A couple of weeks ago, I went to my local Red Racks with a $20 budget. Here is what I found!
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Junie B. Jones ended its run on Saturday. Now I get to enjoy some time off before I jump back into my creative projects again. In less than two weeks, I will be in Naples, Florida with my mom and her side of the family. On one hand, it feels good to have a long break coming up. On the other hand, there is this tiny little voice that whispers to me, “Keep working. You need to be doing something. You need to be productive and always be producing. If you’re not creating, you’re wasting time.”
This voice is always hard on me. It doesn’t have to be about creativity. It comes out when I’m stressed, angry, anxious, when I’m trying on a cute outfit and it’s too small, when I feel unattractive, when my memory blanks and I forget something I used to remember very well. It likes to remind me of my flaws, my failures, add things to my “to-do” list, and replay past moments of my life where someone made me feel like garbage.
I’ve been regularly seeing a therapist to cope with the last seven months and we’ve been working together to reprogram my line of thinking. After nearly 29 years of life, I’m finally recognizing how little I’ve honored my body. I don’t treat myself well. I’m mean in my self-talk and I eat terrible food. I drink a ton of caffeine, which I’ve known for years how it’s bad for my heart (I have tachycardia) but it’s also now proving to be affecting my digestive system.
Earlier today, I came across a quote I liked. It said, “You can’t pour from an empty cup. Take care of yourself first.” I know I’ve heard it before, but for some reason didn’t resonate with me until now. To an extent, I think I really heard it because I am finally ready to take care of myself properly. I’m ready to do the work necessary to honor my body. I’m ready to tell that sneaky little voice to shut up, because I’m not doing anyone any favors by running myself ragged. I’m done making myself a martyr for no reason. I finally get it: There’s no glamour in being a workaholic.
I am ready for a break. 2018 has been a quite a year and I’m ready to put it to bed with a fresh, clean slate with 2019.
I find myself with writer’s block tonight.
This weekend flew by with the opening weekend of Junie B. Jones. In the show, I play Phillip Johnny Bob, who is Junie B’s stuffed animal elephant. Being a stuffed elephant has been interesting. Children are either really afraid of you or think you’re awesome. My costume has been incredibly hot! On opening night, I drank four bottles of water and I never had to pee. It was ridiculous how much I had sweat. But it’s been worth it. We’ve gotten through one round of shows, making us more than halfway over with our run.
I’ve done a substantial amount of theatre this year. It’s been good for me as a writer because it’s provided great insight and perspective, which I will then use when writing sketches/plays/stories. It’s also shown me what I’m made of. If you had told me seven years ago that in one calendar year I would be able to memorize numerous lengthy Shakespeare monologues, be in the ensemble and be the understudy for two important roles in Annie, and also be able to flop around as a stuffed elephant toy, I would’ve never believed it. But hey, I did it. And two of those three shows I did it under extreme mental duress and with serious personal issues, so I’m pretty proud of myself.
Also, I want to take this moment that tonight (Sunday, December 2nd) I have been sober for 21 weeks. It’s a good feeling. I made the decision to stop drinking in July and I’ll be honest, there were many times since then where life wore me down enough where I was tempted to drink again. But I found a way to wait and power through. My overall decision to stop drinking was so that I could properly feel and process what’s been going with all my personal issues. It too has been worth it. And I’m proud of me for that as well.
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3 am; Couldn’t sleep when I remembered my bike was still locked up outside; I briefly entertained the idea of leaving it overnight but my anxiety talked me into going for a ride instead; the wind felt cool on my skin and was able to quell some of the tightness in my chest; I have so much shit to do tomorrow; I continued to pedal while the music played Leonard Skynard and Brandi Carlile on my phone tucked away in the shelf bra of my black camisole; the more I pedaled, the less I felt the odd crawling sensation in my shoulder muscles I tend to feel when someone is thinking of me; many times I tried to go home only to be redirected with a small flick of my wrist; what does the seven of cups reversed mean in a tarot reading about a man’s feelings for me; I changed the music to that new Katy Perry song, seeking something more upbeat; I pedaled; I thought about what to do next; I thought about letting go; It’s time to move on and stop wasting your time thinking about him; I finally made my way back home and brought my bike inside; It’s time to let go; I fell asleep at 4am.