Dis-ease.

When I first started this blog nearly 3 years ago, it was primarily for me. I stopped journaling (which was, largely, a mistake) and allowed this to take it's place. I used to write most days during the week. I posted thoughts, feelings, poems, pictures of what was happening in my life. I didn't care who in cyberspace could read it, because it was for me.

Then, last fall, when the blast-from-the-past/Anonymous poster reared her all-in-bad-taste head, I lost my nerve. Maybe that was what she was going for. To make me feel small, which, incidentally, was exactly what she and her friends did to most people in college, so I wasn't really surprised. However, anonymous poster doesn't check my blog much anymore or, really, at all. It made me realize that I shouldn't give a crap who reads what I write, or for that matter, their opinion on the things I do write. That's what blogs are for. To write about what is happening in personal lives. And I miss doing it. From now on, I write what I like. End of story.

I haven't been having the best couple of weeks. Since moving in, I've always felt a little "off". Like I should be doing something, but the something never comes. I feel uncomfortable, bored, lazy. My studio took a bit of a hit since moving, so the fall has been a bit slow. It is, however, starting to pick back up, with four new students added just in the last week, so I'm starting to feel better about that. I've been planning the 2009 theatre season, and I'm feeling pretty great about that, too. But there is still something that just doesn't feel right. It's as if I'm always waiting for the next big thing. Ideally, what I'd like to do is to begin living my life between the goals. Or, living in the moment. Which is something I used to be able to do. Even just last year. But for some reason, I've ceased to remember how. I started seeing Lucia again, my therapist. We talk about seeing everything in life as an experience, and being present to each one. Also, just being in the process. Last year, when I was dealing with all my (for lack of a better phrase) "Daddy Issues", I relished being in the process. I knew what was happening each and every moment, and I loved it, because I wasn't afraid to feel everything in that moment. Now, I get too caught up in the outcome. I think this past summer has a lot to do with it. The theatre season, as well as closing on the house. I was so nervous something would come along and fuck everything to Hell. In the end, it didn't, and all was well. Lucia seems to think that I didn't recover from all the stress over the months of May-September. Frankly, I think she is spot on. So now, we work on stress recovery and living in the moment. I am greatly looking forward to it.

Last night, I finally pulled out the journal. In the past, I used to write every night. Lately, it's far and few between when I actually get to it. However, something compelled me to write last night. I have a book of writing prompts. Just a simple line to prompt you into some train-of-thought writing. Last night's was about returning. I wrote for a few minutes, just letting the pen flow. Towards the middle, I started writing about how I wished to return to "my art". My brain seemed to know what my hand wanted to do. When I finished, I realized what I wished I could return to. And that is performing. Being a performer is just a part of who I am, and have and will always be. I mentioned in my previous post that I haven't been cast in any shows here, and how it is upsetting. There aren't many other opportunities to perform here. I really enjoyed last winter, as Rob and I were contracted for lots of gigs and had a blast. But I haven't performed since Elegies, and I'm really itchin' for something. It feels nice, though, to know what it is I'm missing.

I am now going to rant. Those of you who'd rather not read, then just stop.

A year ago, Rob and I decided we were ready to have a baby. Emotionally and physically, I was in the prime of my life, and very ready to make babies. Once the theatre season started, we very seriously never had sex. We were too busy or too tired or both. So we stopped trying. Now, we are settled in the house, and we've begun trying again. I know that it takes time. Nature is taking its course, and we need to be patient. However, I honestly thought I was pregnant this week. I was having symptoms that seemed very much like pregnancy, and it turned out not to be. I was devastated. I felt so stupid for thinking that there was a chance when, in reality, it was a wicked case of PMS. On one hand, my body may feel ready, as I've been "preparing the nest" so they say. No alcohol, exercise, eat right, take prenatal vitamins. I'm doing everything a woman should do. On the other, maybe baby knows I am in a weird place emotionally and that it shouldn't come yet until I figure some stuff out. This is supposed to be dangerously easy! Why is it so hard?!
And here is the kicker. I'm so tired of people saying to me that "it's okay". I'm tired of the advice. I'm tired of the universe kicking me while I'm down by showing me thousands of pregnant women or women with newborns,or ultrasound pictures or baby clothes or maternity shops (I know, how existential of me, right?). There are moments I just want people to stop talking to me about it. It's nobody's business to talk to me about my reproductive system, or my husbands. And frankly, I don't care if YOU get pregnant at the drop of a hat. So please, oh please, just don't mention it to me.

Today, I'm going to see the Twilight movie with an old pal I haven't seen in years. I am very much looking forward to it. And looking forward to seeing the movie. And tonight, dinner with D, who I miss very much!