Hey y’all. So sorry for the delayed posting on you, but this has just not been my best day.
Last night and tonight, I’ve had just the worst cramps; yes, lady issues, indeed, indeed, whatever. So I spent the day in bed with my heating pad and a ton of ibuprofren. (What, you can’t see my “Oh god, I must hold my torso to keep it from falling apart” body-language in the image above?) (Ugh. How can I be ravenous and nauseated at the same time?)
This forced bed rest has had the necessary and good side effect of a little extra headspace. Here’s what’s going on.
Guys, let me just be upfront with you; I have been in such a foul, foul mood the past week and a half. Yes, I’d like to chalk that up to a combination of weather and hormones, plus the static of work (which is changing soon, but not quite soon enough); but it’s also just about the impending tidal wave of change that’s coming. I’m worried about having enough time, money, energy to move my entire life and start this amazing commitment. But I didn’t want to tell you that. This is my little frivolous fashion blog; this is where I escape the reality of my situation, aside from whatever it is I decided to put on that day. ( . . . . something grabbed from my closet, mais oui.) (Or someone else’s, recently, huzzah.)
One of my favorite books ever is Susan Jane Gilman’s Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress, and in its last chapter she discusses the absolute terror of getting what you truly want. (She’s an amazing and hilarious writer, bee tee dubs.) That’s sort of how I’m feeling about this now; what do you mean you want me to move to a tropical paradise and do nothing but the thing I love all the time? But . . . but . . .but I’m so good at cheerfully getting through blizzards, and making my downtime at work into playtime or extra-work-on-theatre time. I’ve gotten by long enough on big parts in small theatres and small parts in big theatres, and now you want me to be a permanent part of the company at an awesome, amazing institution? And . . . I’m sorry, but . . . you want me to leave Chicago? But, but – but – okay, so, it snows nine months of the year and the rest of the time I get so pissed at myself for not having air conditioning, and yes, the CTA smells like pee most of the time and like B.O the rest, and okay sure it is kind of goddamn annoying when there’s a Cubs game and I can’t fit into the train or on weekends when my leafy-green neighborhood is taken over my yuppies and I can’t get to my effing table at brunch without bumping into fifteen strollers but . . . . and yes the storefront theatres are all grubby, and there are ants in the prop crackers and no one’s cleaned the bathroom and we’re playing to a house of nine, but . . .
This is my home.
And tragically, this past few months of move-planning have kind of robbed me of enjoying it.
(Also; now that I sort of, eerily, will be living the life I have dreamed of – at least for two years – doesn’t that mean I should be, like, perfect? Shouldn’t I drop 20 pounds and do Pilates every day and eat organic yogurt and wheat germ and mung beans and oats and read the New York Times each morning before I slick my glossy hair into a ponytail and put on lululemon pants and go to rehearsal? Where I will know all my lines, my blocking, and my specifics for that scene. And bring sliced honeydew melon and organic honey for everyone, along with homemade granola. Of course.)
Life should be slowing down in a few weeks (I’m leaving my day job – hurray! – though it will be replaced with other, more temporary jobbery), and I’m so excited about having a bit more air in my day. For there on out, though – it’s nine weeks til I permanently leave Chicago. And I want to revel in my beloved adopted home- city.
So. Again. Forgive me if posting’s a little more sporadic; redhead just needs to stop moving as quickly for a while. Don’t worry – I’ll still document everything – and honestly, blogging remains one of my favorite parts of the day. (I love getting to write and share and bounce ideas around with all y’all.) (And I will. not. go. shopping.) (But I will eat this whole pizza right now. Yes I will.)
All that said – whew – that felt better.
Mixing and matching: