Don't Be Afraid to Catch Feels?

Lately, I’ve been slowly coming to a realization about myself.

I am not an emotionally honest person.

I like to think I live my life from a philosophy of snarky kindness.  Whether it be my students, my friends, or my family, I will always be there to support others, ready to crack a joke and break the tension and offer a hug (or a full-on snuggle) when needed.  It’s pretty much how I was raised - I can remember when I was little, when I would cry (which was a LOT) my mom would gobble up my tears and pronounce them deliciously salty.  And sometimes, she would just let me be sad, if that’s what I needed.  But she never made me feel like I had to explain myself.  This is not a bad thing...it’s good Mothering.  As recently as a few years ago, I was still able to bury myself in her shoulder and cry when I was upset, without having to explain myself.

But after too many relationships that started with the phrase, “We should probably keep this between us” for some reason or another...I am absolute shit at expressing serious, less-than-happy, or complicated emotions.  I was never great at it, but compartmentalization has taken hold as a survival skill.  The only people I have an easy time saying “I love you” to are my best friends.  When friends/coworkers/family/etc. disappoint or hurt me, I bottle it up and either wait until I feel better or shut them out.  When people write about experiences in a flowery, romantic way, I roll my eyes and take a deep breath...I am getting better about not SAYING the snarky thing, but it’s always my first thought, no matter how beautifully written the sentiment.  I honestly have no idea if the reason I rarely talk to my most recent ex is because he’s glad we broke up or it hurts him to talk to/see me.  I knew exactly how he felt about me for the first year we were together...now I have absolutely no idea.  I don’t know whether I should leave him alone or reach out to him more.

But, to be fair, he also has no idea how I feel about him.

I can charm pretty much anyone I want.  I know how to dangle just the right amount of vulnerability and honesty in front of someone’s nose when I’m not invested in their response.  But I don’t know how to fall in love.  I don’t know how to truly comfort someone when they are sad.  

I mean, aside from hugging.  

I like to think I’m good at hugging.

Maybe the rest will work itself out eventually.

Introverts Unite! Separately! In Our Own Homes!

So...I just had my first houseguest in...a while.  I have not had an overnight guest in nearly a year.  So the guest room was...unwelcoming.  I mean, seriously - it has been a YEAR of "OH SHIT PEOPLE MIGHT COME OVER JUST THROW IT IN THE GUEST ROOM AND CLOSE THE DOOR." and "OH SHIT PEOPLE ARE COMING OVER JUST CLOSE YOUR BEDROOM DOOR TOO."

Also, after a rough academic year, things have just piled up all over.  I am threatening to be devoured by Dust Bunnies Of Unusual Size.

So last week was housecleaning boot camp.  I guarantee if you came over right now, you would have no idea how much time I have put into cleaning, finding places for shit, breaking down old boxes, vacuuming, dusting, washing dust rags so I can use them again...AND I AM STILL NOT DONE.  The layer of dust on my dresser is truly horrifying.

BUT...I managed to get the sewing projects corralled into one corner of the guest room...and winched the closet doors shut to contain the Crap I Simply Do Not Have Time To Deal With...and said guest arrived!

She was a friend from grad school.  That I haven't seen since she graduated.  So it has been 12 years.

Catching up with old friends is drastically different in the Information Age.  Thanks to Facebook, I know all about her career path, her husband's, how old her son is now, etc., etc.

But you'd be surprised how much you can forget about a person's personality in 12 years.

I forgot how much she likes to Talk.

And how very little she really likes to Talk About.

Over the last 48 hours, I have heard a lot of talking.  But I'm not sure what we talked about other than the drudgery of work.  And how she's avoiding her in-laws.  And yes, I know where you went to undergrad.  THE SAME SMALL-TALK WE WERE HAVING A DOZEN YEARS AGO.


AND THE FIVE YEARS BEFORE THAT.


I still can't name one of her hobbies.  She knows about mine - I post about my culinary/cocktailian pursuits on Facebook constantly.  I post about my shows (she expressed regret that she wasn't here for one of them).  She knows about my Medieval camping habit.

She claims she has hobbies...but after 48 hours of talking, all I know is what she does for a living, how old her son is, and what her husband is doing this week.

You know...THE SAME SHIT I KNOW FROM FACEBOOK.

It's weekends like this that make me think I'm an introvert.  Technically, I consider myself an ambivert - there are times when I am absolutely energized by meeting new people.  But only if I have real conversations with those new people.  I fucking HATE small talk.  Oh, sure, I can do it, but I only get pleasure out of it if it leads to a substantive conversation.  If you're talking just to talk - and, even worse, waiting for your chance to talk rather than actually listening - you're just exhausting me.  This is why, after a houseguest like this - one that I have known for nearly two decades, and shared a major formative experience with - leaves, I retreat to Facebook to exchange witty comments with the people I never get to see.

There are friendships that are formed from day-in-day-out contact...Friends by Proximity...and then there are your People.  The ones who you can go ages without seeing, and babble effortlessly with when you reconnect.  The ones who, when you're starting to get tired, can just quietly power down with you at a table or bar.

Unfortunately, most of my People are true introverts.  And introverts never invite themselves over for dinner, let alone a weekend.

So it goes.

A Year in the Life...

A year ago...

We were in a casting crisis for Mary Poppins.  We held auditions the day final grades were due.  We didn't have...um...most of the male leads.  Every night another crisis/resolution scenario played out over FB messenger.  Friendships were tested.  Acquaintances showed their lack of friendship.
For 10 weeks.

The Manfriend suffered a knee injury on top of his hurt shoulder.  We didn't kayak or bike at all.

Right up until that show opened, I lost sleep.  I never got anything done in my house.  It's a wonder my garden survived.  Honestly, choreographing that show was a full-time job.  Because I wasn't just a choreographer.  I was part of a team.  And nearly everyone on that team did more than their fair share to keep the train on the rails.  NEARLY everyone.
The show opened in spite of itself.  It was, honestly, the best show I have ever worked on.  Mary flew, Burt walked on the ceiling, people danced, and we sang the hell out of that shit.  It was wondrous.

I had a week off to prepare for War.

I went.  It was...fine.  Hectic.  High-maintenance friends who are worth it got into not-worth-my-time drama with those who aren't.  Fuck people who make vacation hard.  It was an especially sweaty year in more ways than one.

Spent some Quality time with the brotherly unit and the nephlets.

Came back and it was time to start school.

FUCK.  Where did my summer go?  Where is my semi-retirement?  Why did I only get...what...2 weeks tops of relaxation???

Oh, by the way, here's that duets show in the bandshell in the park.  Let's just toss that together and not make it suck.  While I'm starting a semester with a 25% overload.

Whew.  That went well.  Or...okay...as well as can be expected.  I hit a shit note during one of the shows because my voice was so tired.  Because...did I mention that overload?

So a few weeks go by, and my load is starting to feel manageable.  Because I've done this before.

And then there's that thing where a student's father sends implicit threats to me and the president of the university.  And the Provost.

Over a quiz.

A 10-point quiz.

I'd love to quote the details, but...um...they wouldn't help this make more sense.  It was actually more batshit crazy than it sounds.  And I'm keeping my mouth shut just in case it ever requires legal action.  And I reported it to DPS, and have never felt less safe walking to my car after dark.  And I have walked through some pretty shady areas of Toronto at some pretty shady times.  And taken the Night Bus.  And still felt more wobbly rounding that dark corner between my office and the parking lot.



So that was fucked up.

Meanwhile, the Manfriend has had rotator cuff surgery.  And that shit hurts.  And did I mention his parents are not dealing well with the onset of their dementia?  And his knee is also still pretty fucked up?


And then, hey!  The holidays! THANKSGIVING!  WHEE!  EVERYBODY LOVES EVERYONE!  SO MUCH FUN!  I AM TOTALLY OKAY WITH EVERYTHING!

Cue massive sinus infection.  I go to the walk-in clinic for antibiotics and my blood pressure is curiously high.  I can't say with honesty that I am surprised.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!  HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

After therapeutic family/nephlet time...I'm back at it.  It's a new semester, and a new show.  And most of my best friends are involved!  Yay!

And then...tragedy strikes our community.  A murder/suicide.  I met the victim briefly (at auditions for the show I'm doing), but have heard about her for years.  Both she and her killer (her longtime boyfriend) were good friends with many of my good friends, including the Manfriend.  There is nothing anyone can say.  It is just pure, unadulterated, sadness.



And then I sit up all night trying to talk sense into our dipshit lead who is pitching a diva hissyfit.  And then wake up to someone else telling me I am not treating them the way I used to and fuck that I am cancelling my office hours and sleeping in.

And then that show actually manages to happen, we strike that show, and are auditioning the next one.

And...well...see previous post.


I'll wait.




I lost friendships.  I wake up every morning with the songs from that show running through my head.  I cry literally every day for two months when I think about what happened.  I am angry.  I am sad.  I am alone.

I auditioned for a new theater.  This felt good.  I felt valued.  I felt like I fit.  I did not get cast, but at least for once I felt like it wasn't due to stupid fucking politics.

The weekend the show goes up, I am in Chicago with my advisee.  I get to spend some quality time with an old friend.  We have the most intellectually inspiring meeting I've had since I moved to Michigan.

And then my best friend from college goes into the hospital.  She is diagnosed with heart failure.  She isn't even forty yet.  You "God has a plan" people have a gigantic burden of proof ahead of you when it comes to viruses.  They serve no real purpose as far as I am concerned, unless it's in creating GMOs, in which case, God...you really need to have a chat with your people.  Bacteriophages are the only viruses I know to be useful for anything except protecting you from more evolved versions of that virus.  The ones that eat my best friend's heart can kindly go fuck themselves.

Oh, someone wrote the Dean anonymously to complain about "policies" that are not actually mine?  Ask me how much I care about their little academic telephone game.  Despite my lack of shits to give...I will still lose sleep.  Because this little shit could actually affect my job.

Finals week came.  I had some pretty good highs as I got some students to actually think like scientists.  And some pretty low lows as I saw good kids tank under pressure or just give up.

So before you give me shit about my 3.5 months of semi-retirement...know that my heart HURTS.  It has been though a LOT this year.  My brain is SPENT.  It is all out of fresh ideas.  I want to spend this summer thinking about nothing more than my family, the Manfriend, my garden, puppies, and good food.  And I NEED that.  I never got that last year, and I have felt the effects.

What Would You Do?

I was your #1 Sally, and your #2 Kost. She was your #2 Sally, and your #4 Kost. So...I'm the better actor...the better dancer...and you gave me the smaller, less complex and subtle, part. Oh, and it requires less dance ability. That's logical. In the last 24 hours, many thoughts have crossed my mind, over and over again. When I was asked to be your choreographer, I really didn't want to take it because I wanted the chance to audition properly for a part I have wanted to play for nearly 20 years. So I tried to keep my opinions to myself as much as I could. BUT. You have given me two principals who are not dancers, in a show with a lot of dancing. I was not consulted on casting, except... When I was asked, "Who can you work with?" naturally, I said, "I can work with anyone." Because I can. BUT....I spent a YEAR being told that T would NEVER be Sally. And R has been tossed into every possible role, but most likely Kost. I can make T into Texas, and I can make R into Kost. Now I have to make T into Sally...and R into an Emcee. While I dance in the background, knowing that I was your first choice for Sally. What would you do? You made these decisions without anybody nearby to consult about movement. You did not know how hard you were making my job. You didn't tell me what you decided before posting a cast list. You didn't ask if I could do this in six weeks.

What would YOU do?

I think I might walk. Give me a reason not to...I dare you.