Rambler...

I am anxious.

Probably because I have a meeting with financial/government related business in the morning. Anything related to either of those always makes me nervous, and both?! Well...

I am drinking red wine. And eating some strange oat-trail-mix-bar-type-thing I found in the pantry. Nutmeg & orange zest & cinnamon linger in my mouth. Lovely.

But my pulse is racing as though I'd just ingested multiple shots of espresso...

It's probably because my room is clean. I realized some time ago that having a completely clean room makes me panic. I have the urge to run to the kitchen and stuff something in my mouth (hence the orange & nutmeg bar...things) or do push-ups or ...other things I will not mention here....hmh. It's quite comical, actually.

I think I need a larger vocabulary.

When I was a child, I had an extraordinary eloquence, not just for my age, but in general. On occasion, it decides to re-visit me, and suddenly I'm spouting sonnets, not on purpose...just...how I'm made. I surprise myself with the words and phrases that come out of my mouth. (Often surprised because they are true...often, because I did not know they were the thoughts I thought or feelings I felt, but hearing them aloud makes me aware of their resonating truthfulness & existence within me ). I have, on a number of occasion, had strangers or friends turn to me and say "You should make what you just said into a monologue!" or "Did you write that? Is that a quote from something?" ...and my response is usually... "...uh...what...did I just.......say?"

Like comedy, I can never call on it on purpose. It comes out...or it does not. (People often laugh at me, but rarely ever is it something I said or did, on purpose).

I have not written poetry in quite a while, I realized tonight. Laying on my bed.

I am lonely. And for some reason, that makes me terribly angry at myself.

 "A healthy & well balanced person should not be lonely!"  "A person worth being close to needs nothing!"  So angry. So much hatred for myself for feeling...human. But something in me thinks that........well adjusted people must not feel this way. Are not needy. Are not...

I don't want to be.

I want to be happy. And I am. I am also.........restless is the word tonight. But...I don't know.

I wrote a short story on a whim, the other night. About an actual event that happened to me a long time ago. As is often the case, it concerned love. The pathetic & unrequited sort.

....It is bothering me. This story. Being open of late........is bothering me. With anyone. I have chosen to be open to a few different people of late...showing things. Actually, even in the dance show I presented in February...it filled me with this odd sort of hatred. Or...impatience. Something.

Why show this? Why tell this to anyone? Are you an exhibitionist? 'Oh, poor me! Look at my pain! See it crawling on the floor...? Poor you. Poor little white girl, who has a roof over her head and food in her mouth and the love of friends, even if the first two are sometimes hard to come by...you have never really had to be without.'

...'Be grateful, Anya.'

There is such a polarity in the way I feel and the way I am in the world (and I am overly aware that all I have been doing is talking about myself...in this post and in most of them). I feel like I am on repeat: there are only THESE stories to tell, over & over...new faces perhaps, new names, slightly different choices and scenarios...


But of course, in the end, the world's stories ARE all the same. And are incredibly different. It feels like everything in the world must be that way: only a certain number of choices, but within that, infinite complexity... But... But...   It feels like there must be something I am just barely missing; some great answer woven into that, that is hovering in the undercurrent and just outside my periphery...

I think it's funny. I looked in the mirror just now and thought...  I want to be loved.  But I have been half-purposefully pushing everyone away, of late.

I have been feeling like what I want is for everyone to go away. And at the same time all I want is to embrace everyone...and myself. I suppose that means I DO need solitude & meditation or...something. Nature sounds refreshing & replenishing right now. But so does life & city. The handful of times I have finally left my little nest here to travel into one city or another in the area for auditions or excursions have proved to stir me up and awaken so much of what I'm longing for. So who do I listen to? Me...? or....Me?

Silence, I guess is best.

Part of me wishes I were still going North to teach this summer. Not because I do not want to teach here. I do. And I like the people I will be teaching with and the job. But...

Ashland...is a place of quiet. And nature. And a place to hide. Even my stillness here, further south, seems like it's on speed. And...I want so much quiet. I want to hide. To breathe, more. To slow time down......just for a while. But I also want accomplishment. And that...I was not finding there. (Though I am not satisfied, remotely, with the amount I'm accomplishing here...as someone said to me recently, I guess it's harder, because it's a longer timeline to see the tangible outcomes of the kind of life you're leading and the sorts of work you're doing.... That almost made me feel better)...

   ....(almost).

Aderoll has been on the brain, of late. (Not literally). I keep getting so frustrated with myself. I see how much my mind wanders. Going to the kitchen to get a glass of water is ridiculous, sometimes...But I wonder how much of it is lack of sleep. And I wonder how much of it is nerves. And how much is really me.

I took a half a pill, once. I hated it. I wanted to cry. My thoughts slowed to a gel-like pace, crystalline...hanging there in water. I could see one, after the next after the next, so clearly. And I was absolutely miserable and the furthest thing from me I have ever felt in my life. I did not actually accomplish much more, though I did accomplish something...a step above the fear that made me panic at having so much to do. I couldn't swallow food for a week.

But sure enough, 3 days later, I was begging & pleading my friend to give me just one more. He refused, thank God. But now, I wonder...was it really that I had finally found something I could be addicted to? Or simply the utter fear I have always felt of the consequences of being a failure or getting nothing done...?

Some people don't understand. It's absolute terror.

But here's the thing I keep thinking...when people tell me there's something 'wrong with me'...  I was born different, as I think we all were. Some people were made to thrive in this society & work within it's rules..............but for all the pills that are out there to 'fix' us, all the diets, all the schools, all the plans telling us how we ought to be...how many of us actually FIT the mold? If this world of ours disappeared, this f*cked up society, with all it's problems...

........could you still look at me and tell me there was something wrong? If I didn't have to adapt to computers & deadlines & all these things we now consider 'normal' would I still seem so different? Would it still matter?

But I am supposed fit fit in here. So, by all means....... give me a pill. And another & another. Until there's nothing left.

- I'm told I should be open and loving. I'm told I should not be needy; I should play hard to get and not pour myself into another's lap.

- 'One should not want.' But...'You must know what you want, to obtain it.'

- 'Desire nothing but what you already have.' But...be sure to 'Follow your dreams.'

I am surrounded by slant-contradictions. I'm sure they all make sense together, but I suppose some nights a girl just needs to b*tch.

....on nights when she's lonely. And she's...not supposed to be lonely. Not supposed to be open or closed.

Not....supposed to be...  

         .....Me.

(And the stupid poetry just doesn't come).