Today, on the inside of my head is a Party City during a blowout Sale: I worry about basically everything all of the time, but there is usually one thing at the forefront of my worry that is taking up the most space. It’s usually something fairly irrational based off of imagined scenarios. Usually, at some point, this thing turns out to be completely unfounded, and I no longer have to worry about it, and so I move onto the next thing in line. I do not even pause to celebrate the fact that the thing I’ve been worrying about is actually totally okay. Why spend so much time worrying about something if I’m not even going to take a moment of PHEW! THAT THING IS FINE! I hereby vow NOT to stop worrying, because that would actually require me having part of my brain removed, but instead — when a worry gets resolved, I will have a little worry party in my head, in which I close my eyes and enjoy the tiniest moment of peace. THEN OF COURSE MOVE ON TO TSUNAMI’s.
Dreamt I was writing in a beautiful green meadow, with a pencil in a clean white college ruled notebook. I was JOURNALING, even, writing towards figuring out exactly what it is that’s blocking me from becoming the best person and writer I possibly can be. After a page of writing, I arrived at it. The very thing that I needed to confront. The one thing that needed fixing. I stared at it there on the page, circled and underlined it, felt sort of free, and ready to fix. So what is it? What is the thing? NOPE. NO CAN DO. DON’T REMEMBER EVEN AT ALL.
We are still on the jet lag struggle bus and keep waking up at 4 AM, like COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY AWAKE but also deeply tired but also desperately in need of toast. You lie there, convincing yourself you’re tired enough to sleep as opposed to just theoretically tired. You think of plays about pillows. You tell stories and make up songs. Here’s a selection from this morning, 5:45 AM, after we’d been just laying there in a hellish in-between for 2 hours:
Me: HOW’S IT GOING?
Me: You awake?
Morrison: I am now. But I’m trying to sleep.
Me: Me too.
A few moments of pretend rest.
Me: (SO LOUD): THE SUN’LL COME OUT / RIGHT NOWWWW / BET YOUR BOTTOM DOLLAR THAT RIGHT NOW / THERE’S THE SUN
Me: RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOWWWW! THERE’S ALWAYS RIGHT NOW / THERE’S ALWAYS RIGHT NOW, RIGHT NOWWWWWW
Morrison: are you done?
Me: (HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER)
Slept til 11 and spending the day on the couch surrounded by leftover Christmas candy, because this year, I resolve to give myself a break, and allow myself to just Be (on couch / surrounded by candy), and also because tequila and jet lag had an angry baby that now lives in my head.
There’s a thing going around instagram, Best 9, in which people post a grid of their best nine pictures from 2016, summing up a year in their lives. Whenever everyone is doing something it kind of makes me not want to do it, as I am no sheep, by which I mean BAAAAAAAA I’LL JUST DO IT HERE INSTEAD but with 24 pictures because I LIVE MY OWN LIFE (IN GRIDS.) And so with no further ado, it has been a magnificent year! I:
Ate that chicken pot pie in a blizzard, wrote for American Gods, had a beautiful production of my Heaven play at South Coast Rep, found the perfect overalls and wore them approximately 170 times, washed them about 3 times, took a surfing lesson with Elizabeth, had a Dewey’s pink lemonade cake to call my own at my Easter pot luck thanks to my Mom, ran a 5K with a little girl Monet who ate gummy savers the whole way thanks to Blaine, celebrated 2 years with Mo at Red Lobster, patroned Ru Paul’s drag con, got after that no speaking above a whisper resort life in Joshua Tree, spent some time writing at Space on Ryder farm in upstate New York, went to Carrie’s Beyonce themed beybe shower (then later welcomed and met her dear little Sebastian who I am now calling Bash / 2017 let’s see if we can get that going), and then also:
Had the most perfect of bridal showers complete with hats and tiny sandwiches, spun for 3 hours in YAS-a-thon for cancer research, made Ina Garten’s flag cake, welcomed little nephew Mojo, worked on The Cake at the Alliance, Echo and Ojai, did Vegas so hard bachelorette style, tried on a bunch of white dresses / picked one had a bunch dress fittings / obsessed over its details and its accessories namely did I ever mentioned that Ferris Bueller cropped leather coat? / GOT MARRIED / cast my vote for a woman president for the first time, attended Blaine and Jason’s non baby shower baby shower, read Vivian Howard’s incredible cookbook, and started writing for This is Us. And so, a great many things.
Last week I started to have dreams that I was left out of something creative, being mocked for output or performance. Personal favorite: I dreamt I had to play a drunk dog onstage and the reviews were terrible (this dream brought to you by the first night in Hong Kong, surrounded by every stimulus possible.) I think the dreams stem from a feeling that I haven’t accomplished enough creatively this year, like I haven’t dug enough into my own heart / brain. I’ve been working, yes, but I feel, in general, sort of uninspired, like the questioning part of my brain has been numbed. It’s most likely because the majority of all extra time and emotional brainspace I had went to wedding planning. And so, I will forgive myself, hope that 2017 brings characters / moments / stories / questions, big new ideas, but ALSO, more cakes / adult onesies / trips / love, FOR BALANCE.
Posted in MAWWAGE., TV, YAY, a lot, life, love, memories, oh nooo, optimism, silly, the future, the whole world, the writing of drama plays, theater, things, things that I Have, tout, trying too hard, what I'm wearing, whining, words, working, worrying | No Comments »
LET’S JUST SAY COMPLETELY HYPOTHETICAL FOR EXAMPLE THAT YOU’RE GOING ON YOUR HONEYMOON WHICH ONLY HAPPENS ONCE IN YOUR LIFE AND YOU PLANNED IT MONTHS AGO AND NOW SUDDENLY TIME HAS MOVED AND YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE TONIGHT. And maybe you just realized a few weeks ago that your destination of choice, Bali, is in fact enduring its ‘wet season’ during your visit month of choice, and then maybe you look at the forecast seconds before you leave and discover that it’s basically going to look like this the entire time:
And you feel dumb. You also feel disappointed. BUT ALSO YOU FEEL RESOURCEFUL. Also you know how to use the internet. Also you have a husband who is patient and less neurotic, and also you’ve been paid handsomely for your work, as of late. WHY BE PAID HANDSOMELY, IF AT ALL, IF YOU DON’T EVERY NOW AND THEN, LIGHT A LITTLE BIT OF IT ON FIRE TO LAST MINUTE CHANGE YOUR TRIP TO THIS INSTEAD?
PS, we’re off to Hua Hin, Thailand, instead, BECAUSE B.
Posted in I hate money, MAWWAGE., YAY, a lot, ha, hmmmmm, holidays, how interesting, i am lucky, i am scared, i have peace, love, silly, the future, the whole world, whining, working, worrying | No Comments »
I finally agreed to let Morrison sell the keyboard that has been just sitting there untouched for a year, after my failure to re-learn it last fall. I mean, it’s one thing to admit failure, which I did, but it is yet another to have the failure constantly staring you in the face and also taking up valuable wall space in our cozy whimsical cottage shared by two giants who btw cannot play the piano. And so, as any kind and gentle giant partner would, he saved me from my despair. His craigslist Ad is PRICELESS and also COMPLETELY THE TRUTH.
This morning on set, the Santa Ana winds were a blowin’ and we were outside filming a car ride scene containing humans and feelings, no spoilers. The dry wind whipped into my eye holes, and suddenly I sneezed 27 times and then my eyes wept for the next four hours, but not from feels. I was unflapped, because for months, my eyes have been leaking but not from feels. I have been doing nothing about it, except just making every person I interact with think I’m ‘going through something’ as tears pour down my face as I relay that the printer won’t work. I always feel oddly ashamed though, when asked, Are you crying? when I say no it’s just my eyes , I wish I had a profound story other than Air. I am not trapped in a poem. It’s just the air.
Nail person: what’re you thinking?
Me: Brown! I have a brown in my head.
Nail person: Sounds like a personal problem. Tell me about this brown in your head.
Me: a bright, happy pilgrim brown, crayola marker drawing of house brown, cartoon chocolate or wood or poop. Luminous, optimistic neon brown.
Nail person: That’s not a thing.
Me: what’s not?
Nail person: Happy pilgrim. But here are 11 other kinds of brown. Anger brown, dirt brown, sad brown, coffee brown –
Me: I’ll take the disco caramel.
Nail person: it’s called burnt leaf.
Me: That’s what I said.
When you are a lady playwright raised to please and to apologize, and you get a series of bad reviews written by OTHER lady writers who write directly and bravely and without apology because they were perhaps raised THAT way, THE PROPER RESPONSE IS TO EMAIL THE REVIEWERS AND DEEPLY APOLOGIZE AT LENGTH FOR RUINING THEIR EVENINGS AND WASTING THEIR TIME AND GO INTO GREAT DETAIL ABOUT YOUR SHAME AND EMBARRASSMENT AND THEN MAYBE ALSO FIND A WAY TO SEND THEM BAKED GOODS? THIS IS RIGHT, RIGHT?