the chiding autumn ~ a midsummer night's dream

I know now that I have been hiding from myself – okay, that’s not entirely true. It’s not that I’ve been hiding per se, but I think I’ve been attempting to sometimes allow my heart to be dictated by what I supposed I should be. I didn’t really realize that I been held captive within the confines of my own restraints. I’ve built walls, I’ve put up fortresses around pieces of myself I didn’t know I was trying to hide from others. I pride myself on loving people completely, always being myself. Despite my complete idiosyncrasies of not being able to handle silly things like weird noises that people make with their mouths, or the irritation I feel when I hear “I love you” carelessly tossed about one’s lips, almost in the same tone as “Hey, what’s up?” – cause then I don’t feel it necessary to reciprocate the phrase, which can come across as heartless. And pondering all of these little things, I have, somewhat unknowingly, kept friends apace with my non-compliance of the heart.

I have often said things as removed from emotion as: “I love you as much as my inability to love allows me to.” – which isn’t quite truthful in concept. I have a lot of love to give. I love everyone. In fact, sometimes I think I love too much, but when it comes down to the pressures of love, the expectations of love, I fall apart. Sometimes I can be so affectionate, and sometimes receiving affection is like hearing someone relentlessly fumbling with a candy wrapper during a production of Swan Lake, when the music is lilting and mesmerizing, as the ballerina is fluttering to her death amongst a pile of feathers on stage, and all you can focus on is that damn candy wrapper being tormented between the weathered hands of the idiot behind you. Yeah, sometimes love is like that.

I know I don’t have to hide anymore though. It’s okay to feel love differently toward different people, and it’s okay to express it glowingly on some days, and cinch it closed beneath pursed lips on others.

The leaves are falling outside my window right now, and as each branch becomes less clothed with it’s summertime companions, the tree seems a bit lighter, a bit more free; yet all the leaves seem to chase the others as they glide through the wind, gathering in sepia piles at the tree’s roots. No matter how hard they try to cling to his limbs, they can’t help but let go eventually and fly away with their seasonal pals. After all the leaves are gone, the tree is still there, still watching the world go by, still welcoming the birds to his branches, and the squirrels to his nuts (sorry, I couldn’t resist) - warming his soul in the sun, and sleeping in the moonlight, keeping post in the neighborhood under the street lamps. I wonder if he’s happy. For so much of the year, he has no choice in the matter of friendships. The leaves stay with him whether he welcomes them or not. But when winter teases their loyalty, they find humor in providing piles of fun for children’s games, as their little hands and feet scamper through the crispy outlines of the parched foliage. As the tree stands through the seasons, he meets so many. And knows that next spring, a whole new gathering of leaves will join him, and remain steadily loyal throughout the fall.

I feel as though, perhaps it’s always a bit like fall within my heart, never wanting to have anyone cling to me too tightly, so that as they fall away, I can smile and watch them from afar, admiring the qualities I’ve loved of them, and knowing that a piece of them will always remain with me. But it’s nice to love and let go, to have friends who come and go. It’s nice to endure the seasons with different picturesque views, each one different from the one before it, and yet equally as beautiful. And sometimes, there are leaves so spectacular that you can’t help but want to keep it pressed tightly within the confines of your scrapbook; but that’s when you examine it carefully, place it amongst the others, and know that one day, when you’re walking down the street, and you stub your toe, and mumble curses about how awful your day has been, the wind will blow just right, and that leaf will be at your fingertips, reminding you that even when you let go for a while, the most beautiful things will return to you -- if you hope, love, and allow your heart to believe that the fates do exist.

to make me blest or cursed'st among men ~ merchant of venice

I've been having some dark reflections on my life recently, and so unsure of how I'm supposed to be dealing with these thoughts.

I try so hard not to point fingers in other people's directions when things go wrong in situations, but when it comes to conflict resolution, I just can't let that go. I need for those with whom the conflict has arisen, to not shut down and shut me out. It's not that I wish to find resolve so that I can lay blame on one particular party or the other, but when someone completely walks away, I find myself more upset at that, than I do at the problem itself. Turning your back on someone and just leaving, is the most difficult concept for me to understand, as I would never want to turn my back without fixing the situation. This only happens with me when it comes to the men in my life, and I just feel...abandoned.

Something isn't right, when I feel like all the important male figures in my life would be happier without me. There's just something so completely wrong with feeling that way. Maybe I just need to be single. I think that I'm so happy, but I wonder how much fabrication my brain throws my way. It's as though my brain takes control of my heart and twists everything into a confusing mess. I can't decipher my desires from my needs, and my needs from my obligations, and I feel completely lost in a haze of disillusion. I understand that all relationships have ups and downs, but the outcome of all of the relationships with the past men in my life have been stitched with the same patterns.

My ex-husband, Chris, used to walk out on me when a disagreement arose between us, and he would never stick around when things hit a rocky path. He turned to alcohol and anger, depression and violence. I wanted to help soothe the situation, not irritate it, but he just kept walking away, never giving me a chance, and always leaving me alone, and in tears. I vowed never to put myself there again. And yet, recently, I found myself there again with someone I love tremendously, but who chose to walk away from me, leaving me surrounded with the warm evening rain, and a glass of wine to comfort my anxiety.

The men I have ever loved the most, have always abandoned me.

My biological father left me when I was six months old. He chose drugs and alcohol over me. I found my way back into his life, and I couldn't have been happier to have a second chance at being his little girl. I had always been so curious about my "daddy", but my "dad" made me feel like such an outcast in my own family for not being his biological daughter. For the strength and obligation I felt for my family, I put my own curiosities and desires that every little girl has about her daddy, under a mound of unanswered questions for far too many years. When my biological father and I finally reconnected and found a beautiful relationship that was restored and inexplicably magical, I awoke one day to find out that he had taken a gun to his chest and taken his life from me. When I was born, I wasn't enough for him to sustain sobriety, and then, I wasn't enough for him to sustain life. I never took first place when fighting the battle for his heart.

My "dad", who adopted me when I was three and married my mother, seemed to be the daddy I always wanted. He adored me. I was his little girl. That was, until he and my mother had another little girl of their own, and I was no longer the light of his life. I fought for his love, and I never won. I always had to say "I love you" first, he always turned his head away when I went to kiss him goodnight, and he made to sure to let me know I was never good enough. My heart ached for years. All I wanted was to be "daddy's little girl", and I was there, with open arms, waiting for one of them - somebody - to scoop me up, hold me tightly, and kiss me goodnight.

Silence in my heart, and tears in my eyes proved to paint a could picture of a lost childhood for a father who never truly wanted me; or should I say, "fathers", plural?

What is a man's love? A marriage to the love of your life at age 20? Apparently not. I wasn't enough to engage his love forever. Chris left me for another woman. And another. And another. I wasn't enough. I don't even know what constitutes enough. I don't know if I ever will know. I don't know if I'll ever accept the fact that I just don't know how to fix everything and make it right. I feel like I attract those who can never choose to stay.

I suppose I just have to learn to let go and to close my eyes as the shadows haunt my destiny of an uncertainty within tomorrow's memories. Wake me up when his arms are strong enough to hold me - not even for a day - but for a moment of unobstructed harmony. I ask for just one moment. The rest of my life I can bear with the strength of my soul, but I simply ask that for one simple moment, someone else bear the weight for me and lift me up to a height they hold so dearly within themselves.

but that one half which is unsatisfied ~ love's labour's lost

My purple fingernails look shiny and confident as I tap out these words.
I can't help but stare at them.
Can one actually be vain about something as trivial as fingernails?
Mine are actually looking quite lovely - though this purple seems to be somewhat of a storm cloud purple. A bit of a gloomy shade I suppose, confident, but gloomy. A bit like I'm feeling today.

Weird day today.

The weather, too, is gloomy. I typically fall in love with gloomy days. Not so much love for this one.

I want this day to be over. I want something new to come my way. I want to act for a living. I don't want to be a nanny anymore. I want to put away the bottles, the bouncy seats and the baby books, and sip on a glass of pinot noir, lay in a hammock beneath the afternoon breezes and read scripts. It's just so difficult to be a professional actor in Nashville, and to be one full time. In fact, I don't think I can count on two hands how many actors in Nashville don't have to have a second income. I'm well rounded. And not in the sense of scenes and scripts, but in the area of marketing, PR, working with customers, working with children, speaking in front of people, choreographing - I would love to get with a company that would let me act when the show was right for me, and let me work administratively or creatively when the stage was dark and the patrons have left the theater to the ghost lights and church mice.

I feel like I belong here right now, but I still feel, well, a little out of place, like I haven't quite found my niche yet. I'm working on it. For the time being, I'm focusing on creating a dance, an interpretation of a flamingo's courtship ritual. Well, actually, for the time being, I'm waiting for Annaliese to awaken from her afternoon nap, and then I'm going to entertain her by practicing my audition monologue and showing her my dance. I'm sure she'll love it. Most 7 month's old children love just about anything.

I want to finish my degree and get a job in advertising. I love school. I LOVE to learn. Absolutely love it. I suppose that's why I have educational, daily devotionals*, and have my Droid loaded with learning applications, I simply can't get enough.

I'm a nerd. I get it. I embrace it. I fulfill it. And then I act nonsensical in public places and make my friends laugh and the people around me look at me sideways with their lips puffed out in confusion and the hoods of their eyelids arching forward as if to protect their vision from the oddity at hand. But, it's me.

I made an entire pot of coffee this morning and I'm more than halfway through it. But I somehow forgot that one should eat meals along with the consumption of coffee. Well, I didn't really forget, I just can't find anything worth eating. Nothing sounds appetizing. Not a damn thing. I didn't want my morning eggs, I haven't craved my usual peanut butter toast topped with dried cranberries, no spicy pasta, no pickles, no hummus - not one thing sounds delicious. So, I'm picketing outside the pantry until my taste buds decide they've gone off strike, and then I shall delight in some tasty morsel. Until then, the coffee will just have to do.

*The daily devotional I'm reading is titled: The Intellectual Devotional, Modern Culture

and birds sit brooding in the snow ~ love's labour's lost

Today is a beautifully picturesque day.
The snow is falling like powdered sugar being sifted; it's as though the heavens are dusting gingerbread houses with sweetened snow.
My hands are freezing and my fingers are skipping quickly across the keyboard, trying to keep warm with the tapping out of new words.
A winter's day.
No sunshine.
No rain.
Just white.
And silence.
(Except for the occasional train, crossing the tracks, announcing its passage with whistles and the crossing bells. And of course, except for the pitter-patter of the keys as I type.)
I watched a squirrel run across the road, leaving behind tiny tracks in the snow. And as he sat, alert and unaware of anything else but the acorn he had stolen away from the tree, I watched as his fluffy tail went from brown to white, as he was decorated with snowy fur.
There are three crows causing a scene across the way. They look out of place in this whitened world. I think they are playing some sort of game. They take turns running across the snow covered streets, and then perch on a nearby branch. Then the other two, fly down as if they are looking at the patterns of the other crow's footprints in the snowfall. I wonder if they're playing a silent pictionary game. Perhaps they're making pictures with their footprints, in the snow, and then taking turns guessing what the other drew.
I should like to play too.
I'll bet I'd win.
Though I think it might be difficult to make interesting pictures with my big feet. It might prove to be quite a clumsy attempt.