There’s a moment after meeting an artist I admire when I mentally slap myself. Palm smacking my imagined forehead, I fixate: I said THAT? Why? Why did I use those words? Did I communicate anything? What was I thinking?
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
If the last eight days had been intentional, then I could call this an experiment, an exercise in how to be cruel to myself. However it was not intentional….I really did not mean to facilitate this shittiness.
WHEN I FORGET MY BODY IS A BODY, I GET HURT. IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.
That being said, listen to your body. Ask for modifications or ways to scale a movement. You know, I find that doing a technically correct pushup from my knees only a quarter of the way down feels better than doing a half-assed, poorly formed one.
watch “The State of Being Mixed” - a poem by Kaitee Tredway
Theatre is changing. New scripts include ranges of characters, diversifying who is portrayed in plays, in musicals. As a result, more and more people are seeing themselves represented on stage. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL. I admire the grace and compassion with which theatre artists hold this responsibility.
Undoubtedly, the best part of these packed days has been listening to the cast of Jagged Little Pill through the walls. This afternoon, I finally saw the show. It is fantastic.
But this is not a review.
This is not about the show.
This is about five minutes that happened afterwards.
But...to get to those five minutes...
Which is an overly poetic way of saying that I burned out. Hard. My habitual multitasking and perfectionism (which got me through highschool and college) broke my adult life. I was balancing on the knife’s edge - except it felt like pretty stable ground to me.
Then, my beloved dog - the little four-legged bundle of stubbornness and unyielding love - did what all living things do. He aged. He died. And I plummeted