Femme on Fire

Moment of Zen

I just saw that in my flickr photostream and it made me happy. Much like those pigs. When they died.

Something New

You know how when you're going through something really hard, you sometimes wish you had something else to think about? Something that could take away the sound of his voice, the feeling of the last kiss, the image seen through tears of him standing in the doorway of his new apartment. Well, FOUND IT!

Today I went to the dentist so she could fix a filling I cracked. She looked in my mouth and said she wanted to do a couple of tests. I flunked. So now there is a 34% chance that I have oral cancer on my tongue. Awesome. I had to make an appointment for a biopsy today. Cool. Great. Yippee.

I'm sure it's fine. I'm sure that even if it is cancerous, that cancer of the tongue is a lot easier to deal with than almost any other kind of cancer. I already kind of have a lisp from clenching my teeth in my sleep, so it can't get that much worse, and I'm sure I'll heal. But it's scary when people start throwing that word around and start looking at you in that way that was previously reserved for friends asking "How are you?" right after they hear about the breakup.

Which brings me back to a funny story. Last week I told my friend that going through a breakup was what it must be like to have cancer in some ways. People talk to you in sweet, pacifying tones. You start to think there's a better chance than usual that there are things said about you behind your back. And eventually whenever someone asks how you are you assume that they are talking about that. Now there's a 34% chance that I can find out for sure!

Update!

I hate it when people title their blogs that, but you know, I am mainly making this post so that last post is not at the top of my page saying, "LOOK AT ME WHINE!!!!" I am hurting. I won't lie. But I am starting to feel better, to feel purposeful. and to enjoy myself just a little. In spite of the outcome I did have fun last night. Then Dena came by this morning and we went to the jolliest place in the land- COSTCO! I bought a really big TV. If that won't make you feel better nothing will.

So now the TV is my new love. Which leaves me able to finally break it off with my most recent love affair, fattening food. In honor of this switcheroo, I had a lovely salad for dinner. Woot. Now I just have to find an affordable entertainment stand. Oh, so much to do, heavens to betsy, it's like I don't even have time to think about that... who was that again?

The End

My best friend says he is not the guy. But that doesn't stop me from feeling that this is the worst day of my life. I succeed in pulling myself together long enough to attend a party with mutual friends for a few hours, but then, suddenly, I have to leave. I feel another minute in this location will kill me. The walls are closing in. I feel very much like when you have to vomit and all you can think about is gettting someplace safe to do it as soon as humanly possibly. Every time someone stops me to give me a hug on my way out I want to run. I get in the car, turn it on, and I am not even a block away when I start to sob. I wail uncontrollably and the last time I remember being this upset was the night I graduated from college, when I said goodbye to everyone outside of my family that I loved in the world, and didn't know when I might see them again. This was worst. I think of Irish wakes, and how they call it keening, and I feel very much like someone has died. The sounds I make are inhuman.

Maybe soon I will feel better. My very intelligent friends tell me that someday soon I won't even get why I loved him so much. But even this hurts me. And I try so hard not to make noise while I cry that will wake my roommate. I cry so hard I can't keep thoughts in my head. So every life preserver thrown to me is forgotten and I struggle against the water, unable to keep myself from going under. My dogs look at me with pity. And still, silently, gasping for air, I cry.

Pass the Ice Cream

I've passed through anger and back into depression. Not the sobbing, hysterical depression, but the depression of void. The kind of depression that makes me seem like a non-entity. I'm not contributing, I'm barely awake, and I'm certainly not getting anything done. I'm pretty sure this is not what I'm getting paid for. I just want to lay around and eat cheetos. Some people feel like this their entire life and don't even notice. I've felt like this for about 7 hours and it makes my skin crawl.

Vocabulary

This evening as I watched a tiny television from across my huge living room, I heard the sound of footsteps down my walk. They were heavy, brisk, and decidedly male. Keys emerged from a pocket and inserted into the lock. My heart skipped a beat, and my roommate made his way into the house. Then it hit me again. He's not coming home. This isn't his home anymore.

Big changes are sweeping through. Bigger renovations than new curtains and replacement electronics are underway. Over the next several days, weeks, even months I'll be peeling away the ours. I have tried already to replace the ours with mys, but I think first thes will have to suffice. I have to clean the bathroom counter. Would you like to come by the house sometime? I'm renting out the office.

Tonight I'll spend my first night alone. No head on the pillow next to mine, hair sweaty and wild, crinkling his brow in concentration even in his dreams. No sound of spoon in bowl across the house while I lay in bed before I'm awake enough to open my eyes. No quick kiss goodbye with his trenchcoat on and I in my pajamas. No Rick. No us.

A Letter to my Intruders

Dear Chest Cold Virus,

I have two important jobs, two performances, and a weekend away to prepare for this week. Next week I have absolutely nothing to do. Please reconsider.

Thank you,
The Owner of those Moist and Hospitable Lungs.

Echo

There was quite a while there when I thought I was getting out of this scot-free. I thought I would just waltz out of this relationship effortlessly like I did with whatever that was with Andy. But now it's real. He has an apartment. He's leaving. I feel like my whole life is falling apart.

My happy face is slipping.

My new love

I've been spending a lot more time watching daytime television lately. Not soap operas, but the one show you can always count on to be airing in syndication- Law & Order. Specifically, Law & Order Criminal Intent with the man, Vincent Donofrio. He is so clever, sometimes even I have no idea what he's talking about. The drawback (aside from being glued to the couch for sometimes four hours at a time) is that not every episode on USA is Criminal Intent, they intersperse them with Special Victims Unit. I don't have anything against this, I do watch SVU, Christopher Meloni and Iced T are the highlights for me, but I watched an episode today where they were tracking a young serial killer and all I could think is that Vincent would have had this figured out by now.

Geek Out!

Tonight I totally met PATTI LUPONE!!!!!!!! Oh my god! How awesome is that?

That said, the Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny (pronounced Mah-Hah- GOH-Ny) is not very good. But to be fair, there is no one to blame more than the composer of the score, Kurt Weill, and he's been dead for 57 years. The dull, lifeless, endlessly serious score, which is the undercurrent for some actually rather funny and fiercely political libretto from Brecht, provoked many people to leave during intermission. The director didn't really do much to fill the void either, but enough nay-saying, Patti LuPone was glorious and Audra MacDonald was radiant. And I didn't think I was much of an Audra fan, considering I saw her in Ragtime and kind of didn't understand what all the hype was about. But after tonight I can wholeheartedly say that if you must see an opera, it must contain Audra MacDonald, whos easy voice floats beautifully over every note available to the human range of hearing. And I didn't want to kill the male lead, a feat since his part was so massive that by the second Act I really just wanted him to die. So he would shut up of course.

However, the most important part of the evening was when we couldn't find the restaurant we had considered eating at, so we went to the french place downstairs from the Music Center. A large table sat two down from us, and a man in a turtleneck joined them. My mom asked if that was the conductor, but I really could have cared less (although he also did a fabulous job). That is until his old college chum sat down next to him. I turned to my mom and reported, "That is the conductor, Patti LuPone just sat down next to him!!!" I contained my squee admirably until we were leaving. I purposely walked by their table, thanked the conductor for a wonderful show, then moved to the petite powerhouse to his right, gushing something about how I had only come to see her, because I had never seen her live, and thanking her profusely for being incredible. She held my hand the whole time, and I must say, she has lovely soft little hands. AHHH! The woman is a theater ICON! I touched a theater ICON!

And Scene.