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Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Four:  Flawless

Strength it seems is in the details.  It is in resolve, and the ability to focus.  But it is also available in other venues, the vulnerable, the undecided, the needy, the helped.  I think strength is about resolve, absolutely, but it is available to everyone.  I feel strength when I walk through a puddle or finish a paper, the quality of the paper or the water all over my shoes does not phase me, it remains my confidence in myself that gets me through.  So, does it matter how you deal with things if you feel strong in yourself?  Strength is relative with a common concept.  And I believe in the strength in everybody.

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Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Three:  The Moment

Today has been a whirl.  I mean a little intense whirl of emotions and energies.  I am so tired, and so relieved, and so amused and satisfied, and it feels so nice to just lay in bed with a candle and my hot water bottle and enjoy the evening.  Isn’t it lovely to think that the holidays are approaching?   There are a ton of things in my way before relaxing, a ton, but I am finding it easier to balance and cope as I cross more things off of my list.  I am increasingly becoming more Christmas-y, and I also am enjoying the cold, finally.

So what can I say to you all on this Friday night?  Keep going.  It’s just beginning, this exam week, but we are going to get through this.  I love university, especially when I am studying useful, challenging things, and the next week and a half will prove to be both challenging academically, motivationally, and also mentally as I prepare to apply to graduate programs and book a trip to Peru.  My life, it seems, is growing around me, flourishing, and embracing the opportunities in which I have been given.  This is wonderful.

And terrifying.

But mostly wonderful.

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Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Two:  Behind

In the Bookshelf today I picked up a book by Nora Ephron that described how it feels to be a woman.  Does anyone really kow how it feels to be anything for sure?  When I think of how I feel when I am a woman I think that it is sometimes very difficult and other times easy but mostly difficult, and I feel uncontrollable negativity and uncertainty and anger and sadness and pleasure and desire and love and maternal feelings and all kinds of shit all at once.  I feel conflicted often, and it bothers me.  But most of all I have a hard time defining what being a woman actually means.

So, being a woman to me means attempting to be confidence despite your own mind fighting against you and believing in yourself enough to trust that you are beautiful, smart, and wonderful despite your mind continuously forwarding negative thoughts to your consciousness.  Being a woman means standing up for yourself, and people that you care about, and things that are important to you, and being super badass, fabulous and classy all at the same time.  Being a woman means wearing what you want, when you want, because you are beautiful.  And being a woman means saying what you want, because what you have to say matters, despite what your mind attempts to trick you sometimes.

Being a woman is complicated, and I wouldn’t trade it for, what I told my mother once: “to have a dangley thing between my legs and smell, like a boy,” if I had the chance.

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Day Three Hundred and Thirty-One:  Atwood, Margaret.

I wrote this title this morning thinking I would write after I saw Ms. Atwood this evening, and I was skeptical if I was going to have anything to write about. 

I was right about being skeptical, because now I have so many thoughts that I don’t know which to write.

So I’ll choose only a few of my favourites, because something that I love about my own thoughts is that I am privy to the entirety of them, and I can choose to share what I want, and otherwise they are for me.  Thoughts are fascinating, alright on to my other fascinating moment of the evening:

She opened her mouth, and I was captivated from that moment on.  It’s something about grace, that a few lecturers that I have seen can master, to remain intelligent but also courageous and fun, and still have their finger on the pulse of the room.  Margaret Atwood knew her audience, she knew her own thoughts, and didn’t give two FUCKS about what everyone thought about what was coming out of her mouth she just said it and demanded attention and respect.  Demanded is the perfect word for Ms. Atwood, as she did just that, but in the most graceful way possible.

I can’t explain it any better than that right now.

I bought her book and she signed it, and I told her that Alias Grace was the last book that I read with my own two eyes before going blind.  She gasped, and looked up at me, and smiled and told me that the first book to the series that I was carrying had an audiobook.  I haven’t told many people about Atwood’s book being the last before I lost my eyesight, because it’s a sticky subject for me, and my final exam I wrote literally while I was losing my sight was written on foolscap in the back of the library with a pen that I could not see the lines on which I was writing a full-on analysis of something about class status and the perfectionist woman in the late nineties novel.  It’s a sticky subject, because I loved that novel, and it has clung to me as the one novel that I remember clearly because it was my last.

Interesting that Atwood is so involved with writing dystopias at the moment, how fascinating, how important, how poignant, I’m having trouble forming different words. How incredible it is to hear someone so inspiring speak.  If I don’t write an entire 20-paged play tonight I will be surprised, because that woman has knocked the inspiration right into me.

She’s spread her vinegrette onto my greek salad, graciously.

Only AJ and Cleo will understand that, but if you think about it….nah, you wouldn’t get it, sorry about that.

But seriously, I urge you all to read some of Atwood’s work, or maybe like read anything, get in touch with yourself, and read.  It’s important, and being an English major it’s all I do but also I do it over the summers, holidays, in any spare time.  I love poetry, novels, blogs, nonfiction essays, these things are interesting just do it guys, okay?

Okay.

I am on such a high right now.

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Day Three Hundred and Thirty:  Regret

I assume that everyone thinks about this.  Thinks about things they would change if they could go back in time, things they would or would not have done or said, things they regret not doing, opportunities lost, chances taken and fallen, and the biggest thing about ‘regret’ is that we are taught not to.  I think this concept is bullshit.

Not the concept of regret, but being told to live “without regrets.”  Mistakes are great, but I believe in taking a chance and regretting it rather than regretting not having taken that chance.  Maybe regret is something we need to feel to understand the weight of our decisions and truly understand and learn from our mistakes.  The thing about regrets is we must learn from them, and not dwell on them.  I am making a motion to move on from my regrets and learn from them.  It’s proving to be difficult.

But, what I wanted to really say here is that humans make mistakes.  As much as you think other people are perfect, and a lot of people give off the attitude that they never make mistakes they do, they do.  People make mistakes, and you should never be hard on yourself for it. 

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Nine:  I want a garden,

  And it may sound kind of silly because I don’t even have a lawn or house to have a garden near, but I await the day where I can plant my own flowers and vegetables and work in the garden.  I have fond memories of my childhood with my mom, grandma, close family friends and neighbours and wearing gloves and kneeling before plants.  I want to have my own hanging planters, and take care of perennials and learn about when its best to plant certain things and when to pull weeds and when to do all of those things.  I don’t know why, but I find it fascinating and all I want to do is just have a garden.

I was talking to one of my campers this summer about his own garden that he had, and he had beets in his garden and squash, and that was so cool to learn.  I want to have tomatoes and cucumbers and peas in my garden, and learn how to make pickles like my Great Grandmother, and have a bird house near by, and a water fountain, like my grandma’s, and a small bench like my and Rachel’s backyards, and take care of them.

Do I sound like a housewife yet?

I just have fond memories of Saturday afternoons spent out in the garden, it was a thing we would do, and I just loved it.  I want to be able to make a salad from vegetables that I grew.  I know I am really cool, and I don’t care.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Eight:  You Crazy Breed

Friends are people you can talk to when you’re in class, or when you see in the library can hold a conversation and have jokes and relate to each other.  Friends are people who know you well, and you can rely on each other for simple things and not feel guilty about them.  Friends will tell you the truth.

Good friends know you very well, well enough to know when something’s wrong from a text message or even from silence.  Good friends ask how they can help, and provide support at any time of the day.  Good friends are proactive, but admit their faults as well and share their own thoughts and feelings honestly, and will express when they need help too. 

Best friends don’t judge you, or take you for granted, and are supportive through every venture but provide good advice and biased opinions because they love you.  They will defend you, and protect you, and comfort you and have pity parties with you when you need them and slap you into reality when you need them.  They will travel with you (physically and metaphorically) and grow old with you.  Best friends are soul mates.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Seven:  Saturday

I have to write an entire paper on my reflections from the show, but I will say that it was a positive, wonderful experience.  I hadn’t been on stage in five years, and my return was very fun and I think I did a good job.  I loved getting to know the cast and crew, and made really good friendships with people that are so worth the hard work in themselves.  One thing I will say is that it was hard work.  It was a long process, and it was draining, and it was like I said worth it.  An experience that will stay with me forever, and I am grateful to have been a part of it.

I am proud of myself for doig it at all.  I remember sitting in my room in England thinking about what courses I wanted to take and wondering if I would want to audition for the mainstage, and part of me wishes I had tried earlier, or later, but the rest of me knows it was what was meant to be.  Everything happens for a reason, and this production is going to mean something to me for a long time.

I think that I am most proud that I took a chance and believed in myself.  I remember the first time we presented a scene infront of the rest of the cast and I was so nervous, and then the first time we got on stage with my lines memorised, and I went for it, and never looked back.  I put my whole everything into absolutely everything I do, I have a hard time not being 100%, and so I’ve gone for it since the start. 

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Six:  Zeus

I love this band.  I don’t mean to say it in the way where everyone says it about the Beatles or something, but Zeus is such a decent band because they remind me of the mid-sixties rock revolution, the wall of sound, the old guitars, the quality of the lead singer’s voice, and the ability to make me forget that I saw them in concert two summers ago and think that they were from long ago.  Most of my favourite bands are from the sixties and seventies, so its nice to find a band that embodies similar qualities.  I dig music, intensely, and I recommend Zeus, my favourite song of theirs is called “Marching Through Your Head” and it is absolutely fabulous.

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325

 Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Five:   Leaves in My River

While walking between my house and the theatre last week during the show run of my school’s mainstage performance I found myself thinking about the canging seasons.  Here autumn has kind of moped off and winter has struck itself down and frozen everything, but when there were still leaves on the ground I remember feeling them, stepping on them and hearing them crack beneath me.  Leaves are one of those universal things to me, trees are everywhere, and its hard to get around during the autumn months without finding them.  A constant, comfortable thing.  I was full of thoughts from last autumn, trying to find fallen leaves in London, and figuring how much I’ve changed since then.

Isn’t it strange that we talk about growing up, and we assume that once we are grown up that we will stop growing?  I always thought that once I was done being a teenager I would just be an adult, no transition, and be that adult, that person, for a long time.  Interestingly, I’ve found recently, that the person I had become in January post my European experience was lost now, this end of November, and I think a new me has come up,  I don’t hate her, but I don’t love her either.

So is it too soon to make a resolution?  I don’t think so.

I want to be better.  And I don’t mean nicer, or talk more with my family, or even take care of myself more, just try and nurture things and enjoy moments, and care less about what I believe is expected of me, and be more myself, be more stuck in my own self, and less pressured by other people.  Who cares if someone doesn’t like me?  I’ve always been so strong and not apologising for the way I am (for the most part, because I am a handful) but I really want to be who I am and confident in that person, because she’s great, and I forget that sometimes.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a long time.  Something that you’ll learn about me is that I can say things to myself, and to other people, and family and councellors but I will not really believe the change until I have written it down.  It sucks that I have to type it at all, but it is different for me than other people, and this helps. 

So the leaves (now long gone) that were around remind me of the girl I used to be, when I was young and naïve, or running around in a wind suit with Isti in our small town at the fall fairs, eating cotton candy and laughing with my eyes shut and head back, like I still do, and the kind of girl who loves the smell of wet leaves at the beach in October, and who knows who she is, and although that girl changes all the time, she still knows important things about herself, and she knows its okay to keep changing.  That’s life.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Four:  Wed

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about self-preservation.  That might sound bizarre, and to some it might seem like being an arts student I could be quite involved in my own self-preservation, as I continue to write blogs and aim to make theatre and put myself out there for my own benefit…or it would seem.  The thing about art is that as much as you do it to satisfy yourself you do it more to impact other people.  If anything I hope that at least one of these posts has moved someone to make a change or just…moved them at all.  I may write for myself but I write for others too, and that’s important.

But I was thinking during a lecture today about self preservation, and how the purpose of living and the industrial economic structure of our ives is to keep our species going.  People become doctors to aid in the health of citizens and cure the diseases that hinder their chances of living a long life.  People who study food science learn about how to better prolong our lives through eating better and more fruitful things to keep our species going.  Environmental studies talks about how to protect our planet…  Why?  So that we can live on it longer.  Everything, it seems, is about making our future better.  And that is fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but I hate it when I get a comment from someone who isn’t in the arts about me doing something that I am passionate about, like theatre for example, because it doesn’t contribute to the betterment of the world, and is only involved in myself.

First, that’s bullshit.  I am involved with my own work for a small percentage of my time here in my English major especially.  It may be about my analysis, but it is more about what my analysis says about the greater structure of humanity, and how is that any different from someone studying the environment and how to make it better?  I become a better person by understanding humanity, therefore aiding in the prolongment of it.

But what gets to me is that art, the things that I learn in theatre, for example, contribute to the greater good of humanity.  Theatre is alive, and is identifiable, and is not always for entertainment.  It is for a thought-provoking moment in order to reflect upon humanity and ultimately yourself.  I love a good Jersey Boys performance just as much as the next person, but it still says things about humanity between the show tunes, trust me.  I see the humanities less about self indulgence and doing something (arguably) “easy” and more about understanding an emerging humanity-based thought process:  the community.

This might have become convoluted, I’m sorry.

But really what I am trying to get at is what I do is just as important as someone in biology or economics.  I may not be on wWall Street or finding a cure for cancer, but I am contributing to the grand scheme of people trying to connect with other people.  What is the meaning of life, you ask?  The answer varies from individual to individual.  Some people say wealth, power, success, some would say love, family, material, and others might say it’s experiencing life in a vibrant way.  Whatever you see the meaning of life as, it’s hard to get around in this world without appreciating other people’s work and thoughts.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Three: Tuesday November 19, 2013

Oh how wonderful it is to be writing prose again.  I mean, I love being on stage, and I love writing analysis, and I love creatively pursuing stories and proposals, but more and more it is becoming clear that I love to write non-fiction prose more than anything.  I may not be the best at it quite yet, but just the feeling of being completely honest and raw makes it worth it, because it is like having a diary.

I am a week behind on blog posts, and so I am hoping…no, I will be caught up by December and I intend to have a flawless month.  One post for every day to end off the year.  These kinds of things, these projects, are so satisfying near the end.  I mean it becomes tedious to think of new and inventive ways to write about things after a while, but it al comes together when the beautiful 365 is shown at the top of the list at the end of December. 

Writing  rarely ever ceases to fascinate me, to keep me full and well, rarely ceases to challenge me, and rage against me.  My creativity is hardly ever cooperative, but my thoughts run rampant with it in response to beautiful word allocations that I have been granted.  Sometimes words aren’t my thing, but my thing never ceases to be exciting, and I love it.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Two:  HOME

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoRkntoHkIE

I was listening to an 8tracks playlist for motivation and inspiration this morning, in a paisley summer dress while writing reference proposals for my grad programs and Phillip Phillips came on with his song Home.  I mean, I’ve heard this before, and it’s a bit overplayed, but I couldn’t help but start to cry.  On the day that I am about to perform on stage for the first time in five years, in a theatre that has become my home not only because of how comfortable I am in it but by the people who have made it so, and in a city where I’m about to finish my undergraduate degree with incredible, amazing people, I just couldn’t take it.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about where my home is.  Where do I want to be?  I love Europe, and London is definitely one of my homes, but I just… It hit me today that I’ve finally made Guelph my home.  I feel like a belong here, and after four years that’s pretty substantial.  I am so grateful for the people I’ve met and the time I’ve spent here, the things I’ve done and the things I’ve accomplished. 

I am so proud right now.

I hope you find this or have found this.  This feeling that you belong, but also that you are important and can feel comfortable somewhere you thought you never would.  I am so grateful to the theatre program here for accepting me and encouraging me, this has just been so incredible.

I was going to wait until after the show tonight to write this post, but I couldn’t after I heard this song.  I can’t even explain how incredible this feeling is.  I am so grateful, and I can’t say anything else about it.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty-One:  V8 Splash

Jessie’s tips to staying healthy during essay month (and intense show tech/show week):

1.      Remember: WATER.  Always have a water bottle on you, all of the time.  Always have it full or atleast half, so that when you need to get a clear head you can have a little water break.  It’s not just athletics that this is important for, the brain needs hydration too!

2.      Balanced meals. This has been difficult for me lately but not too bad.  I suggest having a routine or planning ahead.  Since I’ve been on campus so much I’ve been eating in various area’s around campus, so I’ve tried my way around the whole place and have decided on what I like/works best for the show.  This works for study breaks too.  Always remember to be eating.

3.      Rest.  Relax.  Sleep.  If you have trouble sleeping at least get some rest.  Turn off the lights close your eyes take deep breaths day dream.  It is worth the break, getting off of your feet relieves stress but so does going for walks.  Take breaks, breathe, do whatever you can to stay sane.

4.      Remain Social.  Don’t isolate yourself.  It is easy to get into the habit of forgetting your phone, turning off facebook (probably a good idea during study time, though) and eating alone, but it is important to not shut the people in your life out.  Take coffee breaks, schedule meals together, take a night off and watch some tv it’s all about getting through this time together.  The cast likes to eat together sometimes, that’s a nice way to bond but also to eat prior to rehearsal.  Win-win. 

5.      Enjoy it.  Remember that university isn’t about working yourself thin, it’s about learning and experiencing things.  It’s supposed to be challenging and hard, but you’re not supposed to hate it to the point where you isolate yourself and stop eating.  You’re supposed to at least smile once a day.  My suggestion?  Take a moment during your day while you are doing work, on stage, back stage, writing a paper, scurrying from class to class or otherwise and remember why you’re here.  Why are you still going?  And reflect on how successful you are even just for being here in the first place.  Way to go.

As the show opens tomorrow I will refer back to this list (and other survival tips that are just for me to remember) in order to remain clear and sane.  I haven’t been on stage in five years, and this is one complicated and demanding show.  I am so proud to be involved in it, and so thankful to have such a supportive crew and cast to lean on and turn to when things are stressful. 

In the words of Nick, let’s Lietenant Dan this shit tomorrow night and blow off our legs.

This is for you, Paul, taking over your theatre one aspect at a time.

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Day Three Hundred and Twenty:  Knock-knock.

I’m not great at jokes.  I am not good at telling them, or quoting funny movies or anything, but sometimes I can be funny if I don’t try.  Trying is too hard sometimes, and so I leave it to the comedians.  For example I find Russell Brand hilarious but I can’t repeat any of his jokes to someone who doesn’t listen to his podcast because it turns out to not be as funny.  I don’t know what it is but unnatural comedic timing is out of my element. 

I’ve always wished I was funny, ever since I was little, and sometimes I try for a good one-liner and it fails and I blush and reprimand myself for trying at all.  That’s the thing about comedy it’s all risky, it’s challenging, and I fully respect people who can properly tell jokes.  I try not to be so hard on myself I’m good at a lot of other things.  But people who are naturally good at telling jokes have things to say at parties to break the ice or if there’s an awkward silence, I tend to just… Kind of…try at sarcasm.  It doesn’t go well.

I think I’m funnier when I’m making fun of myself or re-telling a funny story.  It doesn’t always end up coming off right, or relevant, or could be misunderstood, but I really would like to get better.  How do you get better?  You continue to try.  That’s the life I am leading…

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Day Three Hundred and Nineteen:  Chai tea Latte

Warm drinks are essential at the moment. I don’t know about you, but there is a laundry list of things that get me into the mood for the season, but the immediate intravenous seasonal input for me is the beverages that come with it.  I love chai tea lattes because they continue to smell like the holidays all year long, but is amplified now.  I love peppermint tea, because candy canes, and I love the hot chocolate kinds that come through because as heart-warming as other drinks are nothing is like sitting in an arm chair with a hot chocolate by a fire around the holidays.

You know what’s even better though?  Company.  Tea dates, warm beverage dates, chatting over a dark wooden table, arm chairs, jazz music.  I really just am in need of breaking out of this isolation.  Everyone is so busy during the day, and I am in the theatre all night, and I just miss being around people is all.  Having substantial conversations and drinking a tea.  Any takers?

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Three Hundred and Eighteen:  Jayzer

My mom calls me that.  She calls me Jessie, too, which I realised while getting my grad photo’s taken and the photographer asked what my name was and I went to say Jess and mum chirped in with Jessie and then he called me Jessie for the hour.  And it was weird.  I have a weird thing with my name.

I actually have always disliked my name, ever since I was “Jessica W” for the majority of my primary years and when I hit  high school I had the opportunity to introduce myself differently.  I went with Jess.  Teachers called me Jessica, and now it’s stuck.  Professionally I’m Jessica, anyone else knows me as Jess.  But my family knows me strictly by Jessie.  And I answer to Jessie, to them, but if someone tries it out… I don’t respond.  It’s not cool.  It just doesn’t work.

Then you get my siblings nicknames for me, like Jeb, Jed, Jedi, Blindy, all kinds of things.  It’s complicated to answer to these names to other people, and it sometimes irks me when people hear us talk like that, our nicknames, for example I call my sister Marissa Mid, and sometimes I refer to her as such in common slang without thinking, but if you talk about my sister to me and don’t say Riss or Marissa I have no idea who you’re talking about.  As universal as your name appears to be it is also an intimate relationship between you and the person you are talking to.

So what’s the point of all this?  I sometimes wonder if a name is important, really, to developing your identity.  I was talking with someone recently about names, and we were very interested in the fact that you are born and moments later named, without knowing who you are personality-wise.  Does the name make the person?  Some people change their name.  I have grown to love my name, because it suits me, but when I was younger I swear I thought I could’ve been Sailor Moon and it would’ve worked better.  Interestingly enough I enjoy hearing why people are named what they are because it says something about them.

But it doesn’t, because you don’t name yourself. Your name is given to you like your sex and other genes, uncontrollable.  But this is controlled about another person, your parents inherently give you your name, your superficial identity at birth,and you’re stuck with It for your life.  So bizarre, a massive part of your identity is determined before you can comprehend your own fingers.

To this I say grow into your own identity. I suppose you can change your name if you wish, but your name is not all of your identity, it is only an identifier.  Like my hair colour, my glasses, I am stuck with Jessica, but by golly am I going to embrace it.

Jayzer.

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Day Three Hundred and Seventeen:  Real Art Takes Courage and Honesty

I’m at a stand still with my one act play.  I haven’t read it over in a few days, and I have some very real changes to make, but I need something to happen.  Sounds like life, right?  Something substantial, something to write about, to write home about.  Something essential needs to happy, and at this point the heartbeat of the story comes from the characters and what they say to eachother and the only external force driving their actions is pain, and since I’m trying to stick to realism I am having a hard time figuring out a solution for action in order to…get them moving, ish.  There are so many revelations you can make in a half-hour one-act that will be substantial enough for a story, for a theatrical drama, for a piece.  I need something honest.

Have you ever gotten lost looking for honesty?  It is one of the hardest and yet most pure forms of journeys, looking for something that may or may not be there, but the truth exists somewhere.  I think that the honesty in this piece is there, it is I know it is, but it’s beyond my reach at this point.  I’m thinking that by the middle of next week my stress points will be reaching the level where I usual get epiphanies.  Now, if you don’t believe in epiphanies I think that’s silly but in the event that that word is taboo it really is just a moment of clarity.

Clarity is beautiful, and wonderful, but sometimes I think I’m being clear and brilliant and read my thoughts over later and struggle to see what was so…interesting.  Honest or not, someone is going to have to want to read it.

Funny thing is it’s my confidence that separates me from what I believe people will want to read and what is only interesting to me.  Like this post, for example.  Things like this fascinate me.  I love to write about the act of writing, why use a specific word?  Why intentionally put punctuation, or something of the kind?  What are the thought processes of authorship, editing and publications?  What motivates anyone to write anything down, from to-do lists to poetry to academic analysis.  Writing itself is interesting enough, why can’t anyone honestly put down words on a page about putting words down on a page?  And not in a Stephin King, meta-writing a horror novel about a writer thing, but truly just talk about how it is to write.  These things probably exist.

At any rate my play is not done, and won’t be for a while, I find that most of my work may never be finished until my own finality, but I’d rather end on a positive note:  looking forward to finishing this draft of this play I intend to really understand the characters and get them doing something.  Nobody wants to watch or listen to a play where nothing ever happens.  Or I guess you could Beckett it out, if you really want, I guess.

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Day Three Hundred and Sixteen:  Darling,

I miss being called love.  That sounds weird to anyone who wasn’t living in England with me, but they called us all Love, or Darling, a lot of Miss and Madame, and a lot of just…sweetness, really.  I like being surrounded by theatre people because we are a community that generally loves eachother thoroughly, and lately I’ve been back in the bliss of being called Darling, and hugged on a very regular basis, and among a lot of other incredible things about tech week this whole community, joking, strength passion thing is just fabulous.  We all love this, and we all support eachother, and we all rock, a lot. 

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Day Three Hundred and Fifteen:  Good Old Otis.

Sometimes I forget how odd my favourite movies are.  I think I wrote a post a while about my favourite movies, or atleast I believe I did over my trip to Cuba because I wrote a series of favourites things…  But I love old movies, good movies, big and small movies, films that are important, films that suck to everyone but me.  The other day I rediscovered an amazing song called “Pretty in Pink” by the Psychadellic Furs, and Saturday evening I watched Eternal Sunshine of the spotless Mind for the first time.  Needless to say, I am rediscovering my love for physically scenes.

This might seem odd to you, but in all honesty if you’ve seen either Pretty in Pink or Eternal Sunshine you’ll understand.  Let us begin with today’s inspiration:  Otis.

Duckie Dale is in the record store in which Molly Ringwald (her name in the film escapes me) works and as Otis’s “Try a little Tenderness” erupts from the speakers Duckie dances, in his cons, and his lust, to impress dear old Molly.  He dances around the stores, up stairs, on the floor, all along to the jazzy funk tune that Otis lays down.  I love this scene for a lot of reasons, but primarily because of the physicality.  The way in which his shoes hit the floor, hands grasp the floor when he crawls, it is so primal, so real, so important and incidental, these are things that someone who has seen the movie a bunch of times would notice I guess, but the physicality is brilliant.

Next is Sunshine.  Jim Carey plays Joel, and Jim Carey is already a physical actor, physical comedian, but this film isn’t a comedy, it is a drama, and inside of it Joel has specific physical attributes that are fascinating.  Head movements, eye movements, posture, there is a scene where they visit a memory of his childhood and he curls under the kitchen table in his pajama’s and refuses to come out with his head between his knee’s.  It is, again, so primal, and so beautiful.  It embodies the moment perfectly, but also shows his composure as a character-delving deeper, introducing simple aspects that make or break what he’s getting across.  Fascinating stuff.

While writing my One Act Play for my playwrighting class right now I strive to find a moment of physical significance similar to these two scenes that stuck with me over the years (or in Eternal’s case the past few days).   It becomes difficult when everything can be narrated, but there are specific moments that can be…narrated physically. 

Does anyone else find it ironic that I am more attracted to scene of physicality that I cannot necessarily see easily on stage?  Because I do.  Way ta go.

x

314

Day Three Hundred and Fourteen:  On the Cusp

It’s not a breakdown, it’s a tidal wave.  I feel like jumping.  Not off anything or into anything, but just in place.  I think that’s how to best explain how I feel.  I feel like jumping.  Not dancing, not singing not doing work I just feel like jumping.  I feel like stomping on this place where I am and making it disappear into the ground below me.  I wish I could jump it out of my system.  Like, come on, just jump it out.  Jump on it.  Jump around.  All of that jazz, just JUMP!  It isn’t like I’m going crazy or anything, we’ve known this for a long time, it just becomes less organised in here (my head) when I jump.

So I’ve embraced it.

I jump on every task that I had on my to-do list today.  I am jumping over the idea of writing for playwrighting, and I am jumping on holiday idea’s.  I like to jump, jump in spot, jump over on under, jump under, how fascinating, wouldn’t it be great to just jump under things?  Jumping under things seems like I wouldn’t even have to acknowledge that they exist, to jump under, to jump under the tunnels of those things, to jump around them isn’t enough, because then I’d know they were there, but jumping under…

I’d like to jump under Monday.

I think if I jumped right now the person living below my room would not appreciate it, so instead I will talk about how satisfying jumping would be.  Wouldn’t it just?  Jump.  Jump under the complicated, gravity-filled issues of today and jump into sleeping for the night.  I’m not avoiding, because unfortunately jumping doesn’t erase anything, these things will all be here tomorrow, when I won’t be able to jump any longer.

I think I just need to face things, right?  Is this too personal for my blog, now?  Someone told me a few weeks ago that when they read my blog it felt really personal, I feel like I’ve drifted away from writing my advice-focused blogs and into…deeper things?  Things that I wouldn’t care to publish.  Is that a problem?  Do I care?  Should I?  Do you?  I don’t know anymore.  My blogs tend to reflect my mood, or I try to make them that way, is that an issue?  Am I a bad blogger?  Probably.  I’m bad at keeping up with the posts and making them relevant to other people.  Here, let me try to make this all relevant to you:

Do not procrastinate.

Because that’s the function of this post for me at the moment, aren’t you happy I made that connection?  Perfect.  Moving on, jump on.

x

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Day three Hundred and Thirteen:  Considering the Chill

 In the air I have decided on principle to not bring out my Big Girl winter coat until after Rememberance day.  I don’t know why this is a rule when it is definitely cold enough to bring it out now, but I will just layer until after Monday.  The Christmas fairy lights will go up in my room next weekend pre-show stress-killing, and after the show is over I will start my Christmas rounds, my Holiday routines, because by then most of my assignments will have settled down.  Until then I’m coasting on the idea that it is coming, imminent holiday numbing is the name of the game. 

It’s hard to sustain motivation when things like the holidays are approaching.  I think I need to be motivated in so many ways that it drains me to just think about the work that still needs to get done.  Imagine a world where it took little effort to get up and do things…  Oh wait, that was last fall, not this fall.

Things are changing, I’m getting older, experiences have new meaning to me, and of all of the things I’ve learned its to take things as they come.  I cannot prepare for anything at this point, can’t be anticipating anything, anyone, to be the way that I would like them to be.  Wouldn’t it be nice to just have things your own way?  Oh life, how precarious and frustrating you have become. 

X

312

Day Three Hundred and Twelve: Bowie Confidence in a Double Bowie Body,

Quite literally.

Walking around the Bowie exhibit I found myself crying a lot.  Not just because it was all so overwhelmingly wonderful, but because I quite literally feel like I fit right there.  Fawning over Bowie is the most I ever feel like I fit in, his music makes the world make sense to me (how bizarre is that?) and just his persona, his masks, it reminds me of me, reminds me of my confidence, of my personality of me.  It hurts me so much to identify so much with someone who was in his prime over thirty years ago.  People say it all the time, but I can feel it in my bones:  I was meant to be born in 1954, where I could’ve been at a similar age to Bowie in his prime, actually witnessed my favourite bands live, my favourite movements, my favourite fashions, films, my favourite moments.  I guess it’s up to me to remain in that mindset here in 2013.

What I really wanted to talk about today was my insecurities.  That’s a hard topic to relate to Bowie, but for me it’s more of a…. confidence, thing.  I’m a pretty confident person (mostly, or so it seems) but I really do just go with what I’ve got.  The thing about identifying with Bowie’s stage confidence is that he did get nervous but he did it anyway.  There was this photograph of him yesterday that was in real size of him in black skinny jeans and a white dress shirt around the mid nineteen-eighties and I realised how skinny he was.  Imagine, being confident and skinny, it’s like my heaven.  Not to mention skinny, confident and Bowie.  Imagine.

So the thing with confidence, and that whole bit of self-esteem is that I am confident regardless of what I look like.  I walk out in the morning in whatever I decided to put on, no makeup, my hair could look like anything my body looks like whatever, and I am confident because on the inside (cheese warning) I feel fabulous.  That’s what matters, right?  What you think of yourself?  You know what’s fascinating?  It actually doesn’t matter what you think about me, you the reader, because I think I’m fabulous.

And that isn’t conceited or self-indulgant, it’s confidence.  It’s positivity.  It’s believing in me for once, and trusting that I know what’s best and if I don’t I’ll figure it out with a little help.  I love the way I look, and that’s what matters.  All I can encourage you to do, you the reader, is to love yourself for who you are (cheese warning again) because you’re perfect if you see it yourself.

Jesus I’m blind and even I can see my potential (most of the time.)

X

311

Day Three Hundred and Eleven: The Forecasts are Changing

Looking at the Weather Netowrk lately I’ve found that instead of “Chance of Showers” it has changed to “Chance of Flurries” and it’s sort of exciting but at the same time seems really soon for snow.  Haven’t we gotten back into proper seasonal weather?  It’s been fall-coat weather for two weeks now, rain boots, but not winter jacket and snow booties time yet!  I am not sure if I’ve had enough of autumn, I’m not ready for winter yet.

With the show and the semester picking up and grad school stuff I’ve found myself not getting enough activity.  I walk to classes and have my workout things twice a week but I think now that the weather is changing and I spend a lot of time in the same spaces (the theatre and my bedroom, mostly) I think I’m going to try to get up early and go for a walk before the snow takes over.  I just want a last look at the leaves, the smell of fall, before the Christmas-lights go up and the smell of gingerbread latte’s become so overwhelming that I cave and have my one for the season.

I think the great outdoors around the colder weather is important for me.  In England we were constantly outside, it was hard not to be, and I remember being down by the Thames a lot.  Maybe I’ll spend some more time around the Speed River, and when I head back home in December the Grand River, get my river fix before they too freeze over and the only river fix I’m going to get is a date with the moon.

It’s complicated being a Canadian and dealing with the weather changes.  In Toronto yesterday I was wearing a fall jacket and a hat and another sweater underneath, and it was perfect temperature, but it was also blowing in my face and not snowing but cold enough for it.  Weather is so tricky, what a piece of work that weather is, can’t it just remain consistent for once?  Do us all a favour and figure it out.

X

310

Day THREE Hundred and Ten:  Got the numbers right this time.

This sentence is for Judith because she suggested I write something very long and important so that I wouldn’t have to write a long blog post but I think that she forgot a few things like:  sentences are tricky and making a whole paragraph from a run-on is difficult; people don’t necessarily enjoy reading my blogs anyway, but it would be neat if I could do it properly; and despite how hard you try or long you work on something it inevitably, like this blog and like many other things in life they will always have to finish, end, eventually, but for now I think I still have fifty-five days of this blog left and I am going to fill those days with content, juicy thoughts, interesting tidbits and advice and most of all love because that’s what I do best!

X

309

Day Two Hundred and Nine:  Dancing With Myself,

Some days I worry that Billy Idol is my spirit animal.  I also am pretty sure that I am in desperate need of blowing off some steam.  Like a walk, or a run, or going dancing or just something because right now I’ve got too much pent up inside of me.  Wouldn’t it be great if instead of nap time (or in conjunction with) a dance break was offered?  I feel like me skanking down the hallways of MACK might get some awkward looks…  At this point I’m convinced I wouldn’t care.

At home I have a room big enough that if I need to just dance it out for a half hour or something I can do that, but here I have a tiny creaky room, and I don’t think my housemates would appreciate my eighties glam rock at ten thirty in the morning.  I think I’m going to have to grab a walk to campus early and get the volume up.  It might not be great for my hearing but who needs all five senses anyway?  I’m already down one might as well shoot them all down.

I also want a milkshake.

This has now become a post in order for me to figure out what it is I really do want/need at this moment.  I just finished writing an assignment for my Canadian theatre course, which I had been putting off so that’s nice to be almost finished, and heading off to class soon, and then a busy day of meetings and then rehearsal.  I woke up so tired this morning, I think I really do need that time to blow off some steam and recharge energy-wise. 

My ENERGY comes from a bunch of things.  Protein, mostly, but also from my mental state that day.  If I wake up (like today) still tired, I know that I need more time to relax, even if it’s just lay in bed with my eyes closed listening to episodes of Sex and the City, but with rehearsal and readings that doesn’t come luxuriously.  So where else can I grab energy?  Milkshakes?  Other people?  Anyone want to share their energy?  I think mine comes from other people, but also music.  If I’m listening to the right music for my mood I am more likely to get work done (like an hour ago when I started that assignment listening to a chill autumn 8tracks, it’s done now!) and now I’ve moved onto an eighties mix because that’s what I need.  Life right now is all about judging what I need right now.  How selfish.

But it is necessary.

I am starting to really understand that taking care of yourself isn’t selfish, it’s protecting yourself from getting sick and hurt and all kinds of other things.  So what’s my advice for today do you think?  Take care of yourselves, eat properly, sleep enough, take breaks don’t push yourself and just trust that you know what’s best.  And if you need to talk to someone about it.  I have that problem sometimes, where I’m dealing with some stuff and keep it inside for too long (ie. Last night where I almost burst into tears halfway through rehearsal…) but it’s important!  All these things are important I promise.

And as essay-writing season approaches (for the majority of BA) and show-month approaches (for us losers in the Theatre) I wish us all a very happy, healthy, and focused month of November.

Also,  HAPPY BONFIRE DAY!  It’s been a year since we found the most beautiful date spot in London, got kicked out of parliament because there was a “meeting” (aka people were taking up the rooms so no more shenanegans could happen) we found that really yummy tasting beer in that empty pub and walks the majority of the city’s Thames.  Fab night, fab friends, so thankful I had that opportunity.

Alright I’m done!

x

308

Day Three Hundred and Eight:  Thrills and Skillz

One thing about being an artist that always gets to me is the confidence that your work is good enough.  Is my work good enough?  Is my talent enough to carry me through?  Do I even want to be an artist and dependent on my talent and creativity?  I’ve been having numerous conversations with people lately about the nature of independent creativity and if it is enough.  Will my talent ever make up for my lack of confidence?  I just don’t have any of the answers.  Is it okay to rely on yourself?  Is that…okay?

I’ve been so concerned about the unknown future ahead of me, where and what am I going to be/doing this time next year?  I saw a quotation recently that really got to me:

“You can’t swim across the ocean without losing sight of the shore.”

I’ve recently just thrown my will to the wind.  I am not going to worry too much about the future because I know whatever it is is going to be awesome and exciting and an adventure, and I need this.  I need to lose myself in order to understand what it is I need to be doing.

It will become clear, right?

So as for my creativity, my muse, my inspirations, my writing I want to trust in it but have a hard time being confident in it.  Talent isn’t constant, as much as we convince ourselves that it is, but as long as you are passionate you will end up where you need to be.  What needs to happen in my own realm of creativity is a change of heart.  I need to nurture this creativity instead of second guessing it.  In talent we trust.

x

307

Day Three Hundred and Seven:  Overwhelming Joy.

Sitting stage right during our second run in rehearsal today I glazed over after being very un-confident from the first run.  It hadn’t gone super well, and to be honest the second run didn’t go so hot for me either, I forgot a handful of crucial lines and was messed up with some blocking, and after four hours of being in the theatre today that glazed moment came with joy.  How bizarre, how strange, since I’ve spent a good chunk of my time here at Guelph in that theatre, and as I said in my talk about Paul, it’s no wonder that I am attracted to courses that tend to spend lots of time in the George Luscombe theatre, but today it hit me so hard I could hardly pay attention to the performance I was trying to perform in.

I love theatre.  I loved being there, in that moment, I was grinning I was so passionate about what I was going I just couldn’t not think about the bliss I was in at that moment.  I messed up my next scene and you know what?  I didn’t care because I was just so happy.  How strange, to be so happy that I messed up something and didn’t care.  To be so in the moment that I missed it and…didn’t care.  Just writing about it makes me glaze over again, how amazing that feeling was, to feel so….to feel like I belong.  I’ve never felt so sure that I was meant to be somewhere than in the theatre.

And I’m sure I won’t be this happy there forever or even until the end of the week, but I just needed to take another moment to be in bliss in this feeling that makes me feel so great.  I needed it this weekend especially, but more importantly to get me back on track to what’s important.  What is it that I want to do in my life?  Be happy.  Infect others with happiness and support people.  Help, make a difference, and be creative and independent.  Inspire.  I want to inspire this feeling in other people, to encourage other people to spend their lives doing things that they believe will enhance life for everyone.

Life man, is brilliant.

x

306

Day Three Hundred and Six:  Good friends share their oatmeal,

Being a frugal student I find myself hardly making it out to the grocery store when I may be in dire need, and at this point I am at my very lowest.  I still have apples, eggs, butter, but the thing that I’ve run out of is my oatmeal and when I run out of my oatmeal I am the epitome of grumpy.  Luckily I have a wonderful room mate who took pity on me and shared a bowl.  Here it is, kids:  True friends deal with you at your best and worst, good house mates share their oatmeal when you’re in need.  Snacks between students are the best friendship makers.  What a difference a simple apple or granola bar can make when you’re at your wit’s end during finals week.  My time happens to be at the beginning of show-month and essay-month.  My focus is just elsewhere.

Needless to say share your wealth, people.  If you have something and have the ability to share it, do it.  Something I learned early on in my university career was to never turn down something free, but never forget to return the favour when you yourself are at an advantage.  I’m lucky to live in such a community as Guelph, where we all support eachother so well.

Thanks Bre, for sharing that ¾ cup of oatmeal, you’ve made my day.

x

305

Day Three Hundred and Five:  This time last year.

On this day in 2012 I wrote the following blog post:

http://jessiegoesabroad12.tumblr.com/post/34791044366/tonight-we-saw-our-boys-at-the-duchess-theatre-in

And if you went there, and didn’t read but saw the picture, you will know exactly how much I miss London right now.  We saw the play Our Boys and then waited to meet the Boys.  And it was terrifying, and exhilarating, and I was the first to go up and asked Matt to sign my Marauder’s map and then got pictures and blushed a lot and then went home on a cloud.  That day, this day three hundred and sixty five days ago, was seriously one of the best days ever.  A fabulous play, meeting someone so iconic in my childhood, being in London, it was just bliss.  I know I said that a lot during that trip but it seriously was incredible.  It’s moved past nostalgia now, I just feel like I must go back, immediately.

Those are my thoughts for the day.

x