, they only have the most wonderful, magical things to say about her. It seems she lit up a room brighter than anyone and touched everyone she met.
One day my senior year at NU, I brought in her copy of "My Funny Valentine" to Music Theatre class. It must have been from the 50's or 60's, a little browned, with her original markings in it. I set it down on the piano for Patrick (who had been accompanying these classes and my lessons on and off for two years) to play. He handled it like I imagine an Archeologist would handle a fossil. I think he told me I shouldn't have even brought the original in, but it was still cool. Anyway, I mentioned it was my grandma's, that she had been a singer around Chicago. He asked her name.
"Phyllis Spellman," I said. "But her stage name was Phyllis Parker."
He gasped.
"Phyllis Parker was your grandmother?!" I had stirred the soft spoken right out of him.
In the day of the big bands in ballrooms, I guess they all knew each other. Plus, I think Patrick and my grandma worked on a TV show together, too.
Ever since then, when I see Patrick at an audition, I treasure that for that 30 seconds, I'm performing with someone who knew my grandma, who respected her, and who lived through the things she did. (Of course, I've been doing this with my mom my whole life, but not at an audition, you know?)
So today, I get to my audition, I walk in, and (I've already ruined my punchline, but...) I see that the accompanist listed for the day is Patrick. There's a little tug on my heartstrings.
I greet a friend I haven't seen in far too long. A few minutes later, it's goodbye again, with a hug and three words whispered in my ear that give another bigger tug.
I think about the song I'm about to sing. It's about a pianist, but I've been thinking all week that it's actually a great description of what it feels like for me to sing. Tapping into that passion and emotion has already come easily. But on audition day, I, more often than not, fall victim to some amount of nerves that either leaves me feeling like I wasn't absolutely, completely in the moment, or I under or over sang just a little bit. Yes I'm hard on myself, but I know my 100%, and I don't often hit it when I get in the audition room. I know that's my job and all, but you all know I've been on this mission to be back to my old self, not me at 85% or even 90%.
So there I was, with this perfect material, this screaming heart, and a very warm welcome when I walked into the room.
Patrick and I were so, so in synch, building the song together as if we'd rehearsed it. It was effortless. And beautiful. And I was completely there, soul and voice.
I've said this before--I love the way it physically feels to sing. And I love to sing emotion--I've always felt the music along with the text. Today, I let myself go and do exactly what I love to do. No stifling of any sort. Just me, as I should/can be every time, pouring out... everything. And it wasn't just an audition win--I was able to enjoy the ride... so, so much.
Patrick told me after that I brightened his day, and when he told me I was great, he had that look in his face that meant it was more than a courtesy compliment. I really nailed it...
There are two reasons we don't get hired: 1) The audition wasn't great. 2) We just weren't right for the job (or someone else was more right).
Job or no job, this time I know I did everything I could. That's a pretty great feeling. And I am going to carry that feeling to the next one and as many more as I possibly can. Confidence goes a long way, and what I did today leaves me both hungry for more and very, very satisfied.
So... who wants to come tug at my heart next week? Actually, never mind. I think I've got it.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Ode to my audition book...
My music sleeps in a white binder that is falling apart.
I've had it for years. It's been carried through Chicago and New York and Chicago again.
The front cover is one of those where you can insert a page or a picture. Mine holds the photo and resume of my mom's mom and a picture of my parents so that I have my musical genetics with me at all times (I keep meaning to put something of my grandfather's in there). The back cover has this Queen Victoria cartoon my mom gave me one day, and there's an old guest pass from when Equity was in the CPS building that I think has become permanently attached.
Songs have come and gone, but I've stuffed more and more pages into that book... and I've noticed a few times that it's showing its age. But until just now, sitting here thinking about replacing it, I never realized how much it means to me that it's been with me through my whole post-college (maybe even some of college?) life. Take an already sentimental person, and hand them an object that's literally been in their arms through so many emotional peaks. Toss in a little stage superstition, too. And I'm suddenly thinking of space age duct tape and a book that wears its battle wounds rather than facing the black hole of a garbage chute.
It's funny sometimes how the casual thought of replacing something can bring on a flood of memories and attachment and an entire blog entry. But I think maybe some of you out there can understand how between those two flaps of plastic, I've built the library of songs that make up my life. I think a little part of me lives in that library, too, and I don't think I'm quite ready to relocate just yet.
I've had it for years. It's been carried through Chicago and New York and Chicago again.
The front cover is one of those where you can insert a page or a picture. Mine holds the photo and resume of my mom's mom and a picture of my parents so that I have my musical genetics with me at all times (I keep meaning to put something of my grandfather's in there). The back cover has this Queen Victoria cartoon my mom gave me one day, and there's an old guest pass from when Equity was in the CPS building that I think has become permanently attached.
Songs have come and gone, but I've stuffed more and more pages into that book... and I've noticed a few times that it's showing its age. But until just now, sitting here thinking about replacing it, I never realized how much it means to me that it's been with me through my whole post-college (maybe even some of college?) life. Take an already sentimental person, and hand them an object that's literally been in their arms through so many emotional peaks. Toss in a little stage superstition, too. And I'm suddenly thinking of space age duct tape and a book that wears its battle wounds rather than facing the black hole of a garbage chute.
It's funny sometimes how the casual thought of replacing something can bring on a flood of memories and attachment and an entire blog entry. But I think maybe some of you out there can understand how between those two flaps of plastic, I've built the library of songs that make up my life. I think a little part of me lives in that library, too, and I don't think I'm quite ready to relocate just yet.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The end of fatty vacationitis...
I haven't written in a while.
Why?
Because I've been doing things. Things like reading and researching and singing and auditioning and working out and writing and actually completing songs. So instead of stopping to write about what I've been up to, I've gotten up to something else. It's been great and busy, and there have been twists and turns both personal and professional. And maybe I'll delve into those later. What I will say is that I've been very busy. And my calendar tells me that's going to continue.
My life right now is at a point that can best be compared to cleaning out an office. First, it looks like a paper explosion, piles everywhere... And then, items find and take their places, and it's all in line again, a working machine. I've been doing so much, and I have a lot of projects in the air without much product to show for it yet. So when asked what's new, all I can say is that I've been doing a lot. And something will be new soon.
And you know what? I'm proud of myself.
Anyway, I've started some big things, but I find it's the little everyday stories I always wish I wrote down. So I'm here tonight to do that.
Oh, the fatty vacationitis thing? That's what I'm calling the phase between surgery and when I was able to get back to business.
So, the everyday things:
First of all, I need to add an addendum to my last post. Part of the reason I thought to write about my days as a Lyric kid again is because sitting at Ravinia, trying to articulate my feelings to my friends, I had a realization. No matter how perfect my descriptions, there are only a handful of people who actually know what I'm talking about from experience, and I think the only one I'm still in touch with is my sister. There's no facebook group for Lyric alums, so JPL's the only one I can talk to about it. She's wonderful and all. It just got me thinking about the importance of having people around who can truly relate to your life. I have more 9-5er friends than I do performer friends. Close friends, I mean. I know all my 9-5ers are there for me, though sometimes I can't imagine they truly get it. Then sometimes I think they do. And sometimes I think it doesn't matter either way. But sometimes I feel that desire to tell someone something like, "it was just like Lyric," and know they can understand, know that we've had a shared experience as well as a shared appreciation of each other.
Shoot. There's so much more to write, but I had to take a break to walk the pup. Now my eyelids are getting heavy. I'll leave you with a story and continue the update tomorrow.
A few days ago, I was walking Blitz. We came upon a lady with her little dog. The boys sniffed each other in a very common dog greeting. The odd part came from the human. Without having ever seen me before, before even sharing her name, this lady began thus:
"I was just reading about the Shepherd who got decapitated. (Continuation of gruesome story of a few people torturing dogs around the city.) And one of the guys was already wanted on another count. All these people are against gun control, but if we all had guns, we could just shoot people like that. And Quinn's against the death penalty. Someone's gonna shoot him. We're already living with socialism with Obama."
After a moment of silence, I believe I uttered something to the effect of, "Well, alright, bye."
In the middle of Chicago, having never met me... that rant... I just don't understand people sometimes.
I made it about half a block before realizing what I should have done was turn to Blitz and say, "Come on Barack." Next time...
Why?
Because I've been doing things. Things like reading and researching and singing and auditioning and working out and writing and actually completing songs. So instead of stopping to write about what I've been up to, I've gotten up to something else. It's been great and busy, and there have been twists and turns both personal and professional. And maybe I'll delve into those later. What I will say is that I've been very busy. And my calendar tells me that's going to continue.
My life right now is at a point that can best be compared to cleaning out an office. First, it looks like a paper explosion, piles everywhere... And then, items find and take their places, and it's all in line again, a working machine. I've been doing so much, and I have a lot of projects in the air without much product to show for it yet. So when asked what's new, all I can say is that I've been doing a lot. And something will be new soon.
And you know what? I'm proud of myself.
Anyway, I've started some big things, but I find it's the little everyday stories I always wish I wrote down. So I'm here tonight to do that.
Oh, the fatty vacationitis thing? That's what I'm calling the phase between surgery and when I was able to get back to business.
So, the everyday things:
First of all, I need to add an addendum to my last post. Part of the reason I thought to write about my days as a Lyric kid again is because sitting at Ravinia, trying to articulate my feelings to my friends, I had a realization. No matter how perfect my descriptions, there are only a handful of people who actually know what I'm talking about from experience, and I think the only one I'm still in touch with is my sister. There's no facebook group for Lyric alums, so JPL's the only one I can talk to about it. She's wonderful and all. It just got me thinking about the importance of having people around who can truly relate to your life. I have more 9-5er friends than I do performer friends. Close friends, I mean. I know all my 9-5ers are there for me, though sometimes I can't imagine they truly get it. Then sometimes I think they do. And sometimes I think it doesn't matter either way. But sometimes I feel that desire to tell someone something like, "it was just like Lyric," and know they can understand, know that we've had a shared experience as well as a shared appreciation of each other.
Shoot. There's so much more to write, but I had to take a break to walk the pup. Now my eyelids are getting heavy. I'll leave you with a story and continue the update tomorrow.
A few days ago, I was walking Blitz. We came upon a lady with her little dog. The boys sniffed each other in a very common dog greeting. The odd part came from the human. Without having ever seen me before, before even sharing her name, this lady began thus:
"I was just reading about the Shepherd who got decapitated. (Continuation of gruesome story of a few people torturing dogs around the city.) And one of the guys was already wanted on another count. All these people are against gun control, but if we all had guns, we could just shoot people like that. And Quinn's against the death penalty. Someone's gonna shoot him. We're already living with socialism with Obama."
After a moment of silence, I believe I uttered something to the effect of, "Well, alright, bye."
In the middle of Chicago, having never met me... that rant... I just don't understand people sometimes.
I made it about half a block before realizing what I should have done was turn to Blitz and say, "Come on Barack." Next time...
Monday, August 1, 2011
Puccini, Cicadas, Sense Memory, & the Human Body...
The last week has been one of the most socially eventful I've had in a while. In fact, I think I'll remember this one for quite a while. But that's not what this is about. This is about my Saturday night at Ravinia and some things I've been noticing lately.
Saturday night, I went with some friends to Ravinia to hear a concert version of Tosca. I absolutely love Puccini, and I was in Tosca in 199something--I'd have to check. Ok, I just checked for the fun of it since Lyric has production records online. It was 1993. But what is even cooler is that I just realized the director was Frank Galati, who I (much) later had as a professor at NU. Life is cool like that.
Anyway, I have come to realize that when I experience opera as an adult (as opposed to being in them as a kiddo), it is so much more to me than a concert or a show. It's like returning to my childhood home. So on Saturday, I sat down with my program and started to read. I immediately realized I had been in another lyric production with one of the performers, and it lit me up even more. Then I played a precarious game with my fellow concert-goers. Have you seen "Midnight in Paris" yet? Well, there's this perfect stock know-it-all character in it. And a couple of the people I was with had never been to an opera before. I instinctively wanted to share with them what I could about the plot, the composer, the performers, etc. But it was a struggle to keep myself from saying, "I know him!" "You know what else is great about Puccini?" "When I did this production..." I did my best, but inside, I was my usual over-excited opera goer. You know, it's not even opera in general. It's operas I was in. That's what it is. Something takes over me and mixes with excitement, relaxation, and sense memory, and I am home.
I don't know about you, but I don't have a large library of clear memories of when I was 9. But my body does. There's musical memory, where I can still finish a line of music, even though I've only heard it a few times since '93. That year, I heard it probably 50 times. But when the kids weren't onstage, we were upstairs playing games and talking. So my body absorbed and committed to memory what was background music heard on a monitor.
Then there's sense memory. Without thinking it through even, I turned to Han at one point and said, "Oh. This is when the kids line up backstage." And a few minutes later, "Here comes the cue..." Just like that. And I love that sense memory can be so complex. A sound can cue a memory, or a sound can cue an emotion.
I had fun singing along, remembering, enjoying the tour of sense memories, and experiencing a beautiful work with some beautiful performances. And the funniest part, perhaps, was the blaring chorus of cicadas hopefully not present in any opera house production. : )
As happens a lot in my life, this event came at a time when I've been thinking a lot about sense memory, and more, how much more telling our bodies can be than our brains. Think about these physical reactions:
Has anyone ever tried to engage you in conversation, but you got such a bad case of the creeps, you excused yourself as quickly as possible?
What about that guy you never really thought was your type? There was that day he brushed against you accidentally, and something like lightening surged through you, sparking a new curiosity.
And what about when someone reminds you of someone else, not because there's any resemblance, but just because of... something?
These examples I've talked about with one person or another lately. The complete list of examples is huge, but it seems like we humans have a lot of them in common.
You know, we're so quick to claim that we as humans are unique because we can reason through things. But I wonder what would happen if we just felt? Are our bodies designed to sense things that our human over-thinking stomps to a pulp? I don't have much more to say on the subject. I've just always been so aware of sense memory, and I've always been an over-thinker. And I try to remember sometimes that we're really just animals. And the more I'm not sure which way to go, the more I'm wondering if I should just follow my own lead and see if I end up somewhere amazing...
So maybe I'll wonder, or maybe I'll wander one direction or another...
Saturday night, I went with some friends to Ravinia to hear a concert version of Tosca. I absolutely love Puccini, and I was in Tosca in 199something--I'd have to check. Ok, I just checked for the fun of it since Lyric has production records online. It was 1993. But what is even cooler is that I just realized the director was Frank Galati, who I (much) later had as a professor at NU. Life is cool like that.
Anyway, I have come to realize that when I experience opera as an adult (as opposed to being in them as a kiddo), it is so much more to me than a concert or a show. It's like returning to my childhood home. So on Saturday, I sat down with my program and started to read. I immediately realized I had been in another lyric production with one of the performers, and it lit me up even more. Then I played a precarious game with my fellow concert-goers. Have you seen "Midnight in Paris" yet? Well, there's this perfect stock know-it-all character in it. And a couple of the people I was with had never been to an opera before. I instinctively wanted to share with them what I could about the plot, the composer, the performers, etc. But it was a struggle to keep myself from saying, "I know him!" "You know what else is great about Puccini?" "When I did this production..." I did my best, but inside, I was my usual over-excited opera goer. You know, it's not even opera in general. It's operas I was in. That's what it is. Something takes over me and mixes with excitement, relaxation, and sense memory, and I am home.
I don't know about you, but I don't have a large library of clear memories of when I was 9. But my body does. There's musical memory, where I can still finish a line of music, even though I've only heard it a few times since '93. That year, I heard it probably 50 times. But when the kids weren't onstage, we were upstairs playing games and talking. So my body absorbed and committed to memory what was background music heard on a monitor.
Then there's sense memory. Without thinking it through even, I turned to Han at one point and said, "Oh. This is when the kids line up backstage." And a few minutes later, "Here comes the cue..." Just like that. And I love that sense memory can be so complex. A sound can cue a memory, or a sound can cue an emotion.
I had fun singing along, remembering, enjoying the tour of sense memories, and experiencing a beautiful work with some beautiful performances. And the funniest part, perhaps, was the blaring chorus of cicadas hopefully not present in any opera house production. : )
As happens a lot in my life, this event came at a time when I've been thinking a lot about sense memory, and more, how much more telling our bodies can be than our brains. Think about these physical reactions:
Has anyone ever tried to engage you in conversation, but you got such a bad case of the creeps, you excused yourself as quickly as possible?
What about that guy you never really thought was your type? There was that day he brushed against you accidentally, and something like lightening surged through you, sparking a new curiosity.
And what about when someone reminds you of someone else, not because there's any resemblance, but just because of... something?
These examples I've talked about with one person or another lately. The complete list of examples is huge, but it seems like we humans have a lot of them in common.
You know, we're so quick to claim that we as humans are unique because we can reason through things. But I wonder what would happen if we just felt? Are our bodies designed to sense things that our human over-thinking stomps to a pulp? I don't have much more to say on the subject. I've just always been so aware of sense memory, and I've always been an over-thinker. And I try to remember sometimes that we're really just animals. And the more I'm not sure which way to go, the more I'm wondering if I should just follow my own lead and see if I end up somewhere amazing...
So maybe I'll wonder, or maybe I'll wander one direction or another...
Friday, July 22, 2011
oh and one more thing...
What's the difference between lunch with a friend and a lunch date? Feelings, right? Don't you love your friends? In that case, I officially proclaim this the United States of Sluttiness...
Bromance/Romance
A few days ago, I was waiting for the bus, and this man walked out of the building on the corner. He smiled and me, and I smiled back and said hello. Honestly, there are a lot of Greek guys in the neighborhood who look similar. I've met so many of them on the street with Blitz or through the valets or construction workers I talk to. So I said hello to this man, and it started. He asked me my name, if I was Greek, if I lived in the area, etc. It wasn't creepy or anything, so I decided I'd go with it. I mean, I have a finger surrounded by diamonds that wards off unwelcome advances, right? So this man introduces himself, and in the process tells me that everyone calls him by his Hebrew name. My autopilot kicks in, and I blurt out, "I'm Jewish, too!" Silly Allie. Now the guy is really interested in talking with me. And he wants to give me his number. His words are respectful, but his eyes say he wants to eat me for dinner... Luckily the bus came a few minutes later, so I didn't have to navigate my way through the situation any further.
I've been thinking about a post of this nature for some time, and the event I just described is a perfect lead-in to exploring the many roads between bromance and romance. There I was on the street, and this nice man wants to swap info and just chat, and my brain is on the verge of exploding because I'm trying to figure out his intentions and what's appropriate and if we're on the same page. And that's the stuff I want to address.
When you're a kid, and you meet someone, and you like them, you say, "Do you want to be friends?" or "Do you want to come play outside?" No matter if it's a boy or a girl or an older or younger neighbor, there's no such thing as a motive other than friendship. Eventually, we reach an age where any social time with a member of the opposite sex (or sex we're attracted to) leaves a big ? dangling in the air. And that's the adventure of life for as many years as we'd like.
Sometimes, when we're adults, we can simplify this all. For example, I did 4 shows in a row with the same guy, Z. One day, sometime during show 3 I think, Z says to me, "Can we be real friends, not just show friends?" At this point, we knew each other pretty well anyway, so it made sense for him to put it that way--we could be spending more time together instead of a quick catch up before or after showtime. Still, there it was--a clear line drawn by two people that have a great time together. And you know what; we're still friends.
But what about when you meet someone new and you just like them enough to want to see them again? What about all the middle ground between making a real friend out of someone you see daily and approaching someone on the street (which I happen to think has to be sparked by the physical)? I've found myself in this situation a few times, and I've come to the conclusion that being a child is way, way easier. Because the words are the same as they would be if you're asking someone out, so the only difference is intention. Should we expect our inviter to say, "Want to get a drink sometime? But please know that I totally respect your relationship, so I'm only asking you as friends. I'm not a creep." That's just silly. And besides, does it matter if one or both parties are in a relationship? Well, that depends.
There are several wonderful men in my life that I hang out with. This past year, I've found myself out with one or another of them one on one. And I look around, and I wonder--does everyone in this room assume we're on a date? And if they do, does it matter? To me? To them? To morality? Does it matter what it looks like, or does it just matter what it is? Can something be inappropriate because to someone else it looks like something it isn't? I think that's silly, too.
The only way to measure if something is appropriate or not is to know the intentions of both parties. And really, we're the only ones that know how we feel. So what, we're supposed to declare our intentions before hanging out? That's the silliest idea of all. Like nobody's ever played the friend card in the hope of flipping it over to reveal a morethanfriend card? And good thing for that, for all of the beautiful relationships born out of friendship.
It's a fascinating subject to me--navigating adult relationships, new relationships, opposite sex relationships. I'm fascinated by situations where it's possible to under-communicate or over-communicate. I think it's interesting that forming relationships can complicate or simplify in different phases of our lives. It's been on my mind since I've been married and exploring the various responsibilities that entails. I've been trying to figure out if there are any cases in which I'm supposed to be clear about where my life is at or not.
So far, the conclusion I've come to is that all is well... unless a stranger tries to get sketchy with me. Seriously, though. I think all we can do is continue to spend time with the people that make us happy. If a man and woman are out to dinner and the waitress perceives it to be something it's not, oh well. And as for the man and woman enjoying a movie next to each other--if someone is feeling something, nobody else will know. So unless one of them decides it's time for a declaration of bromance or romance, we just keep going.
As for my friend from the street, as nice as he was, I'm not sure I really want to be his friend. I'm hoping I don't keep running into him, but I'm taking the bus in a little while, and the stop is right in front of his door...
I will say this: I am lucky to have some stellar influences in my life, female and male. And gosh, for the sake of drama control, remember that this is my blog where I write about whatever is on my mind. I'm writing about concepts here. So don't you boys go thinking you need to start declaring your secret love or physical repulsion to me.
Happy weekend. : )
I've been thinking about a post of this nature for some time, and the event I just described is a perfect lead-in to exploring the many roads between bromance and romance. There I was on the street, and this nice man wants to swap info and just chat, and my brain is on the verge of exploding because I'm trying to figure out his intentions and what's appropriate and if we're on the same page. And that's the stuff I want to address.
When you're a kid, and you meet someone, and you like them, you say, "Do you want to be friends?" or "Do you want to come play outside?" No matter if it's a boy or a girl or an older or younger neighbor, there's no such thing as a motive other than friendship. Eventually, we reach an age where any social time with a member of the opposite sex (or sex we're attracted to) leaves a big ? dangling in the air. And that's the adventure of life for as many years as we'd like.
Sometimes, when we're adults, we can simplify this all. For example, I did 4 shows in a row with the same guy, Z. One day, sometime during show 3 I think, Z says to me, "Can we be real friends, not just show friends?" At this point, we knew each other pretty well anyway, so it made sense for him to put it that way--we could be spending more time together instead of a quick catch up before or after showtime. Still, there it was--a clear line drawn by two people that have a great time together. And you know what; we're still friends.
But what about when you meet someone new and you just like them enough to want to see them again? What about all the middle ground between making a real friend out of someone you see daily and approaching someone on the street (which I happen to think has to be sparked by the physical)? I've found myself in this situation a few times, and I've come to the conclusion that being a child is way, way easier. Because the words are the same as they would be if you're asking someone out, so the only difference is intention. Should we expect our inviter to say, "Want to get a drink sometime? But please know that I totally respect your relationship, so I'm only asking you as friends. I'm not a creep." That's just silly. And besides, does it matter if one or both parties are in a relationship? Well, that depends.
There are several wonderful men in my life that I hang out with. This past year, I've found myself out with one or another of them one on one. And I look around, and I wonder--does everyone in this room assume we're on a date? And if they do, does it matter? To me? To them? To morality? Does it matter what it looks like, or does it just matter what it is? Can something be inappropriate because to someone else it looks like something it isn't? I think that's silly, too.
The only way to measure if something is appropriate or not is to know the intentions of both parties. And really, we're the only ones that know how we feel. So what, we're supposed to declare our intentions before hanging out? That's the silliest idea of all. Like nobody's ever played the friend card in the hope of flipping it over to reveal a morethanfriend card? And good thing for that, for all of the beautiful relationships born out of friendship.
It's a fascinating subject to me--navigating adult relationships, new relationships, opposite sex relationships. I'm fascinated by situations where it's possible to under-communicate or over-communicate. I think it's interesting that forming relationships can complicate or simplify in different phases of our lives. It's been on my mind since I've been married and exploring the various responsibilities that entails. I've been trying to figure out if there are any cases in which I'm supposed to be clear about where my life is at or not.
So far, the conclusion I've come to is that all is well... unless a stranger tries to get sketchy with me. Seriously, though. I think all we can do is continue to spend time with the people that make us happy. If a man and woman are out to dinner and the waitress perceives it to be something it's not, oh well. And as for the man and woman enjoying a movie next to each other--if someone is feeling something, nobody else will know. So unless one of them decides it's time for a declaration of bromance or romance, we just keep going.
As for my friend from the street, as nice as he was, I'm not sure I really want to be his friend. I'm hoping I don't keep running into him, but I'm taking the bus in a little while, and the stop is right in front of his door...
I will say this: I am lucky to have some stellar influences in my life, female and male. And gosh, for the sake of drama control, remember that this is my blog where I write about whatever is on my mind. I'm writing about concepts here. So don't you boys go thinking you need to start declaring your secret love or physical repulsion to me.
Happy weekend. : )
Saturday, July 2, 2011
It won't be the last, but this is the finale...
I thought week two would prove more productive than it was. Though I was allowed to resume some more normal activity, I was still sleeping a lot (hey, healing takes energy). After years of not being able to because I'd wake up with a wicked sinus headache, I gained an appreciation for the art of the nap. Though week two, being tired was frustrating because sitting on the couch started to get boring. I'd start to sort through some papers, but after tipping my head down for ten minutes, the throbbing would start. So I'd watch some more TV and squirm around, the physical discomfort of inactivity beginning to set in.
I still felt like I had a cold for all of week two (and still even a little bit now). And the sneezing--so much sneezing. But it was fun to reach all kinds of little milestones during those first couple of weeks. It's funny how there are all of these little things that make us feel like normally functioning people. We take a lot of them for granted, so it was fun to notice things like:
--The first time I could chew normally.
--My first day without pain pills (which was the day after the Dr.), and more so, the first day without pain at rest (it still hurts to the touch, though I can feel the tip of my nose where I couldn't before.)
--Each Wednesday, removing a pillow before bedtime so that after week one I didn't have to sleep sitting up, and after week two, I could revel in being a stomach sleeper once more. (Reveling except for the night I smacked myself in the face while turning...)
--Sinus rinses. This may sound like a ridiculous milestone, but I assure you it isn't. See, I tried to neti pot many times in the past, but that only resulted in the water going in one side and my head feeling like it was about to explode. So the day of my follow-up, I started this rinse system they gave me. Sure enough, the water went up one side and started pouring out the other. With ease (after just a bit). It's a little funny, and a little weird. But it was such a great, concrete way to see the difference. And you know, it feels great. I think I'm hooked.
--Putting on makeup, simply being able to towel dry my face, etc.
Of course I also have some more to say about the differences I felt in my voice since that first time I tried singing.
--First of all, I feel like singing just about every day. And I have been.
--I can just enjoy singing in the shower without a proper warm up. I don't have to do a full warm up to feel like I'm safe from hurting myself, and I don't need one to successfully get through a simple song.
--More volume, less effort. To the extreme. Proof? Han said that for the first time ever, he could hear me through his headphones from the other side of the apartment while I was shower singing. #sorrynotsorryneighbors
--A side effect that I wasn't expecting is that my legit has gained some serious punch. They do call it a head voice, and I've got lots o' space now.
--Instead of having to focus on each note, I can just let the sound come out and focus on things like, oh yes, the performance. I'm not preoccupied with "fixing" anymore, my old/new confidence reminds me I'm equipped to not crash and burn, and I can enjoy the ride and trust that my talent will carry me through. Though I always strive to be the best I can be, I feel more comfortable now than I did worrying I was physically incapable of perfection. #blackswanmomentaverted
--I can go out to dinner at a noisy restaurant and shout for an hour and wake up the next morning ready to sing.
--Endurance--I can sing for an hour and want to sing for an hour more. And maybe another. And I could. But I'm still building.
--There are a few things I need to work on. I need to gain complete control of the new space. But even working out these kinks, everything is smoother. I could walk into an audition/callback/rehearsal/performance just a few weeks after surgery and feel perfectly equipped, better than I was before.
Weeks three/four get even less eventful, but still noteworthy.
The swelling continues to go down still and will for a while. I know I'm feeling more normal because when I feel pain it contrasts so strongly to the normality I feel elsewhere.
I went to the beach last weekend for Lando's birthday. The party set up right next to the volleyball courts. Laying there in the sand, I'd relax until I heard the sound of fist to ball, at which point I'd instinctively jump to make sure there was nothing flying toward my face. I wonder how long that reflex will last. #welltheregoesyoursociallife
I've still been singing almost daily. I didn't sing every day during week three, but that's ok. I actually got my first post-surgery gig (thank you JThon!!). That has given me new music to work on as well as my first post-improvement public performance to look forward to! It's been fun to work on the songs because it's just so much easier. And I'm not worried--I feel more reliable. I can work just as hard, but I'm more productive. I'm so enthusiastic, and... just happy to be doing this. It's work and play and wonderful. (And it will be available on YouTube.)
You know, it was really important to me to have this all down... for me. I'm done with the bulk of the story now. I'm sure I'll remember things here and there, but now it's back to writing about other things. This is the Manifest Destiny blog, so there will plenty more on my voice and singing and this journey. But as I return to normal and journey beyond it, so will this site.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
a little bit louder now...
This is for you, Dr.Lizz:
So, we're only up to the Monday after surgery, but there isn't as much to tell after that. Here's what was noteworthy to me--
Haha. I took some notes for myself so that I could write all this, and for Tuesday, I wrote "ass day." I guess that means I just relaxed. And I sang some I'm sure, too.
Wednesday, however, was noteworthy. I decided to celebrate my one week surgeversary by going to an audition. It was just a nice regional season audition asking for two selections. So I went. I still felt like I was singing through a cold--a little stuffy, a little runny. And I didn't know exactly how to control each note as I placed them the same as I'd been for so long. I'll write more about the adjustment later, but I think the audition was a good, solid return to happy auditioning. I figure at the worst, I sounded just a little better, and it felt a whole lot better. And just before I left the audition room, one of the auditors called me back. "Allison. In all of your cheerleading and gymnastics experience, did you ever twirl a baton?" Sigh. Of all of the numerous and random skills I have, I never have. And I'm kind of awful about truth stretching at auditions. And so I answered with a disappointed but optimistic smile, "No I did not. But I can learn." And you know, in my mind, just the fact that they asked the question confirmed that it was a solid audition just a week after surgery.
Thursday, I went out with the Cook. We had a lovely afternoon in Lincoln Square where he got me tipsy on a very large margarita and full on heavenly gelato. It was lovely. And aside from the fantastic company, it was nice to be out doing something on a beautiful day when I could smell the flowers.
I got home from my afternoon with the Cook to a very excited Blitz. Now, when I come home to him, he flails and jumps a lot, so I'd been particularly careful not to go anywhere near him until he was calm enough not to hit me. On this particular day, I underestimated. He looked calm to me, so I crouched down to pick something up from the floor. Then I saw him coming. His nose smacked square into the left side of my nose, right down at the bottom. I don't know if it was the physical pain or the thought of him having knocked my new, straight septum just a week after surgery that hurt more. But it hurt. A lot.
I called the office of Dr. Dimples as he's the one who fixed my septum, and the nurse told me to stop in the next day for a double check.
"I just couldn't stay away," I joked, as Dr. Dimples came in. He took a look up the right nostril and smiled.
"That is a straight septum. Who did that?" He and his shining bedside manner assured me that nothing had shifted. And since I was there, he very kindly offered to do a little clean-up and stitch removal to increase my comfort. And then we just chatted for a few minutes about his upcoming business trip. You know, bedside manner or not, he sure knows how to pay a girl some attention. Whataguy.
So, we're only up to the Monday after surgery, but there isn't as much to tell after that. Here's what was noteworthy to me--
Haha. I took some notes for myself so that I could write all this, and for Tuesday, I wrote "ass day." I guess that means I just relaxed. And I sang some I'm sure, too.
Wednesday, however, was noteworthy. I decided to celebrate my one week surgeversary by going to an audition. It was just a nice regional season audition asking for two selections. So I went. I still felt like I was singing through a cold--a little stuffy, a little runny. And I didn't know exactly how to control each note as I placed them the same as I'd been for so long. I'll write more about the adjustment later, but I think the audition was a good, solid return to happy auditioning. I figure at the worst, I sounded just a little better, and it felt a whole lot better. And just before I left the audition room, one of the auditors called me back. "Allison. In all of your cheerleading and gymnastics experience, did you ever twirl a baton?" Sigh. Of all of the numerous and random skills I have, I never have. And I'm kind of awful about truth stretching at auditions. And so I answered with a disappointed but optimistic smile, "No I did not. But I can learn." And you know, in my mind, just the fact that they asked the question confirmed that it was a solid audition just a week after surgery.
Thursday, I went out with the Cook. We had a lovely afternoon in Lincoln Square where he got me tipsy on a very large margarita and full on heavenly gelato. It was lovely. And aside from the fantastic company, it was nice to be out doing something on a beautiful day when I could smell the flowers.
I got home from my afternoon with the Cook to a very excited Blitz. Now, when I come home to him, he flails and jumps a lot, so I'd been particularly careful not to go anywhere near him until he was calm enough not to hit me. On this particular day, I underestimated. He looked calm to me, so I crouched down to pick something up from the floor. Then I saw him coming. His nose smacked square into the left side of my nose, right down at the bottom. I don't know if it was the physical pain or the thought of him having knocked my new, straight septum just a week after surgery that hurt more. But it hurt. A lot.
I called the office of Dr. Dimples as he's the one who fixed my septum, and the nurse told me to stop in the next day for a double check.
"I just couldn't stay away," I joked, as Dr. Dimples came in. He took a look up the right nostril and smiled.
"That is a straight septum. Who did that?" He and his shining bedside manner assured me that nothing had shifted. And since I was there, he very kindly offered to do a little clean-up and stitch removal to increase my comfort. And then we just chatted for a few minutes about his upcoming business trip. You know, bedside manner or not, he sure knows how to pay a girl some attention. Whataguy.
Friday, June 24, 2011
I almost deafened my mother, but we both smiled (part 4-the punchline!)
Since surgery, I had been looking forward to Saturday. Saturday would bring two showers--my first since surgery and one to celebrate the upcoming wedding of some dear friends. My personal shower was fairly uneventful except for the fact that I still had a bandage on my nose and had to dodge the sprays of water that came too close. It was good to be up and around, though, getting dressed in real clothes and going outside on a beautiful day. I was still in pain and Norcoed up, so Han drove me and JHo up north to the celebration. Even the bandaged, slightly out of it girl can say that it was a beautiful event. That pretty much took everything I had on Saturday. I left a little early and went directly home to my friend, Mr. Couch. I watched the Belmont and then promptly began the napping and relaxation portion of the night.
Since I did pretty well on Saturday, I decided I'd try my first trip to the dog park on Sunday. I spent most of the way there trying to get Blitz to stop pulling and most of my time at the park sitting on the highest perch, ready to fend off any jumpers. It was again nice to be out and feeling the normalcy beginning to return. Sunday evening, some of the Cat siblings + adorable nephew came over. Han had some more grilling fun, and we all watched the Tonys. It was very sweet of them to come over and great to have them around.
Still throughout the weekend, I found myself exhausted after each event. I still felt like I was walking around with a bad head cold and a nagging headache, and I was getting more and more antsy to get my splints out at my first follow-up appointment... which finally, finally brings us to Monday.
My first follow-up appointment with both surgeons was scheduled for Monday morning. But as I was getting ready to go, I'd have to face one milestone--my first sneeze. I'd been told before surgery that if I had to sneeze, I should just open my mouth. But the feeling hadn't crept up until Monday morning, and when I felt the point of no return, I fearfully braced myself for the pain. "A-choo!" And... it was fine. Yeah, I know--sorry to let you down. It was a big relief, though!
So my wonderful mother came downtown again to drive me and for moral support. We got to the hospital, and on the way up the elevator, a woman looked at me and said, "You have a really cute nose!" I thanked her. I'm sure she probably thought I'd had the whole thing done and was trying to be nice--and it was nice. And it was funny considering I was still quite swollen. I guess my nose looks good puffy.
Anyway, Dr. Dimples came in first. He said I looked great and pulled off my outer bandage. He also recapped for me that the surgery had gone perfectly--and he still didn't believe me that I had indeed felt the difference right after surgery. I'll skip a lot of the gore of cleaning out my nose with the various rinse and suction and tweezy tools to get ready for the splint removal. I will say that while it wasn't pleasant, it wasn't bad. Dr. Dimples told me that he'd just done the same to a man older than me--the man was a big baby while I did great. There was nothing left to do but get those splints out. First, he pulled out the stitch that was holding them in place. Then, he reached in to grip the first one. I felt it sliding down, down, down, until this gigantic piece of plastic was butterflying open in front of my face. It was huge! If you're the curious type, go to YouTube and search "nasal splint removal." The plastic sits against the septum and arches in the nose, so it all fits in there just fine. But the way in unfurls is just really shocking and cool. That's the only way I can describe it. Anyway, the first side was out, and I felt the shock of cold air rushing in and out like a windstorm. Time for the other side. The splint slid out, opened up, and so did my head...
If you wear glasses or contacts, you know what it's like to get a new prescription and look at the leaves on the trees and realize you're seeing details you'd been missing. This is what I felt to some infinite degree. When both splints were out, I breathed in and out, in and out, through just my nose. And perhaps this is what all normal people feel. But it felt like my nostrils went from stirring straws to tree trunks, and the amount of air going in and out felt so smooth and so full. And I could hear it... echoing. In fact, I could hear myself echoing. For the last who knows how many years, I've been hearing myself in my head from the bottom of my nose down. But suddenly, I could hear with my whole head from my cheeks up through my forehead. It sounded as if someone built an echo chamber in the middle of my head. And I mean, I guess they did (or at least they returned it). But it felt to me like someone added another dimension, another sense. It was truly thrilling to feel and hear and speak. And I knew this was the resonance I had been missing. All that open space I was feeling and the amount of myself I was hearing was the heaven I'd been hoping for.
Dr. Dimples asked me how I felt. I said, "I can hear myself from here (holding my hands to my cheeks) up!" I smiled to my mom excitedly. And then I immediately told Dr. Dimples that I also felt incredibly light headed. Yes, I'd been tougher than the guy before me, but that great adrenaline surge of hanging in there through the digging around and splint removal had sent me to fight or flight land. So he tilted my chair down further and placed a cool compress on my forehead. Within a couple minutes, we were back to work cleaning everything out. Dr. Dimples explained to me that my nose would shrink wrap down to normal size after a bit of time, and before I knew it, he was shaking my hand and telling me he'd see me in six weeks.
Dr. Amazing came in right as Dr. Dimples was finishing. He asked me how I felt, and I excitedly explained how amazing I was feeling already. I told him how my few days had gone, he reviewed how his part of the surgery had gone. And since nobody had gotten to speak to him after surgery, I thought to ask, "So... just how much space were you able to make? A good amount?"
"I'd say... you have about eight times more space."
Floored.
I mean... floored.
"Eight times? Eight times?"
I don't really remember what happened next because I was somewhere in dreamland.
But I do know that Dr. Amazing continued to explain that things had gone fantastically and that the result would make a significant difference. He had more instructions to give me which he did in his usual kind and detailed way. Finally, I asked him when I could sing. He made a sort of shrugging gesture as if to say, "Right here and now if you want." I probably thanked him a few more times before he also told me to see him in six weeks. But in my head, I was already out the door, back to my place, singing every piece of music I own.
Since I was feeling so good, Mom and I went to meet JPL for lunch. All the way there in the car, I hummed to myself, getting to know the new sounds of my new space. I'd hummed a bit during the week, but more to check how my cords were feeling after intubation. In the car, I started to sing just a little. I think I asked my mom a dozen times if I sounded any different. She reassured me that I still sounded just like myself. And as for me, I could already feel the difference, that just those little bursts in the car... they were easier...
Lunch was great. My mom was having fun looking at me because the swelling in my nose concealed my bump almost completely, so my nose looked straighter and wider as well. So my mom and I looked even more alike than usual--she got a kick out of it, as did JPL and I. JPL brought baked goods and an awesome "to read while you're sitting on your butt" gift--a music business book to help me plan out some next steps to take with my music. We ate and visited, and then it was time to go pick up Blitz from the groomer. He was beautiful and a full dogs worth of hair smaller (after a big spring shed). And then it was time. I asked my mom if she'd stay just a bit longer to play through some songs with me--our version of partying it up.
I can't even remember what I sang first. I started with the four songs I chose to get me through the last of the pre-surgery auditions. I warmed up a bit, and then we just plowed through the songs. It was amazing. What I felt was so foreign but exactly how I'd described singing my whole life until the last couple of years. All I had to do was open my mouth. And there was the sound. I didn't have to maneuver each note. I didn't have to think or push or save. It just came out. And it felt like nothing--in the best possible way. I didn't feel the pressure on my cords or the air running out. I felt the sound ringing through my whole head, through my nose... I turned the pages through my music book asking my mom to just play a little of this one with the high legit note, or just one more belty piece. She reminded me not to push it. I wouldn't. I just had to do enough to get a little tour of what I had to work with... It was like being reunited with a lost love...
When I was a kid auditioning, I used to hear the same thing over and over again. They would always be surprised that such a big sound came out of such a little girl. So effortlessly.
Finally, after the whirlwind of singing and celebrating and wows from mom, I turned to her again.
"So, can you hear any difference, or is the difference just how I feel?"
I didn't care what her answer was. The important part is how I feel, that I'm healthy. Sure, the result will sound better, with more resonance, no more wonky notes, more endurance. But I wasn't looking for her to give a yes or no. I was just curious if she could hear just how big the difference was that I was feeling.
"Well," she said.
"You sound like you... but..." She placed her hand to the ear I'd been closer to.
"You're definitely louder."
So as it turns out, that Monday, I almost deafened my mother, but we both smiled.
There's still a little more to my story, but at least I finally reached the punchline! : )
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I almost deafened my mother, but we both smiled (part 3)
Back to the story...
Thursday, the day after surgery, I woke up excited... to put in my contacts and see again. Shortly after I was up and around (and medicated), I received a call from one of the nurses. She was incredibly apologetic for the day before, reassuring me that someone should have gotten back to me. It was fine. It really was. But I thought the phone call was sure nice after the long day I'd had. Eating was still clumsy. Try moving your upper lip without feeling it in your nose and you'll know what I mean. I still slept on and off during the day. My mom stayed until the afternoon, and JPL came over shortly thereafter. She made me lunch and kept me company and was pretty much the most rockin' sister/caretaker for the day. OtherMe drove in from the burbs to visit, which was super nice and not at all out of character. So the three of us hung out, as much as I could hang out, and the day passed. I slept on the couch again and again was up every couple of hours to ice, drink, or pop a pill.
Friday was my first morning on my own once Han went to work. I was feeling good enough to try it out, but I was admittedly nervous about being alone with the pup all morning. But--he was awesome. He took a sniff, saw me settled in on the couch, and he spent the entire morning laying calmly next to me. Dogs are amazing like that, or at least mine is. Mom came over for the afternoon again, and when Han got home, he grilled a lovely dinner for us. I'm not sure I adequately described before what it was like to have a completely plugged nose with ears popping, etc. If I didn't, it will only be gross to do it now. But please, as you read, stick that in for a while every few hours. But beside the still very intermittent airflow through my nose, things were settling down a bit. The hardest few days were over.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
An interlude...
Well, I still haven't reached the mother deafening punchline. I'll get there. I will. But I needed to take a moment today just to celebrate. Last night ended my two weeks of initial recovery. This means I can now bend over, work out a bit, start getting back to various "work," and enjoy as the swelling continues to go down. After sitting on my butt for two weeks, there is so much I want to do...
First, I cannot wait to work out. I've enjoyed all the ice cream and the warm chocolate chip cookies, but I'm itching for some yoga to undo the knots of sleeping sitting up and slouching on the couch. And dance. And everything. So I'll move my body.
Then there's my voice. My first lesson isn't for another week and a half. And I don't even know what I'll do at that lesson. I mean, I want to sing through my whole book better than I did before. Then I want to sing new things I couldn't sing before, and sing... just... everything. And I want to record. And there is only one audition on the Chicago Actors Equity website currently. So perhaps a NY or LA trip is in order. And then what? If I want to gig, I need to finish writing some songs, but that means my outlet is still at least a few weeks away... It's amazing to feel so refreshed about the thing I love so much. And at the same time, I feel a little short on opportunities to go celebrate it right now. I don't just want to use my voice for my new singing in the shower obsession. I want to share it... as we singers so love to do.
I found a similar duality in the healing process of the last two weeks. There were all the aches and restrictions and missteps, the ups and downs of healing. I am still not even close to 100%. But at the same time, there was such great progress. Until this point in my life, my recoveries have been limited to injuries. When you're injured, it's pretty much all about the return to normalcy. But in this case, recovery coexists with growth, and the improvements make me feel like I surpassed "back to normal" and left it way back in the dust of recovery day one or two.
For week two of healing, I started to watch Nip/Tuck from the beginning. I watched it for a couple seasons when it was on, but I missed a lot. I've always been fascinated with medicine, and I've always been a sucker for a medical drama. But watching while healing has fueled this respect I have, especially for my doctors, and particularly doctors who build. When I think of surgeons, I often think of people who fix. The body is supposed to be a certain way, and when it breaks, they follow the blueprint they know in order to put it back. But watching N/T reminds me of the doctors who build and create. (And not that I want to give any doctor a G-d complex,) but isn't it truly special to be gifted with the ability to construct any part of a human? I think it's pretty amazing. And I feel very blessed that a few gifted hands have allowed me to use my gift properly again. It's the great restoration of 2011. It may not make the history books, but it will make mine.
This may sound all sappy or born again-ish, but honestly, I've just used my time to think about this stuff, to process the process. I'm just so happy I made this decision. I pursued the problem to its end, and I'm sure going to make the most of the solution.
First, I cannot wait to work out. I've enjoyed all the ice cream and the warm chocolate chip cookies, but I'm itching for some yoga to undo the knots of sleeping sitting up and slouching on the couch. And dance. And everything. So I'll move my body.
Then there's my voice. My first lesson isn't for another week and a half. And I don't even know what I'll do at that lesson. I mean, I want to sing through my whole book better than I did before. Then I want to sing new things I couldn't sing before, and sing... just... everything. And I want to record. And there is only one audition on the Chicago Actors Equity website currently. So perhaps a NY or LA trip is in order. And then what? If I want to gig, I need to finish writing some songs, but that means my outlet is still at least a few weeks away... It's amazing to feel so refreshed about the thing I love so much. And at the same time, I feel a little short on opportunities to go celebrate it right now. I don't just want to use my voice for my new singing in the shower obsession. I want to share it... as we singers so love to do.
I found a similar duality in the healing process of the last two weeks. There were all the aches and restrictions and missteps, the ups and downs of healing. I am still not even close to 100%. But at the same time, there was such great progress. Until this point in my life, my recoveries have been limited to injuries. When you're injured, it's pretty much all about the return to normalcy. But in this case, recovery coexists with growth, and the improvements make me feel like I surpassed "back to normal" and left it way back in the dust of recovery day one or two.
For week two of healing, I started to watch Nip/Tuck from the beginning. I watched it for a couple seasons when it was on, but I missed a lot. I've always been fascinated with medicine, and I've always been a sucker for a medical drama. But watching while healing has fueled this respect I have, especially for my doctors, and particularly doctors who build. When I think of surgeons, I often think of people who fix. The body is supposed to be a certain way, and when it breaks, they follow the blueprint they know in order to put it back. But watching N/T reminds me of the doctors who build and create. (And not that I want to give any doctor a G-d complex,) but isn't it truly special to be gifted with the ability to construct any part of a human? I think it's pretty amazing. And I feel very blessed that a few gifted hands have allowed me to use my gift properly again. It's the great restoration of 2011. It may not make the history books, but it will make mine.
This may sound all sappy or born again-ish, but honestly, I've just used my time to think about this stuff, to process the process. I'm just so happy I made this decision. I pursued the problem to its end, and I'm sure going to make the most of the solution.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
I almost deafened my mother, but we both smiled (part 2)
"Allison" is the first thing I heard when I woke up. Everything was blurry since I didn't have my glasses, and there was lovely lubeystuff smeared all around my eyes. I felt great--which I think was a combination of the drugs and being happy to be awake. It's a weird feeling to wake up somewhere you didn't go to sleep. I'm sure many of you know this feeling from your wild and crazy social lives. I do not. So I woke up in a recovery room very happy and very sleepy, and I took a breath in through my nose. Yes, there was splinting and gauze in the way, but through my right nostril, I could feel this glorious preview of what was to come. For the first time in years, I could feel cool air rushing smoothly in and out of my nose. That moment knocked out any questions of regrets, and that moment would help me hold on through whatever ups and downs recovery would bring. That tiny preview told me that things were going to get so much better.
The nurse told me I had to wait there for a half hour before my family could come in. That time flew by, and before long, I was sitting up in a chair smiling(ish) at them. The nurse brought juice and crackers, but mostly I stuck to the juice to combat the incredible dryness in my throat. My mom told me Dr. Dimples had come out to tell them how everything went. I did great. Everything went smoothly. I woke up laughing, and I told him I could breathe better already. Dr. Dimples told my family this was just because I was loopy. He'd tell me this again at my first post-op appointment. But I swear I could feel the air.
Getting home was pretty uneventful. I was indeed loopy and dizzy, and I still couldn't see.
Stop the presses! There is a certain relation of mine that has asked not to be mentioned in this blog in order to maintain his privacy. In my relating to him that these stories are awfully difficult to tell without being able to reference him, he has suddenly given me permission to do so, under the code name Han Solo.
So... "Han" drove me home, and he and my mom got me all settled in on the couch. They changed my gauze, made me food, brought me ice, etc. They were both champs. They even moved the couch about 3 feet from the TV so that we could try to watch together. I don't remember the exact order of the next events, but there were a few more wacky Wednesday happenings.
1) Dr. Dimples is so awesome that before he left my mom and Han, he gave them his direct pager number to call if I experienced any one of a few 'bad' symptoms. Things were going pretty normally for the first hour I was home. But about 1pm, my nose started bleeding more than it was supposed to--enough to warrant a page. So Han paged Dr. Dimples. And some message told him the pager was off. Han called the office. They said we'd get a call "later." A while later, my mom called the office and was told that as the Dr. was still in surgery, a nurse would call. At 5:30, the office was closed, and we still hadn't heard anything. My nose was bleeding so much that it was completely full, and my ears popped each time I swallowed. So I tried the pager number once more. It worked. I left my number, and within 5 minutes, Dr. Dimples was calling my phone. This was the first he'd heard of me trying to reach him in the 4 hours since the first page. He gave me some simple instructions that helped get things back on track, and that was that.
2) Once I went to Norco-ville, there was a lot of nodding off on my part. Later in the afternoon, my mom and Han went out to get some things I'd need from the store (there were several of these runs) and to pick up the pup from daycare. A while later, my mom walked in--without Han or the dog. She told me not to worry, but that there'd been an incident. My car had been booted... As I am the registered owner of the car, and the owner is supposed to report to a pay location within 24 hours of the booting, this began a slew of phone calls which thankfully resulted in my dad being able to go for me. We can talk about the circumstances of my booting another time. For now, let's just say that I was not notified I was eligible for a boot, none of the tickets were deserved, and I would have continued my perfect record of winning hearings--had I not missed one, forgot to request another, and not followed up with the restaurant whose valet ran a red in my car. Lesson learned on my end. Hatred for the appropriately named Chicago Department of Revenue confirmed.
That night, my wonderful mother stayed over on the air mattress next to me sleeping sitting up on the couch. She woke me every two hours to ice and take whatever pill I needed. I was pretty much up every hour anyway... Have you ever tried to sleep without the use of your nose? I'm not talking about a cold where you're stuffy. I mean, literally, no nasal involvement in breathing... My body woke me at least once an hour because my throat and mouth were so dry. My tongue felt like a steak left out on the counter overnight, and I had to hydrate it back to life as best I could.
Anyway, I credit my mom's super strong icing beliefs for my lack of swelling and bruising. I continued not only the hospital ordered regular icing, but the mom ordered ice at night over the next few days, and I think it made a big difference...
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I almost deafened my mother, but we both smiled (part 1)
Well hello there blogland. I've been away recovering for the last (almost) week. I had grand visions of blogging the process, but narcotics can really wipe a girl out. Today is my first day without any pain medication, but I still have at least one more week of extremely limited physical activity--so I should be able to catch up with the writing.
Where to begin... I suppose, where we left off. (I want to get this all down, so I may breeze through some of it without much effort at it becoming a brilliant writing piece.)
Tuesday, I started getting nervous. My brain started doing the whole, "Wtf are you doing?" dance. It said, "Technically, this surgery is all elective. Are you nuts?" I had to do a lot of reminding myself that the surgery was going to help my future tremendously, that it was necessary for the life I want. So I got up Wednesday morning, and we headed to the hospital.
I checked in at 5:57am, and the receptionist gave me a number and told me to sit and wait. 45 minutes later, we were the only ones left waiting, and she asked, "Didn't anyone ever take you to registration?" It turns out the staff got locked out, then the system crashed and had to be restarted, they were having "wacky Wednesday," and I got lost somewhere in the mix. Fantastic. I went to my little room, changed, and hopped in bed.
The weirdest thing about being prepped for surgery was the number of people all around me at the same time. There were three nurses hooking me up, asking me questions, etc. It was like a little dance, and it kept me busy. Dr. Amazing stopped by to see how I was doing and go over the plan. Then off he went to change. Dr. Dimples came next to review his part. Done and done.
You know how on medical shows, they label "this leg" and "not this leg?" Well, for noses, they slap on a removable tattoo. Dr. Resident initials it, and you're good to go. Funny.
Next came Dr. Sleepytime (the anesthesiologist). I hit the jackpot. I told him right away that I'm a professional singer, and he handled it in the most amazing way possible. First of all, he let me know that he's been doing his job for 27 years (jackpot). He let let me know that in all honesty, his asst. is one of the only people he'd let intubate him if needed. He then reviewed for me, in great detail, all of the things he would do to be extra careful, and he completely reassured me. I'm not sure if this is standard, but he even checked back after the surgery to let me know that the intubation couldn't have gone more perfectly and to see how I was feeling.
When it was time for them to take me to surgery, I started to panic a little. Ok, I was totally freaking out--airplane style. And then, about 30 seconds into our roll down the hall, I was physically unable to panic anymore. "You started my IV, didn't you?" Yep, they had.
The O.R. was freezing. I know it's supposed to get hot under the lights, but if I were a surgeon, I'd be cutting zig zag incisions my hands would be trembling so much. In fact, I was trembling. Not because I was nervous anymore, but just because I was cold, and my body wouldn't stop. Again, there were people working all around me. They put warming blankets on me, and it felt like there were cushy items being placed in all the open areas around me until I was surrounded by a sleeping bag of warmth. I remember being asked if I was comfortable, and then nothing...
Where to begin... I suppose, where we left off. (I want to get this all down, so I may breeze through some of it without much effort at it becoming a brilliant writing piece.)
Tuesday, I started getting nervous. My brain started doing the whole, "Wtf are you doing?" dance. It said, "Technically, this surgery is all elective. Are you nuts?" I had to do a lot of reminding myself that the surgery was going to help my future tremendously, that it was necessary for the life I want. So I got up Wednesday morning, and we headed to the hospital.
I checked in at 5:57am, and the receptionist gave me a number and told me to sit and wait. 45 minutes later, we were the only ones left waiting, and she asked, "Didn't anyone ever take you to registration?" It turns out the staff got locked out, then the system crashed and had to be restarted, they were having "wacky Wednesday," and I got lost somewhere in the mix. Fantastic. I went to my little room, changed, and hopped in bed.
The weirdest thing about being prepped for surgery was the number of people all around me at the same time. There were three nurses hooking me up, asking me questions, etc. It was like a little dance, and it kept me busy. Dr. Amazing stopped by to see how I was doing and go over the plan. Then off he went to change. Dr. Dimples came next to review his part. Done and done.
You know how on medical shows, they label "this leg" and "not this leg?" Well, for noses, they slap on a removable tattoo. Dr. Resident initials it, and you're good to go. Funny.
Next came Dr. Sleepytime (the anesthesiologist). I hit the jackpot. I told him right away that I'm a professional singer, and he handled it in the most amazing way possible. First of all, he let me know that he's been doing his job for 27 years (jackpot). He let let me know that in all honesty, his asst. is one of the only people he'd let intubate him if needed. He then reviewed for me, in great detail, all of the things he would do to be extra careful, and he completely reassured me. I'm not sure if this is standard, but he even checked back after the surgery to let me know that the intubation couldn't have gone more perfectly and to see how I was feeling.
When it was time for them to take me to surgery, I started to panic a little. Ok, I was totally freaking out--airplane style. And then, about 30 seconds into our roll down the hall, I was physically unable to panic anymore. "You started my IV, didn't you?" Yep, they had.
The O.R. was freezing. I know it's supposed to get hot under the lights, but if I were a surgeon, I'd be cutting zig zag incisions my hands would be trembling so much. In fact, I was trembling. Not because I was nervous anymore, but just because I was cold, and my body wouldn't stop. Again, there were people working all around me. They put warming blankets on me, and it felt like there were cushy items being placed in all the open areas around me until I was surrounded by a sleeping bag of warmth. I remember being asked if I was comfortable, and then nothing...
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Pre-op.
There's a lot on my mind, and there's a lot to do before tomorrow.
I figure I'll have a lot of writing time over the next couple of weeks. So back to work and play I go.
I very much look forward to writing to you all soon. : )
I figure I'll have a lot of writing time over the next couple of weeks. So back to work and play I go.
I very much look forward to writing to you all soon. : )
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
And I skipped down the halls of Northwestern Memorial...
Guys, this is it.
My voice is gonna ring throughout the land...
Yesterday, I met with Dr. Amazing. Apparently, he's the guru I should have been seeing this whole time. But I don't even care about all the questions and consults and goose chases anymore. All I care about is that yesterday, it took him about 5 minutes to tell me with total confidence that surgery a) is the absolute best option and b) will make me so. much. better.
My nose is as crowded as a room on hoarders, and Dr. Amazing is going to make me an open air play room. He says he can make big space, and big space = big improvement.
And Dr. Architect will be there, too. He's a perfectionist. And he has great dimples (which is not at all a qualification but is pretty darn endearing).
I've been waiting so long. And you know, I trust both of them. I really, really do.
In just a few more weeks, I will sound like me--not this strange me of the last year, but me...
I really did skip, by the way. : )
My voice is gonna ring throughout the land...
Yesterday, I met with Dr. Amazing. Apparently, he's the guru I should have been seeing this whole time. But I don't even care about all the questions and consults and goose chases anymore. All I care about is that yesterday, it took him about 5 minutes to tell me with total confidence that surgery a) is the absolute best option and b) will make me so. much. better.
My nose is as crowded as a room on hoarders, and Dr. Amazing is going to make me an open air play room. He says he can make big space, and big space = big improvement.
And Dr. Architect will be there, too. He's a perfectionist. And he has great dimples (which is not at all a qualification but is pretty darn endearing).
I've been waiting so long. And you know, I trust both of them. I really, really do.
In just a few more weeks, I will sound like me--not this strange me of the last year, but me...
I really did skip, by the way. : )
Monday, May 23, 2011
Cheat your own adventure...
The other night, I told Badass--
(Gosh, I feel like I should change his name. I'm struck so much more by his kindness than his coolness... I'm aware this is on the list of things you shouldn't say about men--sorry friend. Lucky for him, Sweetass sounds wildly inappropriate, so until I think of something better, Badass will have to do.)
Anyway, I told Badass about how lately, I've been wishing I could press pause, try out a few paths, etc. He said, "Like a choose your own adventure?" I said, "Yes!"
But somewhere on the Red Line ride home, I thought, 'Not like a choose your own adventure.' Because the premise of a choose your own adventure is to choose a path and follow it to an end. Life is already a choose your own adventure. What I want is a cheat code. I want to pause everything, try each of the paths before me, play them through long enough to find out where they'll send me, then come right back to this point with that knowledge, and press play, ready to choose a path based on its result.
This is totally cheating. And it's totally not the way life is supposed to go. We're supposed to just enjoy the journey. But what do we do when we place the pros and cons and gut feelings on a scale, and they never stop teetering? When did I miss the lesson about making blind life choices?
And another thing--if you hate the way a choose your own adventure book ends, you can laugh it off and pick up a new one. Or you can try again. But we're talking about life path importance here...
I believe that one of the great joys in life is the element of surprise that results from not controlling everything. Another is that we have the free will to make our life what we'd like it to be. So when there are too many means to countless endings, and the goal is simply happiness, don't you ever want the cheat code?
At least I feel a song coming on... : )
(Gosh, I feel like I should change his name. I'm struck so much more by his kindness than his coolness... I'm aware this is on the list of things you shouldn't say about men--sorry friend. Lucky for him, Sweetass sounds wildly inappropriate, so until I think of something better, Badass will have to do.)
Anyway, I told Badass about how lately, I've been wishing I could press pause, try out a few paths, etc. He said, "Like a choose your own adventure?" I said, "Yes!"
But somewhere on the Red Line ride home, I thought, 'Not like a choose your own adventure.' Because the premise of a choose your own adventure is to choose a path and follow it to an end. Life is already a choose your own adventure. What I want is a cheat code. I want to pause everything, try each of the paths before me, play them through long enough to find out where they'll send me, then come right back to this point with that knowledge, and press play, ready to choose a path based on its result.
This is totally cheating. And it's totally not the way life is supposed to go. We're supposed to just enjoy the journey. But what do we do when we place the pros and cons and gut feelings on a scale, and they never stop teetering? When did I miss the lesson about making blind life choices?
And another thing--if you hate the way a choose your own adventure book ends, you can laugh it off and pick up a new one. Or you can try again. But we're talking about life path importance here...
I believe that one of the great joys in life is the element of surprise that results from not controlling everything. Another is that we have the free will to make our life what we'd like it to be. So when there are too many means to countless endings, and the goal is simply happiness, don't you ever want the cheat code?
At least I feel a song coming on... : )
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
hammering it out...
First off, hello there T-Cat, follower #6. : )
So... it's been an eventful week.
1) Monday, the awful woman who bought the building (let's call her Building Bitch) put up signs claiming she bought the alley where we park and that renters can only park in the whopping six or so spaces in front of the building. I'm going to look into whether or not it's actually possible to claim a Chicago alley as private property. Meanwhile, she's screwed us over once again. (This story will come into play later--trust me.)
2) And then there was Tuesday. I had a coaching scheduled in the middle of the afternoon. Some of you know I'm chronically early, so I left with plenty of time to get there. I got off the highway and practiced some patience through construction. And then, while cruising through the middle lane headed toward a green light and a clear path in front of me, SMACK. My side mirror slammed into my window, and I realized I'd been hit by a big, white van. Apparently the left turn lane wasn't doing it for him, and blind spot checking is for wimps, so he just plowed right on over. I've never actually been in an accident like this behind the wheel. Last year, I got rear ended while stopped at a red light, and when the light turned green a few seconds later, the driver sped away. So this was my first 'get out and swap info and actually speak to the other party' accident. Anyway, I was fine other than a case of the super adrenaline jitters. The big, white van had a scrape on the bumper. And my poor, two year old baby looks like a giant karate chopped the doors. The Van Man was polite, though he's convinced that the lanes were just so confusing that it's a no fault case. (B.S.) And though I will fight for things to play out in my favor, I was my polite self. I didn't ream him out. I kept my cool and went on my way to a much more positive rest of the day.
3) This brings us to today in the Whole Foods parking lot. I turn down a lane to park, and almost immediately, the driver in the car next to me honks at me to roll down my window. This guy, Mr. Fix It, tells me he works in the Honda body shop by Midway, and he wants me to hire him to fix my car on the side for way less than anyone else will. He gives me an estimate and promises me he can have the car looking like new after 20 minutes of work in the lot. I tell him I need to wait to go through the proper insurance steps so that I know how much Van Man is covering, but when I do have it fixed, I'll be happy to call him first. And I'll call him. And the first thing I'll need to see are his credentials.
And then these three events collided in some deep thinking space of mine...
First of all, the accident... is just weird. This isn't a shocking, new concept or anything. But it always blows my mind how if I didn't leave so early, if I didn't take a different exit than I usually do, if I had merged one car sooner or later, it wouldn't have happened. When it's something positive, we usually work these things out as "meant to be." But am I supposed to assume the same here? So I try to at least learn something from the event. And what I keep focusing on is me afterward. I felt so aware and so shut off at the same time. I'm a lawyer's daughter, taught to say as little as possible in these situations. I know I need information from this guy. I need to hear what he's saying. I need to get all of his information. I need to check it to make sure it looks accurate. I need to keep my cool because this is a man I do not know. I went into full on survival mode. I was still able to check things off the "I know" list, but I was somewhere else. I left some overly polite person to handle the business and left myself processing the reality somewhere else. And you know, Van Man and I were both so polite, I hope I didn't get screwed somewhere in that ordeal. That was my concern today. I don't know Mr. Fix It. And because I don't know him, I have to create some way of assessing whether or not he's trying to scam me or whether he's just a nice guy who saw a mutually beneficial situation. If I trust him, I'm naive, and if I don't, I'm jaded. And that's what I realized today.
I realized that as a nice person, I have to constantly, constantly assess the intentions of every person I meet. I feel completely trampled by Building Bitch on Monday, so Wednesday, I am quick to assume the worst. And I find this fact of my life right now to be really... icky.
I have an aunt who made a choice to stay away from big cities and only live in small towns--communities. And after years of not being able to imagine being so cut off, I got it. She only lives where you know your neighbors, and you know their intentions match yours. She doesn't have to think constantly about whether she is talking to another good human being or one who is trying to take her on a ride toward some sinister plan.
So, a question from this squishy optimist... How do I spot the good ones? As a squishy, I wish I could assume the best in everyone, but I feel like I'm supposed to assume that I should protect myself until they prove themselves innocent. That sounds responsible, and in my business, I think it's somewhat necessary. But it also sounds really... sad... like a really judgmental, pessimistic way to live...
The only solution I've come up with is to use my instincts--I figure most of the time, they should be right. That's the scientific answer for us all, right? What I do know is that I cannot be constantly reminded of how much darkness there is. The answer that I find will have to reconcile responsibility and positivity.
What do you think?
So... it's been an eventful week.
1) Monday, the awful woman who bought the building (let's call her Building Bitch) put up signs claiming she bought the alley where we park and that renters can only park in the whopping six or so spaces in front of the building. I'm going to look into whether or not it's actually possible to claim a Chicago alley as private property. Meanwhile, she's screwed us over once again. (This story will come into play later--trust me.)
2) And then there was Tuesday. I had a coaching scheduled in the middle of the afternoon. Some of you know I'm chronically early, so I left with plenty of time to get there. I got off the highway and practiced some patience through construction. And then, while cruising through the middle lane headed toward a green light and a clear path in front of me, SMACK. My side mirror slammed into my window, and I realized I'd been hit by a big, white van. Apparently the left turn lane wasn't doing it for him, and blind spot checking is for wimps, so he just plowed right on over. I've never actually been in an accident like this behind the wheel. Last year, I got rear ended while stopped at a red light, and when the light turned green a few seconds later, the driver sped away. So this was my first 'get out and swap info and actually speak to the other party' accident. Anyway, I was fine other than a case of the super adrenaline jitters. The big, white van had a scrape on the bumper. And my poor, two year old baby looks like a giant karate chopped the doors. The Van Man was polite, though he's convinced that the lanes were just so confusing that it's a no fault case. (B.S.) And though I will fight for things to play out in my favor, I was my polite self. I didn't ream him out. I kept my cool and went on my way to a much more positive rest of the day.
3) This brings us to today in the Whole Foods parking lot. I turn down a lane to park, and almost immediately, the driver in the car next to me honks at me to roll down my window. This guy, Mr. Fix It, tells me he works in the Honda body shop by Midway, and he wants me to hire him to fix my car on the side for way less than anyone else will. He gives me an estimate and promises me he can have the car looking like new after 20 minutes of work in the lot. I tell him I need to wait to go through the proper insurance steps so that I know how much Van Man is covering, but when I do have it fixed, I'll be happy to call him first. And I'll call him. And the first thing I'll need to see are his credentials.
And then these three events collided in some deep thinking space of mine...
First of all, the accident... is just weird. This isn't a shocking, new concept or anything. But it always blows my mind how if I didn't leave so early, if I didn't take a different exit than I usually do, if I had merged one car sooner or later, it wouldn't have happened. When it's something positive, we usually work these things out as "meant to be." But am I supposed to assume the same here? So I try to at least learn something from the event. And what I keep focusing on is me afterward. I felt so aware and so shut off at the same time. I'm a lawyer's daughter, taught to say as little as possible in these situations. I know I need information from this guy. I need to hear what he's saying. I need to get all of his information. I need to check it to make sure it looks accurate. I need to keep my cool because this is a man I do not know. I went into full on survival mode. I was still able to check things off the "I know" list, but I was somewhere else. I left some overly polite person to handle the business and left myself processing the reality somewhere else. And you know, Van Man and I were both so polite, I hope I didn't get screwed somewhere in that ordeal. That was my concern today. I don't know Mr. Fix It. And because I don't know him, I have to create some way of assessing whether or not he's trying to scam me or whether he's just a nice guy who saw a mutually beneficial situation. If I trust him, I'm naive, and if I don't, I'm jaded. And that's what I realized today.
I realized that as a nice person, I have to constantly, constantly assess the intentions of every person I meet. I feel completely trampled by Building Bitch on Monday, so Wednesday, I am quick to assume the worst. And I find this fact of my life right now to be really... icky.
I have an aunt who made a choice to stay away from big cities and only live in small towns--communities. And after years of not being able to imagine being so cut off, I got it. She only lives where you know your neighbors, and you know their intentions match yours. She doesn't have to think constantly about whether she is talking to another good human being or one who is trying to take her on a ride toward some sinister plan.
So, a question from this squishy optimist... How do I spot the good ones? As a squishy, I wish I could assume the best in everyone, but I feel like I'm supposed to assume that I should protect myself until they prove themselves innocent. That sounds responsible, and in my business, I think it's somewhat necessary. But it also sounds really... sad... like a really judgmental, pessimistic way to live...
The only solution I've come up with is to use my instincts--I figure most of the time, they should be right. That's the scientific answer for us all, right? What I do know is that I cannot be constantly reminded of how much darkness there is. The answer that I find will have to reconcile responsibility and positivity.
What do you think?
Friday, May 13, 2011
Maybe it's what gets us out of bed each morning...
I was so optimistic this morning... and things just never got rolling the way I thought they would.
It got me thinking about early optimism. In the morning, anything is possible. The day could turn out to be the best of your life. But try as you might, until the hours unravel a bit, you can't know in which direction the day may wander.
Isn't this the same as any relationship?
(If you're an optimist,) When you first meet someone, they've never given you any reason to think they are anything other than the greatest person on the planet. You know there must be a real human in there somewhere, but depending on how guarded the individual may be, you may not see it for a while. You like them without any conflicting feelings. And that time, that time when there is no wrong between two people, it is so special. Because it is so rare.
Some of our greatest relationships revolve around love "in spite of." Our friends flake, our families fight, and we love them more than anything. We love them because we know who they are from top to bottom, and the good stuff far outweighs the other stuff.
I can't say either of these stages is "better" than the other. But I find myself wondering how things may be different for us humans if that "perfect idealist vision" stage lasted longer into every relationship. Or what if that phase didn't exist at all? What if we all met each other, had a first fight, and dove into the real world? Do we need to see that pure goodness first in order to love someone?
And another thing--when you catch that first glimpse of reality, the let down can be a big one, a sigh of relief, or all kinds of in between. Maybe it matters how long that first phase went on. Or maybe it all depends on the people, the actions, the reactions, and all of those other things that try as we might, we can't control.
So, what function does that magical morning optimism serve?
Maybe it's just what gets us out of bed each morning...
It got me thinking about early optimism. In the morning, anything is possible. The day could turn out to be the best of your life. But try as you might, until the hours unravel a bit, you can't know in which direction the day may wander.
Isn't this the same as any relationship?
(If you're an optimist,) When you first meet someone, they've never given you any reason to think they are anything other than the greatest person on the planet. You know there must be a real human in there somewhere, but depending on how guarded the individual may be, you may not see it for a while. You like them without any conflicting feelings. And that time, that time when there is no wrong between two people, it is so special. Because it is so rare.
Some of our greatest relationships revolve around love "in spite of." Our friends flake, our families fight, and we love them more than anything. We love them because we know who they are from top to bottom, and the good stuff far outweighs the other stuff.
I can't say either of these stages is "better" than the other. But I find myself wondering how things may be different for us humans if that "perfect idealist vision" stage lasted longer into every relationship. Or what if that phase didn't exist at all? What if we all met each other, had a first fight, and dove into the real world? Do we need to see that pure goodness first in order to love someone?
And another thing--when you catch that first glimpse of reality, the let down can be a big one, a sigh of relief, or all kinds of in between. Maybe it matters how long that first phase went on. Or maybe it all depends on the people, the actions, the reactions, and all of those other things that try as we might, we can't control.
So, what function does that magical morning optimism serve?
Maybe it's just what gets us out of bed each morning...
Monday, May 9, 2011
Well, that was easy...
Today, in one last ditch effort to alleviate my sinus symptoms before scheduling surgery, I ventured to the burbs to try acupuncture. I drove out to see this Dr. who is trained in both Eastern and Western medicine, giving him a more balanced opinion of how to address an issue. Let's call him The Medicine Man (MM for short).
The Medicine Man is a man of a heavy accent and few words. Shortly after I arrived, he led me to a room and asked me to lie down on the exam bed dealy. After asking me several questions about my history, symptoms, etc. and taking my pulse a few times, he held up a container of needles--it was go time. Now, I've been giving myself my allergy shots for about five years, so I have no problem with needles. But not knowing what to expect, I admit I was a little anxious. So I held my breath as he tapped the first one in. It kind of seemed like he was lining up a blow dart, then tapping a needle into place. The first 'dart' was inserted on the right side of my nose. I could barely feel it. MM proceeded with eight more needles--four more on my face and two on each forearm. They were all placed symmetrically, with the extra one in the middle of my forehead. Some were a little bit uncomfortable, but most of all, there was just the sensation of something "being there." MM centered some kind of heater over my stomach and hands. He worked quietly, and I only knew he was done placing everything because he finally said, "Ok, now you relax for 30-40 minutes."
Um... ok...
So I listened to the plunky guitar music and tried very hard to find relaxation. This was... difficult at first.
The next thing I noticed was that I could see one of the needles in my peripheral vision. MM had placed a needle on each side of my face between my upper lip and nose, where my smile lines live. I could see the left one of of the corner of my eye as if it were a whisker. But the weird part was that it was pulsing with my heartbeat. I could feel it in my chest as I watched it wiggle on my face. I watched that for a while, somewhere between creeped out and fascinated.
I finally started to drift in and out of rest, finding the calm but wanting to stay awake and aware. I let my mind wander, and for a while, I was pretty deep in relaxation.
Then I was wide awake again, wondering how much time had passed. I couldn't see a clock from where I was, and I certainly wasn't going to start moving my head around. So I lay there, wondering if someone would come in soon or if they'd forget and just leave me there all day, later laughing at the needle face girl who didn't know it had been three hours. Oh, my imagination. Some minor keyed, still plunky version of "Green Sleeves" entertained me a bit longer until MM opened the door. He pulled out my whiskers and the other needles--a sensation like someone pulling a thread out of your skin--and asked me how I felt.
Lying on my back in the middle of the day usually makes my head feel like it's going to explode. But honestly, I could breath pretty clearly. I maintained the heavy, 'someone threw a towel into the guitar that is my head' feeling, but the air was passing in and out of my nose better than usual.
MM asked me a few more questions about how I felt, and then the man of few words said the last thing I ever thought he would say.
"I would have the surgery."
My East meets West Medicine Man didn't tell me to take herbs or to see him eight more times before assessing. He told me that my problem can only be cured by "cutting." Of course, he wants me to come back next week with my new CT scan so that he can help me through the rest of the month. And I'll do it. Probably. Because it can't hurt. And right now, I'm already back to Stuffy McStuffertonville.
But I was absolutely not expecting MM to provide such a clear cut answer. Not only do I appreciate his honesty, but I finally feel that I have exhausted every alternative option from around the world. With this puzzle piece, I can be confident that I'm not rushing into a solution, and I'm not choosing the riskier option. I'm choosing the very best one.
So tomorrow, I will have my scan, ask my final questions, and if all goes smoothly, I will pick my date. And that will be exciting.
Thank you, Medicine Man.
The Medicine Man is a man of a heavy accent and few words. Shortly after I arrived, he led me to a room and asked me to lie down on the exam bed dealy. After asking me several questions about my history, symptoms, etc. and taking my pulse a few times, he held up a container of needles--it was go time. Now, I've been giving myself my allergy shots for about five years, so I have no problem with needles. But not knowing what to expect, I admit I was a little anxious. So I held my breath as he tapped the first one in. It kind of seemed like he was lining up a blow dart, then tapping a needle into place. The first 'dart' was inserted on the right side of my nose. I could barely feel it. MM proceeded with eight more needles--four more on my face and two on each forearm. They were all placed symmetrically, with the extra one in the middle of my forehead. Some were a little bit uncomfortable, but most of all, there was just the sensation of something "being there." MM centered some kind of heater over my stomach and hands. He worked quietly, and I only knew he was done placing everything because he finally said, "Ok, now you relax for 30-40 minutes."
Um... ok...
So I listened to the plunky guitar music and tried very hard to find relaxation. This was... difficult at first.
The next thing I noticed was that I could see one of the needles in my peripheral vision. MM had placed a needle on each side of my face between my upper lip and nose, where my smile lines live. I could see the left one of of the corner of my eye as if it were a whisker. But the weird part was that it was pulsing with my heartbeat. I could feel it in my chest as I watched it wiggle on my face. I watched that for a while, somewhere between creeped out and fascinated.
I finally started to drift in and out of rest, finding the calm but wanting to stay awake and aware. I let my mind wander, and for a while, I was pretty deep in relaxation.
Then I was wide awake again, wondering how much time had passed. I couldn't see a clock from where I was, and I certainly wasn't going to start moving my head around. So I lay there, wondering if someone would come in soon or if they'd forget and just leave me there all day, later laughing at the needle face girl who didn't know it had been three hours. Oh, my imagination. Some minor keyed, still plunky version of "Green Sleeves" entertained me a bit longer until MM opened the door. He pulled out my whiskers and the other needles--a sensation like someone pulling a thread out of your skin--and asked me how I felt.
Lying on my back in the middle of the day usually makes my head feel like it's going to explode. But honestly, I could breath pretty clearly. I maintained the heavy, 'someone threw a towel into the guitar that is my head' feeling, but the air was passing in and out of my nose better than usual.
MM asked me a few more questions about how I felt, and then the man of few words said the last thing I ever thought he would say.
"I would have the surgery."
My East meets West Medicine Man didn't tell me to take herbs or to see him eight more times before assessing. He told me that my problem can only be cured by "cutting." Of course, he wants me to come back next week with my new CT scan so that he can help me through the rest of the month. And I'll do it. Probably. Because it can't hurt. And right now, I'm already back to Stuffy McStuffertonville.
But I was absolutely not expecting MM to provide such a clear cut answer. Not only do I appreciate his honesty, but I finally feel that I have exhausted every alternative option from around the world. With this puzzle piece, I can be confident that I'm not rushing into a solution, and I'm not choosing the riskier option. I'm choosing the very best one.
So tomorrow, I will have my scan, ask my final questions, and if all goes smoothly, I will pick my date. And that will be exciting.
Thank you, Medicine Man.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
I know you're out there...
Hello, friends.
Lately, it has come to light that quite a few of you are reading, whether occasionally or regularly. Some of you tell me outright that you're reading, some of you ask me questions about a post, some of you I try to tell a story, but you confess you already know the punchline.
But according to my page, I have 5 followers, one of which is me. Now, I love the facebook stalk as much as anyone. Anonymity is hard to come by these days.
But when I'm not sure if I should sit down to write sometimes, it's really, really motivating to know that people are checking. It makes a difference. It tips the scale.
So I'm not going to go all, "click the follow button! click it!! click the button!" on you. I'd never do that. But if you don't mind me knowing, and you don't mind the world knowing, it would be fun to see your names pop up on my sidebar so that I can have "you" specifically with me while I'm writing.
And while I'm on the subject, whether my number of followers is 5 or 500, thanks for reading. You are all wonderful for caring, or even just being a little curious.
I had a lovely day with family today, and there's nothing else to write about tonight.
Tomorrow, I may have my first acupuncture experience, in which case I'm sure there will be much to tell.
Good night all you secret and not secret people. I'm wishing you all sweet dreams.
Lately, it has come to light that quite a few of you are reading, whether occasionally or regularly. Some of you tell me outright that you're reading, some of you ask me questions about a post, some of you I try to tell a story, but you confess you already know the punchline.
But according to my page, I have 5 followers, one of which is me. Now, I love the facebook stalk as much as anyone. Anonymity is hard to come by these days.
But when I'm not sure if I should sit down to write sometimes, it's really, really motivating to know that people are checking. It makes a difference. It tips the scale.
So I'm not going to go all, "click the follow button! click it!! click the button!" on you. I'd never do that. But if you don't mind me knowing, and you don't mind the world knowing, it would be fun to see your names pop up on my sidebar so that I can have "you" specifically with me while I'm writing.
And while I'm on the subject, whether my number of followers is 5 or 500, thanks for reading. You are all wonderful for caring, or even just being a little curious.
I had a lovely day with family today, and there's nothing else to write about tonight.
Tomorrow, I may have my first acupuncture experience, in which case I'm sure there will be much to tell.
Good night all you secret and not secret people. I'm wishing you all sweet dreams.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Pupperoni...
I think actors look at time differently than other people. We go through long stretches where we can't see the people we want to see. And then we're free, but we've been so out of touch, we need to reconnect. I started dealing with all this in elementary school. We'd come downtown for opera three times a week, go late to school the next day, have to make up work over the weekend, etc. A 10 year old can only hear, "Sorry, I'm too busy this week" so many times before they move on to making other friends.
Don't get me wrong; I loved growing up the way I did. It just clarified for me what my friends mean to me--especially the ones that aren't theatre people but stand by me just the same. I'm so lucky to have people who stand by me through the painfully busy and the painfully free.
Because of all this, I still savor my weekends. And because of all this, I've never been particularly good about following things like the 3 day rule. To this day, if I have no show and free time, and I think of you, you're getting a phone call (while you still can).
But more than rule breaking, this whole actor warped sense of time thing has made me very aware of "normal" time expectations and "rules."
On a related note (wait for it), I have this theory about one reason people, particularly women, love to have dogs.
Friends, significant others, partners, coworkers, spouses, families--nobody wants to spend all of their time with the same person. I know the concept of marriage is supposed to at least involve seeing each other almost every day. But I find that men especially need their alone time.
But my dog--my dog doesn't even like it when I leave him to go to the bathroom. He follows me everywhere as if there's nothing more he'd rather do than be a part of my day. He hates when I leave him, and he's happy every time I walk through the door or even just in his direction.
So, friends, is it possible we enjoy having dogs so much because there is another being that cares as much about our daily lives as we do? If dogs give us something that humans are incapable of, how much does this factor in to our choice to keep them around as companions? I know there are plenty of reasons dogs make wonderful companions. It just seems to me that when you compare dog/human companionship to human/human companionship, there's a big difference we often skip over.
I'm waiting for someone to jump down my throat with feminism now. And I probably would have done the same before I had Blitz. Honestly, I just think it's funny if you think about it. There are all these male/female dynamics, all these time rules we're supposed to abide by. People come on too strong or leave too suddenly, and to some people, those things can have a profound effect on a relationship. But a dog and human only have to be there for each other as much as possible for their relationship to flourish forever.
If humans tried it, I wonder if it would be an utter disaster or the key we've been missing to ending game play. (I bet we'd be hard pressed to even find volunteers, though.)
Just a few thoughts for before bed. And now, I better go. My puppy is about to come in from his bed time walk, and he's going to want to snuggle.
Don't get me wrong; I loved growing up the way I did. It just clarified for me what my friends mean to me--especially the ones that aren't theatre people but stand by me just the same. I'm so lucky to have people who stand by me through the painfully busy and the painfully free.
Because of all this, I still savor my weekends. And because of all this, I've never been particularly good about following things like the 3 day rule. To this day, if I have no show and free time, and I think of you, you're getting a phone call (while you still can).
But more than rule breaking, this whole actor warped sense of time thing has made me very aware of "normal" time expectations and "rules."
On a related note (wait for it), I have this theory about one reason people, particularly women, love to have dogs.
Friends, significant others, partners, coworkers, spouses, families--nobody wants to spend all of their time with the same person. I know the concept of marriage is supposed to at least involve seeing each other almost every day. But I find that men especially need their alone time.
But my dog--my dog doesn't even like it when I leave him to go to the bathroom. He follows me everywhere as if there's nothing more he'd rather do than be a part of my day. He hates when I leave him, and he's happy every time I walk through the door or even just in his direction.
So, friends, is it possible we enjoy having dogs so much because there is another being that cares as much about our daily lives as we do? If dogs give us something that humans are incapable of, how much does this factor in to our choice to keep them around as companions? I know there are plenty of reasons dogs make wonderful companions. It just seems to me that when you compare dog/human companionship to human/human companionship, there's a big difference we often skip over.
I'm waiting for someone to jump down my throat with feminism now. And I probably would have done the same before I had Blitz. Honestly, I just think it's funny if you think about it. There are all these male/female dynamics, all these time rules we're supposed to abide by. People come on too strong or leave too suddenly, and to some people, those things can have a profound effect on a relationship. But a dog and human only have to be there for each other as much as possible for their relationship to flourish forever.
If humans tried it, I wonder if it would be an utter disaster or the key we've been missing to ending game play. (I bet we'd be hard pressed to even find volunteers, though.)
Just a few thoughts for before bed. And now, I better go. My puppy is about to come in from his bed time walk, and he's going to want to snuggle.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Blitz and I are listening to the rain...
We're home alone... again. My brain stages an imaginary face-off--briefcases vs. voices. (JPL, that was another Stage Kiss reference--don't hurt yourself trying to decode it. : ))
Anyway, I've been using my time alone to sit in front of my computer listening to live Adele performances. This speaks to the kind of week it's been--if you know her work and if you know that only certain mindsets/emotions allow me to get lost in time without any worry of my to do list. Come to think of it, Adele sings of losing ones self in time thinking about another person. We all know it takes pretty strong feelings, personal or otherwise, to lose yourself that way. So I've loved that time today. It means I'm feeling. And that means I'm writing.
Blitz gets restless when it's just the two of us at night. He paces and pants and doesn't understand. We've fetched and pulled and walked and done the stairs. There's nothing else I can do...
There are two other things I wanted to write about tonight, but I find that right now there's too much on my mind to focus into sentences...
What I will say is this: there is nothing like a sister. Thank you, JPL, for today. I needed that reassurance. I do have eyes. And I do have you. And now that I've explained what it means to me, you were some kind of pork product. And not in the ironic, forbidden kind of way. But in the fulfilling kind of way. Thank you.
And now to prepare, for tomorrow we dance!
Anyway, I've been using my time alone to sit in front of my computer listening to live Adele performances. This speaks to the kind of week it's been--if you know her work and if you know that only certain mindsets/emotions allow me to get lost in time without any worry of my to do list. Come to think of it, Adele sings of losing ones self in time thinking about another person. We all know it takes pretty strong feelings, personal or otherwise, to lose yourself that way. So I've loved that time today. It means I'm feeling. And that means I'm writing.
Blitz gets restless when it's just the two of us at night. He paces and pants and doesn't understand. We've fetched and pulled and walked and done the stairs. There's nothing else I can do...
There are two other things I wanted to write about tonight, but I find that right now there's too much on my mind to focus into sentences...
What I will say is this: there is nothing like a sister. Thank you, JPL, for today. I needed that reassurance. I do have eyes. And I do have you. And now that I've explained what it means to me, you were some kind of pork product. And not in the ironic, forbidden kind of way. But in the fulfilling kind of way. Thank you.
And now to prepare, for tomorrow we dance!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Laughs like bacon...
Tonight, I wish being a human was as easy as being a writer. I wish I could write and rewrite and try a few plot lines out for size and happiness before opening night.
There is a scene toward the end of Stage Kiss that involves the story of a woman who lives one life while the ghost of her lives another. I'm a ghost right now, and I don't know which is the best road to living.
And then there is bacon... constantly. Stage and screen make it look so easy to maneuver. My moral compass has always found fault with that fact. But the characters I relate to are changing.
If only I could write it... then I could try an action, see it through, and if it bombed, I could craft the response of each character. Like tonight, someone would make it all better before the closing number. No risk of utter destruction. We could literally all be on the same page...
Maybe that makes me a control freak, which is not how we're supposed to live. Right? But right now I feel like I may as well flip a coin.
The truth is, I'm starving. I am. I admitted it tonight. And for a few hours, I wasn't even hungry.
See, I'm figuring out what keeps me full. But right now I'm just more aware of the hunger when it returns.
I need a solution. So far, I've decided that every day should be a feast. Or a potential feast (I can be realistic). Now I just have to figure out how on earth to get what I want...
Do I hear a breakfast bell?
There is a scene toward the end of Stage Kiss that involves the story of a woman who lives one life while the ghost of her lives another. I'm a ghost right now, and I don't know which is the best road to living.
And then there is bacon... constantly. Stage and screen make it look so easy to maneuver. My moral compass has always found fault with that fact. But the characters I relate to are changing.
If only I could write it... then I could try an action, see it through, and if it bombed, I could craft the response of each character. Like tonight, someone would make it all better before the closing number. No risk of utter destruction. We could literally all be on the same page...
Maybe that makes me a control freak, which is not how we're supposed to live. Right? But right now I feel like I may as well flip a coin.
The truth is, I'm starving. I am. I admitted it tonight. And for a few hours, I wasn't even hungry.
See, I'm figuring out what keeps me full. But right now I'm just more aware of the hunger when it returns.
I need a solution. So far, I've decided that every day should be a feast. Or a potential feast (I can be realistic). Now I just have to figure out how on earth to get what I want...
Do I hear a breakfast bell?
Monday, May 2, 2011
Not the zombie apocalypse you were hoping for, but definitely some social media...
I should be audition prepping, but I feel like I have to write this now, while I'm still feeling it.
So, last night, the friends were over and packing up to leave when ACSpells got a text to turn on CNN. We did, and it was actually tense for a few minutes. We couldn't imagine what kind of announcement Obama would be making about national security that had to be kept a secret till his announcement. To keep things light, someone suggested it may be aliens or the zombie apocalypse (my friends are really cool and not at all geeky). We started reviewing the Zombieland rules, etc. And then we waited. For an hour. In front of a confused looking Wolf Blitzer. And finally we knew what we were going to hear. The tone in our room didn't change much. Maybe we were a bit relieved it wasn't about our country in crisis. We were certainly interested to hear what had happened. We smiled a bit that something the government has been attempting for so long had been accomplished. But we waited.
Actually, that's a lie. One of the first things I did was go to get the iPad. I set it on the coffee table, and I opened the facebook news feed, ready to watch it explode. It was no surprise that soon there would be a flood of responses. And I read every single one. See, that moment, last night, is why I think facebook can be awesome. Humans have very few massively shared experiences, and when something happens that impacts the whole world, facebook is now one of the primary ways we can participate in that shared moment. It was cool and weird, and weirdest of all, I witnessed the result of several people finding out about the event via facebook and twitter. Social media as a news source... it probably reaches more people than TV and news at this point. Anyway, some of the comments were witty, some serious. But I got to see that so many acquaintances were sharing our experiences, and sometimes our same thoughts. Something big was happening.
Obama began his speech. No, first was the walk. Ok, I think Obama's strong strut is kind of sexy... or at least it definitely makes him look really cool as a president. I'm glad they set things up so you can watch him walk to and from his speeches. But back on track, I loved the speech. I loved it because it was factual and celebrated the pursuit of peace, and Obama looked right in the camera and said that if people attempt to retaliate, we'll keep kicking ass. It was a great address to our country and an invitation to further unite the peace-seeking world. I thought the tone was just right--accomplished, but respectful. And despite the fact that the event was acknowledged as an important and necessary success, Obama did not make it sound like an event to be celebrated.
Which brings me back to facebook...
Now, I don't remember who posted which status, so this is not targeted at anyone. This is a "this is my blog" moment, so I'm just going to roll with it. When I checked facebook before bed, I felt sick. Disgusted. I saw so, so many posts celebrating death. Here's my question: When a horrible human being dies, no matter how we feel, is there appropriate behavior? I think there absolutely is. I struggle with the USA a lot. See, I love our country, what it stands for, and for the first time in a long time, the man in charge. But the people. Oh, half of the people--entitled, simple, and cruel. (I'm not aiming this at my fb friends who posted--this is how I feel in general about other people.)
Look, if we advertise to the world that we are the best, the country to follow, then we have a responsibility to act accordingly. If we want to be the parent of the world, we should set a good example. And like a lot of parents in our country, we're failing horribly. You know on (pick any sitcom) when awful Uncle Albert dies, and (pick a leading man) has to make a speech about him and doesn't know what to say? But he finds a way to be diplomatic? No way do we need to praise a terrorist, but our country wasn't diplomatic as a whole last night--we were ruthless. I think Obama set a wonderful example, and the country didn't follow. There was something patriotic about people standing outside the White House awaiting the news. And it's touching to remember lives lost and soldiers fighting. But what does sloppy celebration footage say to the world? Does it say anything about justice or rest or finality? No. It says we're partying it up over revenge. And even if I'm so glad he's not here anymore, it's disgusting to make light of such an important moment by taking the focus from the 9/11 victims, the amazing intelligence found in the compound, etc. and putting it all on the killing part.
Today, I've noticed many facebookers posting MLK quotes and reflecting on this very subject. I think facebook (along with the TV footage) has brought to light the debate over how and how much to act out in moments like this. I find this to be another amazing facebook moment--calling out our peers, voicing our opinions, respecting each others' opinions, standing firm in our beliefs, all over the same subject. On facebook and off, I sincerely hope that the consensus will be that as citizens of the world, we will make the priority to unite in progress but remain respectful and remember that death. is. never. "winning."
As always, your comments/opinions are welcome...
So, last night, the friends were over and packing up to leave when ACSpells got a text to turn on CNN. We did, and it was actually tense for a few minutes. We couldn't imagine what kind of announcement Obama would be making about national security that had to be kept a secret till his announcement. To keep things light, someone suggested it may be aliens or the zombie apocalypse (my friends are really cool and not at all geeky). We started reviewing the Zombieland rules, etc. And then we waited. For an hour. In front of a confused looking Wolf Blitzer. And finally we knew what we were going to hear. The tone in our room didn't change much. Maybe we were a bit relieved it wasn't about our country in crisis. We were certainly interested to hear what had happened. We smiled a bit that something the government has been attempting for so long had been accomplished. But we waited.
Actually, that's a lie. One of the first things I did was go to get the iPad. I set it on the coffee table, and I opened the facebook news feed, ready to watch it explode. It was no surprise that soon there would be a flood of responses. And I read every single one. See, that moment, last night, is why I think facebook can be awesome. Humans have very few massively shared experiences, and when something happens that impacts the whole world, facebook is now one of the primary ways we can participate in that shared moment. It was cool and weird, and weirdest of all, I witnessed the result of several people finding out about the event via facebook and twitter. Social media as a news source... it probably reaches more people than TV and news at this point. Anyway, some of the comments were witty, some serious. But I got to see that so many acquaintances were sharing our experiences, and sometimes our same thoughts. Something big was happening.
Obama began his speech. No, first was the walk. Ok, I think Obama's strong strut is kind of sexy... or at least it definitely makes him look really cool as a president. I'm glad they set things up so you can watch him walk to and from his speeches. But back on track, I loved the speech. I loved it because it was factual and celebrated the pursuit of peace, and Obama looked right in the camera and said that if people attempt to retaliate, we'll keep kicking ass. It was a great address to our country and an invitation to further unite the peace-seeking world. I thought the tone was just right--accomplished, but respectful. And despite the fact that the event was acknowledged as an important and necessary success, Obama did not make it sound like an event to be celebrated.
Which brings me back to facebook...
Now, I don't remember who posted which status, so this is not targeted at anyone. This is a "this is my blog" moment, so I'm just going to roll with it. When I checked facebook before bed, I felt sick. Disgusted. I saw so, so many posts celebrating death. Here's my question: When a horrible human being dies, no matter how we feel, is there appropriate behavior? I think there absolutely is. I struggle with the USA a lot. See, I love our country, what it stands for, and for the first time in a long time, the man in charge. But the people. Oh, half of the people--entitled, simple, and cruel. (I'm not aiming this at my fb friends who posted--this is how I feel in general about other people.)
Look, if we advertise to the world that we are the best, the country to follow, then we have a responsibility to act accordingly. If we want to be the parent of the world, we should set a good example. And like a lot of parents in our country, we're failing horribly. You know on (pick any sitcom) when awful Uncle Albert dies, and (pick a leading man) has to make a speech about him and doesn't know what to say? But he finds a way to be diplomatic? No way do we need to praise a terrorist, but our country wasn't diplomatic as a whole last night--we were ruthless. I think Obama set a wonderful example, and the country didn't follow. There was something patriotic about people standing outside the White House awaiting the news. And it's touching to remember lives lost and soldiers fighting. But what does sloppy celebration footage say to the world? Does it say anything about justice or rest or finality? No. It says we're partying it up over revenge. And even if I'm so glad he's not here anymore, it's disgusting to make light of such an important moment by taking the focus from the 9/11 victims, the amazing intelligence found in the compound, etc. and putting it all on the killing part.
Today, I've noticed many facebookers posting MLK quotes and reflecting on this very subject. I think facebook (along with the TV footage) has brought to light the debate over how and how much to act out in moments like this. I find this to be another amazing facebook moment--calling out our peers, voicing our opinions, respecting each others' opinions, standing firm in our beliefs, all over the same subject. On facebook and off, I sincerely hope that the consensus will be that as citizens of the world, we will make the priority to unite in progress but remain respectful and remember that death. is. never. "winning."
As always, your comments/opinions are welcome...
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