moving on

bananarama. think about it.

thought that would be a good title for the post to follow my last post, which is whiny and ridiculous. sorry about that. thanks for your comment, malinsk. holler back atcha.

i am saturated in vagina monologues at the moment. my computer has been, as they say, wigging out on me, and i haven't been able to post the audition monologues until today, and the auditions are THIS weekend!!! i am so nervous. what if i can't find an assistant director! what if i ruin the show! all these thoughts and more and racing through my head like something that races really fast....i'm just jittery i guess.

so...yep. i'm moving on. mowing upwards and onwards toward justice. i have to stop being so self-indulgent. started to clean my room last night. that's a good thing. when i was unpacking a few boxes last night (left over from my move in AUGUST....and you thought YOU were lazy...) i remembered a lot of things about myself. it is so easy to forget yourself when you're not at home, surrounded by your things--and i'm not advocating materialism here--but maybe i am! i mean, i've spent the past two months in a drunken stupor, pretty much, trying to figure out how to get over my father's death. and i've broken hearts and friendships (and fortified some) but mostly i've not felt like myself, except in a few rare cases. and last night i discovered why. i am so dependent on my books and my memories and my photographs and colors and posters and NONE of that has seen the light of day since i moved out of the jefferson house. maybe that's wrong, but i feel naked and lonely without being able to look around my room and see things that are familiar. i like my space colorful and busy, and my room right now is just boxes, junk, dirty clothes, and ugly brown walls. and it's cold. so last night i started putting my books away and realized i hadn't read any of my books for a long time. i treat my books like i treat old friends--you gotta tend to them, reread them, memorize details, be able to quote at all times, recognize their strengths and weaknesses, notice them on display in the store window (ok maybe not the last part). and i realized, i have been a bad friend to my old friends for the past few months, too. it's taken me until last week to even write to susie! so i started pulling all these books out and i found my diary, that i hadn't written in since AUGUST 2003. so much has happened since then. granted, i was writing buzz journals all last year so i didn't feel like keeping a diary, but i feel like so much was lost. so i started writing in it last night. i wrote until 3 in the morning. i filled ten pages. what is it about having a diary that makes everything safer? for someone as forgetful as i am, i guess it's like a bank that i can always draw upon. last night, reading it reminded me who i was and who i want to be. nothing else has been able to do that this entire past two months. so does this mean i'm finally learning to rely on myself? it's not very forward-thinking of me, i suppose. but it seemed to work. and so maybe i haven't learned how to deal with his death. and maybe i will never figure it out. but grief is funny like that. you have to let it out when it needs to come out, and almost relish the fact that you can feel that deeply abut something. grief is not a bad thing. but you also have to remember that you are bigger than it. it is wonderful to be able to crawl into your bed and sob, where it's warm and dark and safe, but when the time comes to take a deep breath and come out from under your blanket, then you have to accept it and just go. oh my god this is the worst metaphor ever. i don't really care, i guess. who am i trying to impress, anyway? (no offense, dear reader(s))

i feel so productive right now! i'm going to take a shower, go to the bank, pick up some props at fantasy attic for the high school show that opens this weekend, and go to work. then i'm going to go hang out with aaron and work on his portfolio at maxey. then i'm going to kick ass at trivia at conor o'neill's. then i'm coming straight home to this and my diary and my room.

life goes on.

love,
carol