Home again

I'm not sure why it is that I have so much trouble blogging when I'm home in Minneapolis. I'm halfway through my time back now, and life has settled (as much as it can) into a comfortable rhythm of work and play. Sometimes I start to feel a little panicked, when I look at my list of "people to see" and realise there's no way I'll get to them all, or to get to them all as much as I'd like, but far be it from me to complain about popularity (though I'm tempted).

It's been really lovely to reconnect with people. I'm struck how we all look the same, but different. There's something in the bearing, in the way of expressing ourselves, that's progressed from the last time we spoke. Dare I say it - some kind of maturity. Almost like we're growing up.

But then, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm working at Dunn's again, which is a blessing, and I'm able to appreciate it because I know I'm not here for long. That's the case with Minneapolis, as well, to an extent - because I know I'm leaving again soon, I can truly enjoy the old routines and patterns without feeling as though I'm stuck in them.

And the more things stay the same, the more they change... Gem and Mark got married last weekend. My dear friend S has filed for divorce. Megan Smith nee Fee is pregnant. Landmarks change, businesses close, new friends are encountered, old friends move away.

But it's still home. Even as London is home, even as I have no base these days. It's good to be back.

Leaving the threshold

It's 2:20am GMT and I just finished packing. In ten hours I'll be on a plane winging its way towards Minneapolis. The fact that I'm exhausted right now is probably something of a blessing: as it is, I don't have the energy to actually absorb the fact that I'm coming home, leaving home. If I did, I'd probably be in tears.

It's been an incredible and full week. Full of friends and dashing about and quiet moments of sudden realisation. Monday I went to LISPA to see the presentations of the current students, and it threw my world upside down in a completely unexpected way. Watching this new batch of people (one of whom is Dad!) finding their way within that community, that home, made me realise for the first time that I'm not a part of it anymore. I mean, I'll always be a part of the LISPA community, but that experience of really being in it, of breathing and struggling with and rejoicing in it every day, is over. It was... how can I put this?

It was like standing in the threshold of a house you used to live in, feeling the warmth from the fire on your face and hearing the laughter from within. At your back is a cold wind and the wide open scary dark adventure of the world. And you know that though you're always welcome to visit that house that used to be yours, you'll never really be able to step beyond the threshold, and that it's home to another family now. And that your next step is to turn, and walk away, and forge a path through the darkness.

The future is such a mystery. And it astounds and terrifies me. I have a ticket back to London on 10th Jan and a role in a show, but not all the performance dates are set yet and after I arrive I have no other ticket, no other plan or knowledge of what the coming months will bring. In a way, I expect a lot from these seven weeks in Minneapolis - I expect that I'll get a lot of new information about what it's like to be back, what it's like to be in the States in general, what's possible t/here. And I expect that all this new information will help me make some decisions about where my place in the world is in this moment, about where it needs to be, even if only for the next six months.

Two things:

Back in London now, heading to Berlin in less than twelve hours. Probably won't have internet access there, so don't expect any correspondence before the weekend. London has been awesome though - it's lovely to be back, however briefly.

Also, for a new and exciting perspective on London and LISPA, everyone should read Dad's blog. (!)

Transatlantic

I leave Portugal tomorrow. Everyone keeps saying that I'll be back, and there's a good chance I will be. But there's still a melancholy in departures, however timely they may be. I cried a little when I woke up this morning, and got misty again at the end of lunch with Jose and Fatima and Victor and Sandra. Now, I'm feeling calm, secure. A little sad, but ready.

It's been quite a month. Lots of highs, some lows. Lots of laziness and recharging. A bit of reflection, though there might have been more. Lots of laughter, my fair share of tears. And did I mention the food? Because there's been a lot of food.

Tomorrow I hop on a plane back to London. I'll be there for less than 48 hours before I'm back at the airport to fly to Berlin. I'll spend four days there with Baerbel, then it's back to London for a full week. And then home! Minneapolis!

I've been thinking a lot about my imminent arrival home. It will be so good for me to reconnect with that place, with my family and friends there. I think it will help me to better understand what my next step should be. Which city or town I'll lay claim to as my newest address. Whether it's stateside or abroad.

It was incredible to watch the election unfold from a living room in Esmoriz, Portugal. Martha and Diogo were both in bed by four, and it was only Aram and I on the couch when he came out to make that speech, both of us rapt, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I've been thinking about my relationship to America, and my relationship with being American. How the first time I properly went abroad on my own was in the summer of 2002, and I ended up raging against Bush and his policies to an Australian named Martin in the basement bar of one Hostel Aphrodite in Athens. How time spent in Uganda made me recalibrate what it meant to be an American in the world - how they saw it as a badge of honour, and a mark of pride. The evolution of my intonation when asked where I was from - how I used to mumble "the States", or tack on an "unfortunately", and pull a face, and in the past months have said it as a statement, clearly. How in the last year I've begun to own my origins. And how this last election has given me renewed pride, excitement, a new outlook on the position of myself and my country in the world. It's my country, America. How wonderful to finally be able to say that with pride.

And Portugal's a pretty special place, too.

Full of food and love

It's been a really lovely week. The four of us feel more and more like a family these days - spending evenings joking around or playing Uno, and taking trips in pairs or threesomes into Porto or Espinho. We're also part of a larger family - every weekend we have lunch or dinner with Diogo's parents at least twice, and sometimes we're joined by his uncle and his girlfriend as well. Last weekend we went to his uncle's for sardines on the grill and ended up gathered around the piano, singing. Last night we tore through about three bottles of wine and had squid and prawn and crab rice stew. Today was what Diogo calls a Meat Fest - about eight different kinds of pork and beef with rice and vegetables. I ate pigs ear! Cartilage and all! And then bean cake and macaroons and pineapple and port and whiskey and coffee for dessert. Yes, all of them. Food is love in Portugal, and I am most definitely feeling the love.

And I leave a week from tomorrow, which is bittersweet. But as Martha told me today, it's always better to leave a place before you want to go. And Diogo's mom told me today that if I ever want to hop on a plane and come to Paramos for lunch, I'm always welcome.

As far as the piece is concerned, it being Portugal and everything being quite relaxed, we're still not sure whether we're going to be able to have the space for a performance at the end of this week. What we do know, however, is that WE'RE GOING TO BE ON PORTUGUESE NATIONAL TELEVISION ON THURSDAY. What?! How did that happen?! I'll tell you...

Remember how I mentioned that Diogo won a local competition a few weeks back with a clown piece he did? Well, one of Diogo's dad's friends works in television and asked Diogo if he would come on this live morning talk show to perform his piece. Of course he said yes, and gave them his CV, on which he mentioned that he was currently working on a project with a group of international artists (us!). Seeing this, the people from the TV station called him and asked if we could all come along so they could talk to us. On TV. Broadcast nationally. Live.

So yeah. On Thursday morning we're getting all prettied up and going to Porto to be on TV.

Life is frickin insane. And totally totally great.

And of course, mixed in with all things Portuguese is the great excitement and anticipation inherent in election week. People here are really excited about it. Needless to say, I am too. I don't anticipate getting any sleep at all on Tuesday night - the results will start coming in at 11pm GMT, and by 6am Wednesday the verdict should be in. What an exciting time to be alive. How full of potential, these days. How joyful and hopeful my heart.

Coming up roses

After a considerable off-balance, we've seemed to have found our balance again as a group. Thank goodness - we were all going a bit nutso for a sec there, and it wasn't doing anyone any good. But you need to push things too far, sometimes, in order to find the balance, and at least for the moment, we're back.

We've also managed to find a narrative and a theme and a structure for the piece! Hooray! And not a moment too soon - we've only got a week left of rehearsal before we ostensibly present something, and so we'll have to work hard to tie all the loose ends together. We've got our work cut out for us, but I believe we can do it.

(Sorry this entry is so harried - I have twenty minutes before I have to be on a train back to Esmoriz, so I'm banging this out as quickly as I can.)

Also of note this week - went to Porto! For the FIRST TIME, even though we'd been here over a MONTH. Ridiculous, especially considering that Porto is actually GORGEOUS and fascinating and fun. So I'm going to try to go back this weekend.

More on that later. But at the moment, I have a train to catch.

The inevitable occurs

Just a quick note before I turn my computer over to Martha so she can check her email -

Portugal is still beautiful, and creation is the most interesting and engaging kind of challenge, but I'm starting to go a little nuts. I knew this would happen at some point - you can't live and work and spend so many hours a day every day for a month with three other people and not expect that it would take its toll. But the inevitable always seems to sneak up on you: in this case, when all of a sudden you start to feel irritable, and insecure, and emotional for no particular reason. Aram cracked a joke at lunch that gave me a good belly laugh and that's carried me through most of this afternoon, but it still lurks beneath the surface, this vague sense of malcontent.

As always, it comes back to the same lesson: I haven't been taking care of myself first. It's so easy to just stay at home, or go with the crowd, instead of really making the effort to 1) ask my body what it needs and 2) follow through. I'm getting better - yesterday I took the initiative to come into Espinho on my own and ended up hanging out with some of Diogo's (now my) friends, and today I've managed to kick my butt into gear as well. But there's still something missing, some balance that's been thrown off kilter. This is normal. This is life. I just means I need to address it.

AND!

I voted! My very official-looking envelope with my very official vote will be mailed out tomorrow.

Huzzah! GOBAMA! It's so exciting, exercising my right as an American citizen!

The spirit is joyful; the flesh is weak

I've been popping ibuprofen like it's my job. For the past week, my bottom and top left wisdom teeth have been slowly and painfully pushing through the surface of my gums, and finally on Thursday I caved and went to the pharmacy where they gave me some extra-strength magic in pill form. Turns out that drugs actually work! Now my teeth just have to stop growing.

Dear Teeth,
Please stop growing. You're hurting me.
Love,
Isabel

Dear Teething Babies,
Oh my God, I know.
Love,
Isabel

Also, I'm getting a cold. The price one pays for staying out at Bombar til 4am two nights running. But I'm taking care of myself, and other people are taking care of me, too, and really if the worst thing that I have to report is a runny nose and sore gums, I'm still in pretty decent shape.

And I am. Creation has been very different this week with only four of us, and we're still not quite sure where we're headed or how we're going to get there. But I'm not too concerned... really I'm just enjoying the ride. It almost feels like I'm treating this time in Portugal as a holiday of sorts, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

This week, Diogo performed for a competition of local artists and won the grand prize of 500euro. We're all very proud. There was much shrieking and jumping up and down (well, actually that was just me. The Portuguese aren't much for shrieking, and Martha and Aram are both slightly lower-key than I). And whenever they actually give him the money (apparently it could take up to 90 days), drinks are on him.

I just have to get over this cold first.

Nao e Natal, e Portugal

Today is the first gray day we've had since I arrived in Portugal, and it's *still* stunningly beautiful. I'm looking at the ocean right now (yes, *Right Now*), and just being.

It's been a very full past week. I doubt I'll be able to get it all down, but I'll try.

To start with the most recent and most painful news - Cecile went back to France. It's not a decision or situation that can be explained here - it's too complex, and not my story to tell. But suffice it to say that as strange and sad as it is to have her gone, and as painful a choice as I know it was for her, some part of me is sure that it's what needed to happen. She'll be in touch. I hope she'll be well. And I wish her all the strength and love and support in the world.

Now it remains for the four of us remaining to find our new equilibrium. The past two days have been principally spent recuperating and recalibrating. It's back to the rehearsal room tomorrow, and we'll see how this new circumstance affects the work.

The work we *have* been doing over the past week, though, has been very exciting. We have the rehearsal space on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays from 9:30 til 3, and as difficult as it is to find our way on our own, with no teachers or larger umbrella of the school to encompass us, every day something new emerges. I have great hopes for this project. It's still too early to say what it is or will be exactly, but this is a very skilled and talented and exciting group, and as a first effort I think there's an immense amount of potential.

Our days tend to follow the pattern of rehearsal, then conditioning, then a large late lunch and a nap, and then a quiet evening, oftentimes including drinks at Bombar. Bombar is Diogo's local watering hole - everyone seems to know him there, and after two and a half weeks, lots of people know me too! It's astonishing how little time it's taken for this place to feel like home. This is largely to the credit of all the people I've met - Goncalo and Joana and Susana and Fabio and Sara and Johnny and Victor and both Pedros and Carlos and Vilinha and the other Susana and Isabel and and and. The list goes on. And of course, Diogo's parents, who welcome all fivenowfour of us into their home for lunch every Saturday and Sunday, and stuff us full of food and wine and dessert and cheese and port and refuse to let us clear the dishes.

And the food. Have I mentioned the food? I haven't eaten this well this consistently in years. YEARS. And it turns out that I love fish, especially the little mackerel that you fry and eat more or less whole, and it turns out that my attempts at Portuguese aren't completely a lost cause, and it turns out that I could be very happy here, I think, for a very long time.

Some highlights:

• Having not one, not two, but THREE celebrations on my birthday - one at midnight with an orange covered in tin foil and stuck full of sparklers at Joana's house after an immense dinner of pork and rice and potatoes and wine and everyone singing in three part harmony in English, in Portuguese, in French; one at Diogo's parents' house on the day, complete with champagne and the most stunning chocolate cake and more sparklers and singing; and one at Bombar on the night, with another amazing chocolate cake, by Joana this time, and everyone singing once more.
• Running all the way to the beach after rehearsal on Friday, and then conditioning and playing in the surf.
• Diogo's pork chops
• Johnny and Victor conspiring to take me on a road trip/tour of the Portuguese Highlands
• Late night movies on TV and pizza and ice cream with Aram and Diogo
• Dancing at Bombar
• Walks along the beach
• The view of Porto from the train
• The smell of the sea

That's all I have time for at the moment. I'm happy. I'm well. Wishing the same to those I love, all over the world.

Happy Birthday to me

Another brief note - there never seems to be enough time after emails to blog at all - but wanted to thank everyone for their birthday wishes, and to say that this one will go down in history as one of the most lovely. Stories forthcoming.

I am very, very happy.

Rejuvenated

I can't write much - the battery on my laptop is almost gone and Diogo and Cecile have been VERY patient with me while I catch up on emails and *very pressing* facebook requests - but I wanted to check in and let you know that I am SO. SO. GOOD.

Portugal is amazing. It's beautiful here. We can see the ocean from our balcony, and it's a 30 min walk to the water. Diogo is an incredible host, and his parents are some of the sweetest people I've ever met, and are very patient with me despite my inability to speak Portuguese. There has been so much sleep, and so much sun, and so much good food and cheap beer and relaxation, and I can feel the grime and stress of London falling away like so many layers of old tired skin. I've gotten some colour from the afternoons spent on the beach. I see myself in mirrors or in shop windows and I look so relaxed, so happy. Such a far cry from the pale, peaked and drawn visage I used to encounter in the windows on Kensington High Street on my lunch break.

Yes, this past week has been so kind to me. I'm so glad I came out earlier than I originally planned. I'm so glad to have this time to rediscover my own rhythm and to investigate a new place. This is a *much needed* gift.

Over the course of the next two days, we'll be joined by Martha and Aram (Cecile is already here), and we'll start work on Monday. Such adventures yet to come.

I am so glad to be here.

Leaving on a jet plane

In twenty minutes, I leave my place of employ for the last time and hop on the tube to the train to the airport to the plane to Porto. I feel like I've had eight coffees when I've only had one. My co-workers gave me a card and a giftie, and Rachel made maandazi, and I almost wept a little. I didn't sleep much last night, was up at 5:30, and left my floor unHoovered. I found two more grey hairs this weekend, and had an anxiety dream on Monday morning about revolutions and violence and allegiances. I'm leaving for Portugal. I'm leaving London. I'm leaving London?! Oh my God, I'm going to Portugal.

Yes, I'm excited. Yes, I'm anxious. Mostly, I'm exhausted. This hasn't been the calmest or kindest month for me. I still feel that I didn't do everything that I'd hoped or was supposed to before I left, but it's a moot point. I'm going to arrive in Porto, and Diogo will pick me up from the airport, and I will meet his family and shower and eat and sleep sleep sleep the past month away, and tomorrow I will go to the ocean and take deep, deep breaths.

I wish I had been able to write more recently. There's been a lot going on, and so all the more reason to write. But time has slipped away, as it so often does, and the moment has come to embark on the next adventure, even as this one feels as though it hasn't completely ended. I'll write as much as I can in the coming weeks, but I don't expect to have internet access, so bear with the silence.

I'm off to make art in a foreign land.

Wish me luck!

Under Cover of Calm

The weekend was actually really lovely. But now I leave for Portugal in two days and am Freaking. Out.

But very quietly, and under the guise of complete, level-headed control.

Yesterday was Dramatic, Today is Ok

As the sun has emerged, so has it chased (at least to the fringes) the stress that has plagued me of late. I'm not out of the woods yet. I doubt I will be until I get out of London (and Portugal will bring its own set of adventures, stresses, and joys). But today I actually (gasp!) enjoyed work, and having made lists upon lists of things to accomplish in the next few days, everything's beginning to look a little bit more managable. Still crazy-busy, but managable.

The work day (one of my last) is drawing to a close now, and I'm trying to rally my remaining energy for drinks with co-workers. I was informed last week that it would be expected that I would arrange myself a "leaving do" so everyone could have an excuse to go have a pint or four in my company, and at first I was *very* reluctant. My initial reaction: "Do I have to?"

Wait, what?

Who is this girl, and what has she done with your friend? When have I ever, EVER, done anything short of leaping at the chance to be celebrated and made a fuss over?

If none of the previous entries have driven home just how stressed, distracted, and generally a mess I've been over the past couple of weeks, that last tidbit should do it. I practically had to have my arm twisted in order to set a time and venue - the big to-do starts in T-minus twelve minutes.

And of course now that it's all set up, I'm suddenly worried that noone is going to come and I'm going to feel like a big fat loser. But don't worry - it's just the stress talking.

Simon Says

Last night looked like it was going to devolve into a further downward spiral of anxiety and unhealthy behaviour when I got a very timely phone call from one Simon Jackson, who's had a lot of practice in talking me down from the ledge. For example:

Me: I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna jump! It's ALL TOO MUCH!!!

Him: That's too bad. I was going to read you Jane Austen while you eat that Midnight Chocolate Cookie Haagen Dazs that's in your freezer.

Me: ... ok.

And this is why I will marry him someday.

Like a Rollercoaster

... and then back to listless today. What is up with me feeling so down?

Maybe Rob Brezny has some words of wisdom - seemed to work pretty well last week...

"Libra Horoscope for week of September 18, 2008

Delfin Vigil interviewed the band Social Studies for the San Francisco Chronicle. He asked guitarist Aaron Weiss, "What is the meaning of life?" Here's what Weiss said: "Wearing a big name tag, having something stuck in your teeth, walking around with toilet paper stuck to your shoe while awkwardly trying to hit on girls. Living on this planet is worthless without the proper amount of humility." While I think that's close to what the meaning of life has been for you recently, Libra, the definition will soon change to something like this: You come on stage to greet an adoring audience, do a riveting song and dance, then announce that you won't be doing any more shows for a while because you're about to go off and get busy on creating your next big splash. "

God, I hope he's right.

Better now

And sometimes all you need is a walk by the river, some red wine over dinner, and to dance Dance DANCE all sweaty and crazy-like to bands like this.

S.O.S. (Stressed Out Sister)

Things have been really crazy lately, and I'm feeling a bit stressed. Heartbreak continues to dog those around me, and I'm doing everything I can to support them. Plane tickets are being changed, plans with them, and time remaining is skooshed into tiny containers (an hour here, two hours there) that *look* as though they'll be big enough to hold what you need them to (Call agent. Scrub kitchen floor. Pack. Take clothes to Charity Shop. Work out notation for songs for Alex. Learn Portuguese).... but then never seem to be enough. My room makes it look like Hurricane Ike took a detour through East London. The kitchen isn't much better. I bought my little Learn Portuguese guide a month ago and haven't made it past the first five pages.

And I leave London in eight days.

Help!

The Week in (Detailed) Review

And speaking of pushing the reset button... it's been awhile since I've blogged and there's a lot to catch up on (not the least of which is that Amsterussels entry I promised aeons ago). So let's buckle in and get straight to it, shall we?

Last weekend was really lovely in a lazy, laid-back, easy kind of way. The weather was cold and drizzly and windy for the most part, which helped with the lazy part... Friday night after a *very* long journey home from work I settled in with some pizza delivery, beer, and Will and Grace (which I haven't seen in AGES and in retrospect really isn't that funny... but was exactly the kind of fluff I needed). I was in this pleasantly cozy state when Carrie walked in the door from work at the leisure centre (read: gym).

"Guess what I have!"

"I dunno. What?"

"Two tickets to Fast n Funky Dance Aerobics tomorrow at 11:30am! And one of them has your name on it...."

It says a lot about me that my reaction to this piece of news was to get Really Excited. But I mean, really. Why wouldn't you be thrilled about checking out an exercise class that had "Funky Dance" in the title? So with plans for the morning safely squared away, we settled in with the remainder of the beer to watch Volver.

After we finished the movie, chances are good I stayed up an extra hour or two for good measure. I've been really good at doing that lately - being ready for bed at a decent hour, but then staying up til 1am (or 2am, or later) doing little more than piddling around online or on Skype. I'm not allowed to complain about being tired anymore without fully admitting that it's noone's fault but my own.

Late night or no, I was still up in time for Fast n Funky Dance Aerobics. I must admit, however, that though it was at times somewhat fast, and certainly aerobic, there wasn't much funky dance to be found. Sad face. Regardless, though, it was good to move after days of stagnation (I've had a flat tire for awhile now that I still haven't fixed, and haven't been cycling much as a result), and I'm glad we went.

There were big plans to go to Borough Market after class, but the weather was so gross we decided to stay in. Well, more or less. Agnese had just arrived (she's moving into Baerbel's room until our lease expires at the end of the month), and so there was catching-up to do, and so we all went to Le Epicerie for lunch. A word about Le Epicerie: it's about a block from my house, I walk or cycle past it every day, and I had never been there before, AND it's AWESOME. I can't believe such a lovely little slice of yummy food corner deli cafe great coffee adorable lovely relaxed atmosphere was right around the corner from my house and I hadn't taken advantage of it until now! I have learned the error of my ways. Oh my God and the feta and courgette quiche and the Morrocan lamb wrap and the cappuccino the cappuccino!!! Guess I know where I'm going for lunch again tomorrow...

Saturday night brought a CRAZY (but ultimately satisfying) night at work, with Vietnamese food afterwards with Carrie and a long journey home. And again, I think it took me longer to actually go to bed than it should've, despite being bone tired. What is up with that?

Sunday was another quiet day - some laundry, a touch of room cleaning, a shower, a lot of dish-washing, and a lovely afternoon at the Dove Freehouse and Pub with a bunch of girls from school whom I very serendipitously stumbled upon. We ate Sunday roasts, and drank beer, and chatted, and laughed, and meandered down Broadway Market for coffee. I stopped into this shop (link forthcoming - I can't remember what the place is called) - again, a spot I've passed by literally hundreds of times in the past year, but had never been into. It's brilliant. It's a shop consisting entirely of photograph prints from locations in Hackney and East London - the Hackney Empire, London Fields, Broadway Market... images of most all of my favorite spots adorned the walls, and all of a sudden I got homesick for London, even though I haven't left. Because those spots are what I'll miss, and the discovery of little shops that celebrate them.

Didn't buy anything, but most likely will before I leave.

I can't remember what I did on Sunday night. Probably spoke with people on Skype, maybe watched a film or Sopranos with Agnese. And probably stayed up past my bedtime. Again. (Actually, I do remember - Agne made soup, I skyped with Matty, and we watched an episode of the Sopranos.)

Monday was Tucker's birthday (as well as Will's!), so after a surprisingly speedy and pleasant day at work, I spent some time on the phone at home catching up with the fam. Most of you will have probably heard at this point that MY DAD HAS ENROLLED IN LISPA AND IS STARTING SCHOOL HERE IN OCTOBER!!!!!!!!!!, so I've been talking with him and Mom a lot lately about logistics and the exciting developments to come (Dad coming to LISPA could warrant an entire entry in and of itself, but suffice it to say for the moment that I'm incredibly excited for him, enormously proud of him, and think it will be an amazing amazing experience for him. Yay Dad! And yay Mom for being such an incredibly supportive and courageous partner. Geez, my parents are great!) Tucker is also looking at big changes - after graduating from Beloit this past spring, he's now looking to move out to NYC in a few weeks, which is *also* very exciting. My family, the adventurers. This is where I get it from.

And Tuesday! Tuesday saw my reintegration into the wide world of acrobatics. The Circus Space has recently revamped their classes so there are now TWO beginners levels, and having been gone for awhile I took the B1 class on Tuesday. I went in a little cocky, and by the end was thinking to myself: you know, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing to stay at this level. I mean, I could do pretty much everything the instructor asked (forward, back, and side rolls, cartwheels, handstand-forward-rolls, etc - though the dive rolls were a little sticky), but my form is far from perfect, and some back-to-basics foundational stuff couldn't hurt. But then when he pulled me aside at the end of class and told me to move up to B2 - I was so excited! I'd been promoted! Rah rah rah! I was so excited, in fact, that I shimmied my little self up to the registration desk and signed up for a B2 class two days later, on Thursday. Might as well, right? I didn't have anything else planned...

Fast forward to Thursday morning, and I could barely move. Wednesday had been bad, but Thursday was unquestionably worse. I kept taking breaks from my computer to go into a side office and stretch and do the few yoga poses I know. My customary strut had morphed into a hobble. I was in poor shape, and questioning my decision to sign up for an even more difficult class so soon after the first one. My fears were only compounded by the fact that when I walked into the class that evening, most of the other participants were either tall, Adonis-looking, well- muscled men, or girls about the size of my thigh and at least as strong (that's a compliment, by the way. I have strong thighs.) Sure enough, within the first half hour we were being asked to do all manner of tumbling I'd never even attempted before (or if I'd attempted them, I'd never actually been able to DO them) : straight-leg backward rolls; tuck-up to handstand to forward roll; one-handed cartwheels on both sides with alternating hands; backward rolls into handstands. Of *all* of those, I think I managed to do two. *sigh* Oh well. That's what practice is for.

This morning I'm feeling a little sore, but I'm sure it won't be able to hold a candle to the crippling pain I'll feel tomorrow. And yes, I'm still considering going to a class. Just handstands this time, though - I want to nail that tuck-up.

I can't tell you how good the pain feels, though. To move again feels amaaaaaaazing. As sore as I felt yesterday, it all disappeared as soon as we started warming up (and re-appeared later. But at least I was warm and sweaty and chock-full of endorphins by then). And I always sleep soooo well the following night. I mean, I usually sleep well, but this sleeping well smells like vanilla and lavender and feels like all the goosedown comforters in the world, only more ethical.

Tonight, I'm cancelling all potential plans to run some errands (faxing my absentee registration! Gobama!) and have a quiet night at home. I leave for Portugal in under two weeks, and so I should start packing now, as well as getting assorted other ducks in a row. (Which is a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Leaving London in under two weeks?! Ack with the packing and the cleaning and the pseudo-farewells and the surreality of it all! And how strange-yet-fitting that just as the newest manifestation of my life here begins to feel normal, I'm off on another adventure. There's more to write about that, but I'll leave it for the moment.)

Speaking of Portugal, it looks as though I won't have much, if any, internet access while I'm there, so apologies in advance for the anticipated lack of blogging. I'll be gone from 24th Sept until 10th Nov, and my postal address in Portugal will be on my facebook page, or email me if you'd like it sent to you that way. I want postcards and little birthday parcels of love! And that's the last I'll say about it.

Another highlight of the week was seeing The Family, which was a wonderful clown show, and spending some time with Aram and Ana Mirtha. I have such great friends.

Well, I think that should do it for the moment. There's even more I could write about (shocking, I know), but I should give my poor little fingers a rest. But if I have the chance after lunch (no promises here) maybe I'll be able to squeeze in that Amsterussels entry after all...

How does he DO that?!

I love Rob Brezny and Freewill Astrology. Somehow, he always knows exactly what to say. Last week, for example, I was suffering from some anxiety about the decision to work on this project in Portugal, and my horoscope said "the shitstorm you're expecting isn't going to be that bad." Yesterday, I write that I'm annoyed and antsy and today I get this:

LIBRA
Horoscope for the week of September 4, 2008

My friend Joan was experiencing a cascade of annoying physical symptoms -- mediocre digestion, mild headaches, chronic congestion in her ear, itchy skin. None was terrible, but together they were a big distraction. After two trips to her regular acupuncturist, there was little improvement. The acupuncturist decided it was time for more drastic measures: He was going to try a dramatic treatment that was akin to pushing a reset button on a machine. Success! Joan was freed from the nagging ailments and experienced a thorough rejuvenation. I suggest you seek out the equivalent treatment, Libra: Push the reset button.

Action needed

I'm feeling restless. Annoyed. Frustrated.

And I have no idea why.

Baerbel's leaving for Berlin, more or less indefinitely, this afternoon. Maybe that has something to do with it. She's the last of the dear friends to leave London, in a way, and the house will feel lonelier without her. Last night we snuggled up in her bed and watched Batman Begins, and this morning there was time for one last cuddle before I left for work. When I get home tonight, she'll be gone.

I think maybe this petulant discontent could be remedied somewhat by starting to exercise more. I'm calling The Circus Space today to book some classes, and I'm going to make an effort to start cycling more - I've been more lax about it recently than usual.

The weather today is perfect autumn weather, but that's pissing me off a bit as well. I don't want it to be autumn - we barely had a summer!

Maybe it's the time of transition that's getting me down. So much feels in flux at the moment - I get the sense that these last few weeks in London will be both too busy and too slow. There are so many things that I want to do, versus the things that I need to do, and I'm feeling pulled in many directions, which is a bad place for this helper to be.

Ah well. All I can do is be kinder with myself and wait for this to pass. In the meantime, this is worth reading.

Uncle Sam Goddamn

I am disgusted, and I am angry. I am really fucking angry. How dare they? How is this happening, in real time, in real life, in my fucking country? In my city.

Someone, please, tell me what I can do.

*click*

I am exaggerating very little when I say that I have taken no pictures in the entire two years I've been in London. Terrible, I know. Absurd. Totally and completely ridiculous, and I already regret it. But I've always been bad at taking pictures, so it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.

And in those rare moments that I *do* wish I had my camera, those innocuous little slices of life like glancing up from your computer screen to see your coworkers of two years in quiet conversation, eyes on their respective screens but heads tilted slightly together, the only thing for it is to look, take it in, and think:

*click*

The Elderfield

Having beers tonight at our local, I looked around at those assembled - Baerbel, Natali, Pablo, Nao - and had the thought:

"There's no place else I'd rather be."

Happy/Sad

Things that made me happy this week (in more or less chronological order):

• Being invited along to a birthday dinner with strangers in Brussels and getting new friends, free champagne (and wine and whiskey and beer), and late-night dancing out of the deal
• Big amazing Sunday brunch at Katie's flat in Brussels
• Cuddling with Baerbel after getting back from Brussels
• Bank Holiday!
• Being told I'm not an asshole, that people are proud of me
• Pints of Hoegaarden, shots of Jack Daniels
• A houseful of lovely, loved people over for dinner, staying for drinks, not a one of whom went home
• Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
• Bowling!
• Breaking 100 on my first game (ahem114ahem)
• Air Hockey!
• Introducing Baerbel to the wonders of air hockey
• Shaking one's booty to trashy hip hop
• New dresses from Amsterdam and generally looking hot
• Cycling through central London with Heather
• Unexpected phone calls from Simon that make me beam
• When goodbyes don't feel like goodbyes
• Beers by the fountain at Tottenham Ct Rd, two inches from traffic at 9pm on a Thursday
• Salsa dancing
• Early morning text messages telling me I'm missed
• Plans for poetry night (tonight!)

Things that made me sad this week

• That people get their hearts broken, and that relationships fall apart. Even the ones that seem unshakeable. Even the ones that have had so much work put into them, and so many commitments made.
• Rebecca and Jed leaving. Not knowing when I'll see them again (though I know I will)
• More and more, realising LISPA is over, people are leaving, people have left
• Not being able to justify the purchases of new shoes, new dresses, new wardrobe

So really, all in all, not a bad week.

Non-negotiable

Right. I am setting myself a non-negotiable bedtime of 11pm at the LATEST tonight. It's three thirty in the afternoon, I've had three largish coffees, I'm jittery, and I'm yawning. Clearly nothing but some good old fashioned sleep will do.

The exhaustion comes as a result of fun, of course. Bowling and air hockey last night as a send-off to Rebecca and Jed, and people over for dinner and drinks at our house the night before. It is terrifying, though, how quickly a well-rested look, accrued over the course of a week of vacation, dissipates. Tonight is the night for sleep.

Especially since tomorrow night is the night for salsa. Also known as non-negotiable fun.

(PS There will be an entry about Amsterdam and Brussels, promise.)

Amsterdam

Oh, did I mention I'm going to Amsterdam? Well, I am. Matter of fact, I'm in Amsterdam right now! Or just outside it, at a quiet little greeny cabin-y hostel called Lucky Lake (awww). Janna is flying in tonight (!!!!), so adventures can ensue then. After I take a nap - 11 hours on a bus across three? four? countries sure can take it out of a girl.

We're in Amsterdam until Friday, and then Janna's off to Paris, and I'm off to Brussels to meet up with Katie, one of my flatmates from senior year of college. It should be a fun week, and as soon as I get rid of my fatigue-induced zombie stare, I'll start showing my excitement. But now, bed. Mmmmm duvet and bunk beds....

Cuddle vs. Culture

I'm a little sleepy today, a little fatigued, and though I have tickets to the theatre tonight, what I really want is my bed, a book, a mug of tea, and a cuddle.

Especially the cuddling part.

Changing my tune

Just got my payslip for this month.

I LOVE WORKING FULL-TIME! LOVE IT, LOVE IT, LOVE IT!

The Rage, or Why I don't belong in an office

It's 3:30pm on a Wednesday, and I'm getting the Rage.

You know the Rage? That simmering, stewing mix of inexplicable anger and frustration that takes over when the end of the work day is in sight, and yet still So Far Away? That restlessness and anxiety and aimless aggression from sitting still and staring at a computer screen too long? I've been getting the Rage a lot lately. Most notably a couple of days last week, and yesterday at about quarter past four.

The fact that it's sneaking in earlier today can't be a good sign. And it's only Wednesday.

Here's the thing. I don't *hate* my job. In many ways, I'm incredibly lucky to have the job I do. But that doesn't change the fact that I want to be outside, my body wants to move, and my brain wants to be utilised for more than answering phones and constantly checking email. And the mornings (always bolstered by the comforting presence of my friend Mocha, these days) never seem too bad - it's coming back from lunch at 3 and the subsequent two hours that make me want to break shit.

Luckily, the Rage tends to dissipate pretty quickly after leaving work. Cycling out all my aggression (made it home in 45 minutes yesterday! Woo hoo!), or the simple fact of being at home, not at work, makes life so much prettier. Last night was a blissful combination of pizza, beer, and chats with friends (online [Lindsay], on the phone [Cecile], AND in real space/time [Martha]), tonight Aram's coming over to watch The Imposters, and tomorrow and Friday will bring a play and salsa dancing, respectively. That's the other silver lining - evenings are magic when you're stuck in an office all day.

In other news, this past weekend was really lovely. Over the course of the two days I cleaned my room (Hoovering and all), watched movies and had a homecooked dinner with Diogo, drinks with Karim, and late-night online chat marathons with many, many friends that I hadn't spoken to in a long while. I've also been spending my lunch breaks with my new dear friend Nisha who works in Student Finance and Support, wherein we spend as much energy on being sardonic and making each other laugh as we do on wolfing down our paninis. Today the electronic automated baby grand piano in the McDonald's (stopped by for a McFlurry) was on the cutting end of our barbs. All sorts of fantasies were detailed in which the piano met a new and inventive kind of gruesome demise. Never have I taken such pleasure in imagining the destruction of what is ostensibly a musical instrument (though I would more readily dub this particular object an instrument of torture).

Maybe it's the November rain in August that's bringing out a darker edge in my sense of humour these days.

Then again, perhaps it's just the Rage.

Flights I have bought

September 28th
Depart London, Arrive Porto, Portugal

November 10th
Depart Porto, Arrive London

November 22nd
Depart London, Arrive Minneapolis

January 10th
Depart Minneapolis, Arrive London

Old friends revisited

It started innocuously enough - just plans for a coffee and catch-up after work. But then, we decided we wanted cocktails instead. And then, when the bar we found didn't serve capirinhas, we decided to order a glass of wine - or should we just get a whole bottle? Let's just buy the whole bottle. And once that bottle was gone, and we were tipsy and realised neither of us had eaten dinner, there was nothing for it but to go to the Sun and Splendour and order food. And another bottle of Chardonnay. Laughter, confessions, and ill-advised text messages followed, and finally a late-night weaving home on the tube.

And so it came to pass that one of my best friends from the third grade is back in my life. Three cheers for Veronika!

I should; I wonder

• I should go to hospital to get my left pinky checked out. (I wounded it while playing Invisible Volleyball almost three weeks ago now and it has not mended itself as expected.) I wonder what I did to it.
• I should learn Portugese before I leave on the 28th Sept. I wonder if I can teach myself.
• I should book my flight home. I wonder if NWA will replace my (ostensibly lost) flight voucher.
• I should clean my room. I wonder if I'll find my flight voucher.
• I should call the Circus Space to book another acrobatics carnet. I wonder if the Friday night class is full.

Such is the output of the idle mind, left to its own devices at work. Ugh.

Before you get concerned...

I'm feeling much better today.

Ergh.

I'm feeling a bit off today. Maybe my body and heart are starting to realise that LISPA is over - that this isn't just another term break, and it really is finished. Maybe it's just the frustration of the 9-5 office worker on a Monday morning. Maybe it has to do with not taking care of myself before others (which I'm realising more and more is sooooo important).

It's also possible, counterintuitive though it may be, that this mostly nameless frustration and anxiety has to do with plans becoming a reality. This past weekend I booked flights to Portugal from 28th Sept until 10th Nov, as did Cecile, which means that we really are going to do this show. (It sounds like Martha's on board as well, though I haven't talked to her, and I can only hope that Aram will follow suit in his own sweet time.) Diogo's trying to line up some workshops, as well, which means that we'd be teaching when we weren't rehearsing, and potentially earning a good amount of money - certainly enough to pay our (minimal) living expenses and then some. Exciting, of course, but now that it's actually happening, all the butterflies of will-it-happen have translated a bit into what-have-we-gotten-ourselves-into nerves. Also part of the ticket-booking frenzy: Ana's been talking to me about coming to Madrid for a weekend to see her, and I booked my coach to Amsterdam to meet up with Janna, then to Brussels to see Katie for the week from the 17th til the 24th. And if I know what's good for me, I'll book my flight back to Minneapolis today, or tomorrow. (Or the day after. Anxiety lends itself to procrastination.)

Things are falling into place in the way I hoped they would. So why do I feel so malcontent?

Plans

Keeping in mind that nothing is set in stone, and that adage about the best-laid plans, here's a possible road map of the coming months and years.

I'm in London, working and enjoying the summer and the city, until my visa and lease expire at the end of September. During September, I'll be composing music for Finger in the Pie's Christmas show, based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen. I will be paid handsomely for doing so. Yay!

At the end of Sept, there's a very good chance I'll be flying to Portugal to live and work with Diogo and others (hopefully Cecile, Aram, and Martha, maybe more). We'd spend all of October living in Espino, outside of Porto on the coast, and then possibly touring whatever it is we create. Diogo has said we can stay with him for free, and he has free rehearsal space as well. Double yay!

(And who knows? If we're in Portugal anyway, maybe that road trip to Morocco could happen after all!)

In November, I'll come back to London for anywhere from 1-3 weeks to say hi to Dad, my friends here, this city. Then home for Thanksgiving!

And Gem and Mark's wedding!

And Christmas!

And New Year's!

Then, Jan 10th or thereabouts, back to London. Alex has asked me to be a deviser and performer for the production of Sweeney Todd that Finger in the Pie is working on. Not at all the Sondheim version, this is an originally devised piece that uses maskwork and puppetry and the original urban myth of Sweeney Todd and the corresponding historical backdrop as a political allegory. We'd rehearse and devise for January, and perform in February and March. Again, I would be well-paid. Again, yay!

As far as I can tell, I'll be back in the States by the end of March. Where in the States, I'm not sure. My dear friend and collaborator Erin is looking for funding to continue work on her final project, which was a beautiful (if I do say so myself) meditation on AIDS and dying with dignity inspired by a Studs Terkel book.... did I mention this already? Yes. Anyway, the hope is that funding will come through for that, in which case we'd get together to further devise and perform that piece, possibly at Fringe Festivals, possibly in LA. This plan could possibly take me all the way through fall 2009.

Also, Alex has made it clear that if for whatever reason Erin's show falls through, I'm encouraged to rejoin the Sweeney Todd cast for the Edinburgh Fringe in Aug 2009 and another festival in London that Oct.

Then, today, I had the opportunity to speak with my dear and talented friend Abhishek. Abhi is a wonderful man and playwright from Bangalore, India, who I had the great pleasure of working with when we were in class together for the first year of LISPA. He left after the first year, but is coming back this fall to do the second, and has also been offered a place at Stanford for the fall of 2009 to do a PhD and playwriting fellowship (!!!), the idea being that he'd spend the first two years on campus and then would bounce back and forth between the States and Kashmir making incredible work. Cue our conversation about how I should be a part of that work, and how pumped we both are to make relevant, international theatre. So there's that collaboration and opportunity to look forward to in the coming years as well.

I am so unbelievably fortunate. This is what I am meant to do with my life. This, this, this.

Poetry on the Underground

Some of the trains on the tube have this thing called "Poetry on the Underground", which is the printing of various poems along the upper strip of the wall, mixed in with the ads for banks and travel agencies. And coming home from work today on the Circle Line (because some ASSHAT STOLE MY FRONT WHEEL OFF MY BIKE LAST NIGHT AAAAARGGH SO I HAVE TO TAKE THE TUBE DOUBLE AAAAARGGH), I saw this poem. And for the moment, and from where I am, it feels fitting.

from The Prelude

Now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove
Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream
Shall with its murmur lull me to rest?

The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way.

I, 8-18
- William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

An ending, a continuation

One of these days, it will hit me that I've finished LISPA. Now, it still feels like just another break between terms - the only discernible difference is that I get inordinately thrilled whenever I see one of my former classmates. I light up like an effin' Christmas tree, no joke.


Have I mentioned what an incredible two years it's been? Have you gathered from the last two months of glowing entries how happy I am here, and what a gift it's been to work with this community, and to begin to find my voice, and to be nurtured by this school? Is it clear that I feel more confident and secure in myself than I can ever remember being, and that I am looking to the future with great pleasure while still ekeing out every bit of contentment from the present?

Yes, I'm in a good place.

Our graduation ceremony was a beautiful thing - full of laughter and shouting and tears and loud music - the crowning glory of which was the send-off that the first years gave us. One by one, blindfolded and led by the hand, they took us through the ocean, up the mountain to the peak, down again in the midst of an earthquake, across the river, through the plains, and to the desert. And then, the sunset, soaked in song and drunk in with a wide open gaze.

And now, life has some semblance of simple normalcy. Working 9-5, drinks and dinners in the evenings. People have begun to disperse, and the periodic parties have lower attendance now than last week. But the air is still thick with possibilities and plans, the weather is warm, and the sweet melancholy of an ending is tempered by the fresh flavour of commencement.

Whenever I feel blue...

I just remember all the wonderful things Barack Obama has done for me.

It's not gonna happen, but still!

So yesterday at Paula's wedding reception (!) wearing my cute new dress (!!) I was regaling my friends with the one-sentence story of OMG-I-came-this-close-to-buying-tickets-to-Morocco-today-but-they're-£100-and-I-just-don't-know. And Diogo turns to me and was like, Why? Buy a cheap flight to Portugal and we'll drive down.

What?

Yes. Drive down to Morocco. From Portugal. Like you do.

Now, I'm pretty sure he was a little drunk (it being a wedding reception and all). And I'm also pretty sure that being in a car with Diogo for hours and days on end could just as easily be a receipe for complete disaster as it could be totally fun. But can we just take a moment to think about HOW COOL IT WOULD BE to take a ROAD TRIP down the coast of Portugal, though Spain, over the strait of Gibraltar, and into Morocco!? Cuz, for serious, that would just be UN.BE.LIEV.A.BLE.

The Travel Bug Strikes Again

My visa expires at the end of Sept, and so I'm looking into plane tickets. Not home (though I need to book those sooner rather than later), because I'm not planning on coming back to the States much earlier than mid-November, though as always everything is subject to change. No, I'd like to spend some time in Europe, either with friends in their home towns (Ana Mirtha in Madrid, Maria in San Sebastian [Basque Country], Cecile in France, Diogo in Porto, Katia in Malta), or just in places that I want to go to that I'm closer to now than I will be in the States. Digging around on Ryanair and Easyjet (but mostly Ryanair), here's what I've found:

I can fly round trip to Marrakesh, Morocco for just over £100.
I can fly to Malta for £85.
I can go to Portugal for £50.
Madrid is about the same.
Croatia is £35.

I have to admit that the Morocco fare, though by far the most expensive, is REALLY REALLY tempting. I would fly out on the 28th Sept, which is the day my lease expires and 2 days before my visa's up, stay just shy of a week, and be back in time for my birthday in London. And then go to Portugal or Spain or France. Or all three. Eurail! Eurail! Eurail!

Uh-oh.

V for Vacation

It's only two days in, but I don't mind working full-time. It gives me the evenings to play - drinks on the steps of Town Hall with Cecile and Diogo on Saturday, Wall-E with Carrie on Sunday (after the Flower Market and Hackney Farm and Peachy Pimms with Erin and Jones), Hackney Downs and then a BBQ and Persefoni-send-off last night, and tonight? V for Vendetta at the IMAX. Summer rocks.

Dear Self: (or, Things I know)

Give it time. Give yourself the time and space to be who you know you are and whom you need to be. Embrace yourself first, others after. Only embrace those who will accept it in a way you can accept. Don’t be afraid. Trust the woman you’ve become. Know you’re enough.

Note:

I graduate tomorrow.

Staying strong

I'm sick. Like up-half-the-night-with-a-racking-cough, python-swallowed-my-head-congestion kind of sick. Gross. And I'm about to head off to six straight hours of rehearsal.

Wish me luck. As long as I make it through the next two and a half days I'll be ok.

What to write?

It's been a very full, very rewarding, VERY exhausting week. Fifteen hour day after fifteen hour day since Sunday, each evening a new project to perform, a new world to present. It's a wonderful exhaustion, this theatre-induced fatigue, but it takes its toll: I woke up this morning with a sore throat, and am valiantly battling the threat of illness. And there's still a week to go.

My piece went really well. I'm so proud of my cast and appreciative of all their hard work. I'm so agog at the fact that I can build theatre, that I can see a vision through to some form of completion. Nearly all of the constructive criticism I was given by the teachers was stuff I already knew, and that's a great thing. Thinking back to the beginning of this programme, when half the time the feedback they gave me was in a language I neither spoke nor understood, this is certainly an accomplishment.

And last night, we performed Erin's piece, and brought much of the audience to tears. She is such a fine director, a fine artist and human, with such a lovely touch, and I cannot wait to continue work on her piece (a beautiful meditation on AIDS and dying with dignity, inspired by Studs Terkel's Will the Circle Be Unbroken?). Hopefully coming soon to a fringe festival near you...

And how am I? I'm a bit amazed by it all. It has been so beautiful this week to see the individual projects, to be allowed into the worlds of colleagues and friends. Next week, no doubt, the floodgates will burst and all this wonder and sorrow and joy will find a language in tears, but at the moment, it's all wide-open eyes, wide-open arms, wide-open heart.

Just to say...

That in approximately 20 hours from now, I will be finished with my final project for LISPA. Wish me luck.

Night thoughts, nearing the end

I should be asleep. I should be turning off my computer, turning down my covers, and taking a much-needed and much -deserved rest. But this self-destructive and noisy-hearted impulse keeps me sitting up in bed, typing away.

We had our first evening of final performances tonight. Each graduating student of the Advanced Course gets a single showing of their personal piece that they've been working on over the past weeks, and since there are 60 of us, this means eight nights of shows featuring 6-8 pieces each, every night completely different from the last. I performed in my friend Jillian's piece tonight, I have tomorrow "off" (meaning I'm not performing - I'm *only* rehearsing for four hours), then I perform my piece on Tuesday, Lyndal's on Wednesday, Erin's on Thursday... then a few days of lighter rehearsal before I perform again in two pieces on Monday (Diogo's and Maria's), and in Rebecca's on Tuesday. Wednesday is the final night of performances, which, thankfully, I just get to enjoy as an audience member.

And then, that Friday, I graduate.

It will break my heart to see this community, this artistic family that has become my home over the past two years dissipate. How could it not? But I have been far too busy loving (and, of course, stressing out about and tearing my hair out over) the work over these past days and weeks to look towards that inevitable dissolution. And, it's time. Now is the moment to carry these joyful burdens of the artistic tools I've been given out into the world, and see how the hammers and saws meld to my hands. How my heart can wield the wonder of these implements. If it can, in the way I hope it to.

Selkieworld

Apologies for the few-and-far-between posts. My head and heart is completely caught up in the world of my final project. It's a lovely, stressful, exciting, poetic, frustrating, exhilerating place to be. We perform on Tuesday.

Art in the world

A friend of mine on his blog linked to an AP article somewhat amusingly titled “Everything Seemingly Spinning out of Control.” I read a few paragraphs, choosing to view it through a distinctly ironic lends, and was amused. Then I read an email from my friend Erin detailing the script for her final project, which deals with dying with dignity and HIV/AIDS and was moved. Then I read the first paragraph of this review of Wall-E, and got a little choked up.

Have I mentioned that I believe art can save the world?

In the darkness of these days, both real and perceived, there is so much space opened for inspiration and light. Art is never more powerful than when it has something to say, and there is so much to be said in this moment, in this world, about both the beauty and the horror of what we have wrought as a (human) race. And I’m so awed at the prospect of jumping in and saying my piece.

Loving life right now

I'm busy - always rushing off to work or another rehearsal - but nevertheless have the time to look around, take a breath, and smile. Yesterday we had a lovely rehearsal for my piece wherein we chose the version of the story we're going to tell and began to build images, and then after it was over I gathered my chorus of women around me to teach them a lullaby/round/sea theme I wrote. We spent over an hour singing. The song is beautiful (it gave Natali goosebumps when we all sang it to her with three of the four parts!), and works far better than I could have expected - now we just have to see if we can make it work within the context of the piece (or make the piece work in the context of the song).

Also pushing life to the sunny side were the Atmosphere/Brother Ali concert last week, which was incredible; the Heaven and Hell Ball last Saturday, which was super fun and saw me coming home at 5am; and Empire of Feathers at the Camden People's Theatre this Thursday, starring three of my nearest and dearest. Not to mention the weather in London of late has been nothing short of lovely. Touch wood, but things are good.

Down the rabbit hole

Is this what life could be like? Eating, sleeping, spending time with family and friends, and building and performing theatre the rest of the time (and having no time to blog - sorry!)? That was my life for nearly a week, and it was sooooo lovely...

The public presentations happened last week, and went well overall. There was some drama (aka blood on the floor) regarding what made the final cut, but everything more or less worked out in the end. I believe we had over 100 people in the house for each of the three nights, and though the closing evening was probably the weakest, which is never the best way to end a run, I'm still proud of us. We didn't have much time for self-congratulation, though, because less than 48 hours after closing curtain call we were back at school to tackle our final projects.

The format for final projects is this: every second-year (all sixty of us) must head up a project of our choosing, which at the end of the day we are entirely responsible for. We can cast our classmates as performers, directors, writers, musicians... whatever we need. And we have about 16 hours of rehearsal over the course of three weeks to put together a piece. The last two weeks of school will consist of 8 evenings of these performances - each only gets one showing, which will be the first time the teachers see it. Our class has 25 people, so 25 projects, split more or less evenly across the 8 nights. As of this moment, mine will be performed on Monday the 7th, and I'm performing in other people's pieces on every other night save two. It's exciting to begin to rehearse these, to get to step into other people's artistic universes and see what you can create. My first rehearsal is this afternoon and I'm less nervous than I have any right to be - the next few hours will be taken up with research so I can pretend that I know what I'm talking about. I'm thinking of exploring the epic storytelling form that we played with at the beginning of the year with the melodramas, and I'm looking into using the folktake of the selkie as the story to tell. I want a chorus of four women who sing, in addition to the main characters, and that's about all I know. (I was about to write "More to follow", but last time I wrote that it took me weeks to come back to the blogging world, so I won't make that mistake again.)

There really is so much more to write - about having my family here, which was So Great; about revisiting Palestine several weeks ago; about plans for the fall and the future - but writing about the final projects has gotten me inspired to go trolling for images and folktales on line in preparation for rehearsal. Wish me luck. I'll share my findings.

I hope you all are well. I am so very happy with my life these days, and it's incredible to me how autonomous, how independent I feel. I'm accustomed to always having an outside point of reference - usually Minneapolis - as "home", but I'm feeling more and more like my home is here, my home is where my life is, my home is what I carry with me, always.

I love you all.

The Black Hole

Term four, my Last Term at LISPA Ever, has begun (a week ago - I'm a little behind, blog-wise). It should be crazy stressful, but I'm really really enjoying the long rehearsal hours, and savouring working with this group of people that will most likely never be all in the same place again after the next seven weeks. I mean, check in again tomorrow, and maybe I'll feel differently, but at the moment I'm content. Very content indeed.

More to follow.

A little slice of homie

Atmosphere is coming to London! And I just bought tickets. Some impulse purchases are not to be denied.

To Do List

There's less than a week remaining of this break until my final term at LISPA begins. We'll jump right into two weeks of intensive rehearsals of the best of the pieces we've worked on so far this year, and then perform them for the public from 12-14th June. Then it's back into the rehearsal room for three weeks, during the course of which every person in the Advanced Course (over 50 once you combine both the Morning and Afternoon groups) will work on a piece conceived, devised, directed, and cast by themselves. Those pieces get one airing apiece, in showings that will take up the final two weeks of the programme. The final night will be 17th July; we graduate on the 18th.

Part of me feels like I should be using this break to figure out WHAT THE HELL I'm going to do for my final piece. I have no idea. Or rather, I have several ideas, but none that appeals worlds more than the next. They all appeal. Something musical. Something clown. Something melodrama and political. All of the above?!

What I should worry about more than this is getting enough rest. It's been very busy for a break, and I've managed to schedule plenty of activities in on top of my 40-hr work week. Tonight I'm meeting up with Simon after a too-lengthy hiatus, tomorrow I'm seeing my friend Brona in a show, and I'm hoping to do two more acro classes this week as well. Then I work on Saturday night, of course, and this weekend I MUST CLEAN OUR FILTHY HOUSE. Why? Because my family is coming! My mom and dad and brother and brother's girlfriend will all, at some point, be residing in our cozy little abode, and gosh darn it if that doesn't motivate me to mop the kitchen floor. Mom and Dad, this is how much I love you: I hate to mop. Maybe I'll be able to get the flatmates to pitch in...

Restless as I am

I've changed my mind again. I want to stay in London.

The emotional rollercoaster of work-websurfing

Happy!
My co-worker was being all snarky about how behind the times we Americans are until I pointed out that, though England allows civil unions, they still won't call it marriage. (It's amazing how self-righteous I've gotten about being American since living abroad.) GO CALIFORNIA!!!

Sad and angry.
Now, I myself am an Obama supporter. But that doesn't mean that this article doesn't make me feel outraged, and sick inside... sorry, that's inaccurate. It's not the article that makes me angry. It's the disgusting, disgusting realities behind it. An anti-Hillary organisation called C.U.N.T? Being called a whore and mocked with novelty items for betraying gender stereotypes? Words don't quite do justice to my speechlessness. I've remembered I'm a feminist, and I'm ready to bust some heads. (But I'm still voting for Obama.)

Happy!
Sometimes, a little shared grammar dorkery helps me feel a little better.

Ain't no sunshine

Gemma has left, and taken the gorgeous weather with her. We're back to 15C and rainy. Ew.

It sure was lovely to have her here while she was here, though.

Peace like a river

Libra Horoscope for week of May 8, 2008

"What makes a river so restful to people is that it doesn't have any doubt," wrote columnist Hal Boyle. "It is sure to get where it is going, and it doesn't want to go anywhere else." Your assignment for the rest of 2008, Libra, is to do whatever's necessary to make yourself fit this description. The next eight months will provide unprecedented opportunities to turn yourself into a river flowing toward your destiny with surprisingly sublime freedom.

Place cart before horse, engage

It's two days until the end of term presentation, and I'm feeling strangely calm. Maybe it's because I feature in fewer pieces this term, but that's not a bad thing. As much as I'd love to be performing a clown piece this week, I have my Disney princess send-up, and that's fine with me.

The end of classes and end of term have also brought the happy realisation that I'm really enjoying creation these days. This is particularly good news since we're coming up on a term of nothing but. I still have no idea what my final project will look like, but I'm getting more excited about what it could be.

I've also, of course, been thinking about the summer and the fall and next year. But before I go into those thoughts, some clarification: I think I may have been a bit unclear in my last post when I was talking about being home for six weeks - that was not to say that I'm planning on leaving Minneapolis after six weeks (or that my flight back to London, assuming there is one, will be booked for six weeks after my arrival). Basically, I'm thinking I'll fly home mid-November, which makes six weeks in Minneapolis between my arrival and New Year's, which is the earliest I would consider going anywhere else (and when, ideally, whatever project I'm involved in will start.) So I'm not willfully self-sabotaging my quality of life in Minneapolis; I'm just inarticulate.

Now onto the new thoughts about this summer/fall/next year! There's now the possibility of going to Portugal for the month of October, where Diogo and Jillian will be leading physical theatre workshops and have invited me to help teach. That would leave me the beginning of November to come back to London to say my farewells, however temporary, to this city. (In this precise moment in time [meaning my feelings change regularly] the only thing that really gets me excited about the prospect of staying is if I did the Pedagogical Year at LISPA. But it's too soon for that, and I'm not ready, and I want to perform for awhile anyway, so I'll just come back and do it in a couple of years. Say 2010 or 2011. How does that sound?)
There's also the fact that Erin and Jillian are in the midst of writing grant applications to fund themselves, Jones, and Diogo (and possibly me!) to develop a devised show and subsequently tour it to four Fringe Festivals across the States (Boulder, Minneapolis, Indianapolis, and Philly). In this particular dream, rehearsals would start in early 2009 on the West Coast somewhere (probably Portland, possibly LA), and the show would tour the fringes that late summer/fall, and would be damn near fully funded by grants.

This is not the only possibility for next year, but it's the most concrete one, and is definitely exciting. But far from certain! So don't get excited! This is an idea to be intellectually appreciated at the moment, not heart-set-upon.

Oh, and also Rebecca and Jed will be in Cairo for October. Have I mentioned that I've always wanted to go to Egypt? I should also not get excited about the possibility of having people to hang out with in Cairo.

You know what I am allowed to get excited about, though? Seventy degree and sunny weather predictions for the week (touch wood)! And even more so: Gemma arriving... TOMORROW! Oh the the places we'll go, oh the lists I have made...

Thoughts right now

I'm doing that thing again today when I think about all my friends all over the world and get all warm and fuzzy about them. Facebook is great for this.

I'm also thinking more about going back to the States after school, and what the implications of that move would be. I'm realising that though the people I want to perform with are all over the world, the people I want to perform for are largely in Minneapolis. I also know that if I go back to Minneapolis without a plan I'll feel like I'm back where I started and will get all grumpy and listless and sad. So basically, the dream plan for today is going back to Minneapolis for about 6 weeks, and then working on projects all over the place (all over the States?) for 2009, which I can bring back to Minneapolis for the Fringe Festival or a short run at the Theatre Garage or Bedlam or something. This is all assuming I don't get a work permit, or get married, or otherwise finagle a way to stay abroad. Because apparently I'm obsessed with living far, far away.

Pre- and post-mature nostalgia

It's been a sweet and emotional past few days. Wednesday was our final voice class, and we worked on our tragic chorus a bit with Simon, who led us through a really beautiful and heartbreaking exercise with our text. Afterwards, we sat in a circle to feedback, and I had a wide-angle-lens moment - taking in everyone around me, the atmosphere in the room, realising that this time is drawing ever closer to a close, and just feeling so unbelievably blessed. I indulged in a bawling session, red nose and all, and sucked it all in.

And yesterday was our last class with Steph. Lovely, spunky, bashful, playful Steph, who has grown with us as a teacher and brought us so much. Another joyful class that ended in tears - and not just for me this time.

Having Erica in town (she just left yesterday) has also got me thinking about Uganda again, and looking through other people's photos has broken my heart all over again that my camera's memory card was stolen in Tanzania. It was difficult at the time, but now that the memories have started to fade I'm really wishing I had those pictures. It's starting to feel like it was so long ago, that experience. Strange to think that someday I'll feel the same way about LISPA.

"I wish I had taken more pictures..."

Takin' care of business

My my! I've been so busy at work today! Doing work-related things! I haven't even had time to write my grant.... DUE TOMORROW. Dun dun DUN!

(Do I sound manic? I have three words for you: End of Term. Oh, and one more: Mocha.)

Seder

Last night, Rebecca opened her home to all us goys and showed us how to celebrate Pesach. We read from a Haggidah she'd compiled herself, and ate Maror and Charoset Matzo sandwiches and parsley dipped in salt water, and drank all the glasses of wine at the appropriate times, and laughed and were raucous and interrupted each other, and remembered those who are oppressed, and sang loudly, and opened the door for Elijah. And then we watched The Ten Commandments.

It was a beautiful, beautiful evening.

Patience is a virtue if you're in a rush

I've made a resolution to stop worrying so much. To breathe through the tasks and responsibilities that stress me out, and to try to enjoy myself more. To let what will be, be.

For the next month, I'll have people staying with me for a month straight. Today, my friend Erica (from my time in Uganda) is coming to visit a bunch of us other ex-vols, and she'll be here for a week. Immediately after, my friend Jack is taking me up on my offer to put him up while he finds a flat in London. He'll have to be out by the 7th May, though, because that's when Gemma arrives. (GEMMA'S COMING TO LONDON!!! HUZZAAAAAAH!)

It's worth remembering at times like these how quickly time goes. I've been trying to get my head around this particularly over the last few days, when I've realised we're down to our last week and a half of classes at LISPA, ever. Starting on the 28th and continuing through graduation on 18th July, we'll be pulling 10 hour days consisting only of creation time and presentations. Wow.

The tipping point

Things are getting crazy at school, and more than a little stressful. We're all looking for extra rehearsal time for extra creation projects, and struggling with those we already have. The days get more and more full and go more and more quickly. Natali and I were bemoaning this fact the other day - the stress of it all! the overwhelmingness! - and then she said, "But you know what? We're going to miss it."

Which is true. And it's all going to be over so bloody quickly...

In other news, I've been recalling how much I enjoy living in London. Maybe I won't come home just yet...

There were bells on the hill...

I very nearly peed myself yesterday in class. We are a very funny bunch, if I do say so myself. Especially when we're taking the piss out of people who take their art really, reeeeally seriously.

And then I went out for drinks on a work night, and sang "Til There Was You" in pretty harmony with Aram and Diogo and Maria, until we were shushed by a very grumpy bar worker who told us he didn't like music. This is after we had been applauded by fellow patrons! Philistine.

And now I'm tired, and a little hungover, and full of Thai food. Mmmm. Friday.

Goin' to the Chapel

Homework assignment for Monday:

Come dressed as you would for an upscale wedding, prepared to sing a song of your choice that you would sing at a wedding.

Please give me ideas. The more the better.

Ah, sweet mystery... solved.

I came home from school tonight to find a FedEx envelope addressed to me. It was empty save a CD, still in its shrink wrap, by someone named Sylvie Lewis. The return address was Matt Searle, Cheap Lullaby Records, Venice, CA.

Who is Matt Searle?! Who is Sylvie Lewis?! Who do I know in Venice, CA?! And how the hell did they get my address? I've combed the liner notes for clues, but there are none to be found, it would seem.

And to make things a bit odder, a but funnier... I'd left the CD playing in the kitchen as I came upstairs to write this, and Carrie just walked in:

"Your song is playing."
"What?"
"Track six. It goes, 'Isabel, what the hell, you don't write, you don't call.'"

ADDENDUM:

Thank you, Lindsay! It's lovely. And my song is ever stuck in my head :)

It's very pretty, but how much does it cost?

In the past two weeks, I've been freaking out about the future. Looking at plane tickets home for Gem and Mark's wedding has raised all sorts of questions, the most pressing of which is whether to buy a one way flight or round trip. There are lots of questions about London, and how viable it is to stay here, and why I want to stay here, and how much. There are questions about where else in the world I'd like to be, and who I'd like to be with, and what kind of community I want to be a part of. There are questions about the kind of art I want to make, and how I want to make it, and with whom. There are questions about how much I want to keep moving, and how much I want to settle, and how much all of this is going to cost. The sheer unbridled possibility of it all has become a little less thrilling, a little more stressful.

In the past ten days, I've looked at flights to Puerto Rico, Seattle, and Bangalore. I've become production assistant/stage manager for the next Finger in the Pie show, which starts rehearsals in two weeks. I've listened to Andy talk about the theatre company he's starting in Mankato. I've thought about living in North Carolina, about doing a clown workshop in Boulder, and about how much all of this is going to cost. I've panicked at the thought of leaving London earlier than expected, and how that changes the colour of everything here. How it makes me feel like a tourist.

In the past two days, I've thought about spending my October in Paris, in Malta, in Portugal. I've gotten sad at the prospect of saying goodbye to Simon sooner rather than later. I've been wondering about where I'll be for Thanksgiving. I've thought about bouncing from Rhode Island to L.A. I've wondered how much all of this is going to cost.

More than anything, though, I wonder what it is that I want.

Blast from the past

Once upon a time, when I was about eight or nine, there was a boy in my class that I couldn't stand. I don't remember too much about him, to be honest, except for the dorky sweaters he wore (but come on - in the early nineties, who didn't?) and that... well, yeah, that I couldn't stand him. Something about coming across as really awkward but arrogant at the same time. Or maybe he was just one of those kids who wasn't considered cool but refused to realise it and was irritating by virtue of his sheer persistence and audacity. His name was Juris, and my best friend and I, keeping with the cruelty of young children the world over, dubbed him "Jerkis".

Somewhere along the line, despite all my efforts to the contrary, he decided he liked me, and would leave gifts on my desk - a rose quartz sphere, and a broken "gold" wristwatch with a digital face. This drove me nuts, and made me really, really uncomfortable. I even ended up calling a summit with our homeroom teacher to be sure that the unwanted attention didn't continue. It worked.

The other night, for some reason, he occurred to me and I was telling Baerbel about that incident. Then today, on Facebook, purely through links of friends of friends, I found something that totally cracked me up.

How times have changed.

A Sunflower Sunday

Mmmmm Sunday. Colour me content. And tired. My (incredibly clean) room is now bedecked with sunflowers from Columbia Flower Market, there was a lot of cycling around town in the sunshine, and all afternoon into the evening was spent at Andy and Mandy's, eating good food and singing, singing, singing.

Insert contented sigh here. It doesn't get much better than this.

Send in the Clowns

I found my clown on Tuesday. Or one of them. And guess what?

She's reeeeeally emotional.

Does this surprise anyone? Probably not. I must admit that I suspected that she'd turn out to be a crier, but in a way I hoped she wouldn't be. I mean, my goodness, this is a part of my personality which is regularly on display, particularly in school, and isn't your clown supposed to be surprising? But then I was talking to Rebecca about it, and she was saying that in a way it was appropriate - another way of looking at clown is that it's taking a serious aspect of your personality and finding a way to laugh at it. And laugh at it we did.

It was really fun, actually. I'm not even sure why I started bawling, but once I did, I got really mad at myself for crying, and people started laughing, and then I started laughing, and then I started crying again. We decided that she doesn't have an "off" switch. She is constantly laughing or crying. There is no in-between.

It takes a lot of energy, though. A lot of energy. And am I going to be able to consistently access that state of extreme emotionality? I don't know. I'm a little intimidated. We'll see if I can pull off repeat performances...

My name is Isabel, and I'm really stupid

We're back! Term three! Clown and the comic worlds! Yowza!

And you know what? It's hard to be funny. We haven't even properly started yet, but it's very clear that this work is going to be at least as challenging as it is joyful. On Monday we started with the Red Nose straight away, and the Birth of the Clown, and it was just a lovely, beautiful thing to see these simple personalities emerge in our colleagues. Some were curious, some were hysterical, some were paranoid, some were very quiet, and all were wide-eyed and wondrous. Very few people managed to be "funny", but to me that was hardly the point, at least so early on. Besides, we've got several more weeks of this work to go yet.

Yesterday was a bit of a change in gears, however - we ditched the red noses in favour of huge wigs, silly hats, and Groucho Marx glasses, as well as other accoutrements of absurdity. The entire afternoon was an exercise in genuine stupidity - how do you enjoy yourself to the extreme regardless of audience reaction? When the proverbial crickets are roaring in your ears because you are so painfully UnFunny, how do you have the time of your life? The last exercise we did was a solo one - people went up one at a time to tell an unfunny joke of their choice, but had to completely crack themselves up in the telling of it. I told the Muffin Joke, a la Janna ("AAAH! I'M ON FIRE!"), and ended up in tears on the floor. Good tears. Laughter tears. And was giggling the rest of the night at it.

I'm willing to bet that this is one of the last times this term that an exercise goes so fantastically well for me. The tides shift so quickly in this work. But how fantastic to have an evening of laughter, of unself-conscious joy. I love this school, and I'm so happy to be back.

(I know I owe a post on Paris. It's coming!)

Paris, je t'adore

Ah, this city. This incredible, breath-taking city of sights, smells, tastes (and European keyboards, which are slowing me down considerably on the typing front.) I am experiencing Paris as never before, and I have Michael and Sylvain to thank.

You'll hear the story of Michael and Sylvain once I'm home in London and can type more than 3 words a minute, but suffice it to say for the moment that I am surrounded by a beautiful language, full of incredible food, and blessed with new, amazing and generous friends. Vive Paris!

Transition time

In five hours, I'll be on a bus to Paris (yes, a bus - we waited too long to book the Eurostar. Ah well). I'm really excited, for obvious reasons (Croissants. Wine. Cheese. AND IT'S PARIS.) But I also think it's going to be really good for me just be out of London for a few days. I'm planning on doing very little else in Paris other than eating, drinking, and walking around. Breathing. Thinking. Reflecting.

The oncoming end of my time at this school (and possibly in this country) has been a more tangible presence in these past few weeks. We have two terms left, one of which will be exclusively rehearsal/creation time, and then the whole world (quite literally) opens up with terrifying, ridiculous possibility. Where will I go? The only thing that I'm certain of at the moment is that I want to be where the art is. I want to be where I can build things with people, and make work that is important to me, and joyful, and challenging, and fun. And realistically, that could be anywhere. That's exciting.

But I'd be lying if I said that there isn't an edge of sadness around the idea of jumping into the rest of my life, both artistic and otherwise. I am very aware, at the moment, of the fact that whereever I choose to be, I will no longer be with some of my newfound collaborators and friends. Not everyone will be in the same place after July, and that makes these remaining months bittersweet. At what other time will I be surrounded by *all* these people, these colleagues, these friends, from *all* around the world, whom I did not choose, but who were thrown in my path and continue to teach me so much? And where do I begin on this fantastic voyage of the rest of my life?

There's not an answer to that, now. That's okay.

Something I will say about LISPA, about the past eighteen months, is that I feel more empowered as an artist and as a performer now than I ever have been. I'm not sure I can explain what a good and important feeling that is. I'm beginning to feel the worth of my art, and it's an amazing thing.

Dreaming ahead

Last night, I went to see a theatre piece devised and performed by 5 LISPA graduates (class of '06) in Elephant and Castle. The work was, as Thomas would say, "an interesting beginning." It's far from perfect - certain aspects of plot weren't clear and performances could have been stronger/characters more definitively drawn - but there are the seeds of something beautiful there. They found some incredible images (white Wellington boots as schools of fish, and the casting of large nets as the waves of the ocean), and the more I spoke to them after the piece about the story they want to tell, the more compelled I was by it. It's so thrilling to see people who have come from this place of chaos and play, who have been spat out into the world and are now fighting to find their way. It's exciting. It's inspiring. And it reminds me about the importance of this work.

Two down, two to go

Another term come and gone, and I couldn't be more pleased. Last week saw our end of term presentation with three tragic choruses, four grotesque/parody pieces, five songs, and an overwhelmingly positive response. So much so that in our class meeting with the teachers following the performance, they said (more or less) "Chill out. You're not that great. Don't let it go to your head." And they're absolutely right. But it felt So Good to do these pieces, and to feel that we'd finally hit on something, and to have the audience respond so positively. At the end of Thursday night, I was on an exhilerated natural high that lasted well into Saturday afternoon. What an incredible way to end the term.

Did Lazarus feel this way?

I've been resurrected! No more sickness! Huzzah!

What's that? I'm going to use my newfound health to sit in front of a computer all day for the entire week?

Well, shit.

Ugh.

Sickness is coming on. Good thing I didn't watch the Oscars last night. As it was, I had trouble sleeping and today I'm tired and snotty and gross. Ugh. Three days until end of term...

Sunday Sunday, so good to me

Today is the most incredible day. It's beautiful spring-sunny, and I'm meandering around one of my favorite neighborhoods in East London, doing some new-favourite and some old-favourite things. For example: salted beef bagel sandwich on Brick Lane (brand-spankin-new favourite); coffee at 157 Brick Lane (newish favourite); overpriced cupcake on Columbia Street (new favourite); walking up and down and buying flowers at Columbia Flower Market (my favourite thing for months now). Everything is making me smile and also want to weep a little. (This is probably because I'm also super tired due to a late birthday party last night.) It's just one of those so-beautiful-it's-a-little-melancholy days.

I also walked past the Rich Mix Cinema and saw that they're BROADCASTING THE OSCARS LIVE tonight FOR FREE from 10pm to 5am. "Dress to impress." I cannot tell you how tempted I am. Will I willfully ignore the fact that I have a particularly long day tomorrow to indulge my Oscar obsession? We shall see...

We're fast approaching the end of term now, which is my lame-o, completely invalid excuse for not writing much of late. The past ten days since my last entry have seen a 5 hour Valentine's Day lunch with Erin, Isabel landing her front handspring (!!!!!!!!!!!!), further consolidation of Paris plans (trip scheduled from 13th-16th March), and some really great creation work in school. I'm performing in two pieces for our end-of-term presentation on Thursday (one tragic chorus and one grotesque piece), both of which I'm really happy with and excited to show. There's also a possibility I'll be performing my song.

Your song? What song?

As part of Voice class this term, everyone has written a song. They came out of exercises where we'd explore vocal qualities of different environments or emotions, then freewrite, and then try to find melodies for the words through our natural vocal cadence. This past Wednesday, everyone performed what they'd come up with, and it was the most lovely, joyful thing to see and hear these very personal pieces of people set to music. Mine still needs a lot of work (it's currently at least two songs in one), but I love it to pieces, and I find myself singing it all the time, especially when I'm cycling. (Interestingly enough, it's when I'm on my bike that I find I have the most eureka moments in terms of songcrafting [with this piece, anyway].) So there's the possibility I'll be performing that on Thursday, too. We'll see.

For the moment, though, I'll just enjoy this moment, this day, and prepare for the insanity and the joyful chaos of the last week of term.

Wounds of love

The back of my right hand is covered in mysterious bruises that I'm sure I sustained during a solo exercise with Thomas in class yesterday where I repeatedly threw myself (or was thrown) onto acrobatic mats while reciting a text from Charles Mee's The Trojan Women 2.0. I have little freckle bruises on the insides of my forearms as a result of the half-hour impromptu volleyball game we played after class last night (also with Thomas! Thomas playing volleyball! Oh joy!). I am sore as sore can be from the poorly-attended Acro class on Monday, which meant an intense workout for the two of us who were there as we attempted handspring after handspring for seventy minutes straight.

The only thing that could make life better right now would be if I had managed to go to bed at a decent hour last night. As it is, it's pretty fucking great.

Content

Tonight, I come home to a house that is calm, clean, and quiet. Today has been a lovely day, smelling of spring, filled to the brim with buckwheat apple-cinnamon pancakes, sunshine walks, pizza ordered in, laughter, and Erin. We saw a man playing guitar under a tree as a paunchy Hasidic Jew jogged by, patches of crocuses and pointing daffodils, a young girl gathering flowers, people on bicycles, all bathed in a slanted golden light. Classical music erupted from old brownstones on hushed streets. Puppies and children were out in full force. And now, with tomorrow's lunch in the fridge and my contacts out, I'm soaked in the pleasant exhaustion of a slow Sunday well spent.

Nothin' but blue skies from now on...

It's a beautiful day. The cycle ride in this morning was lovely, and I'm feeling optimistic. Class the past couple of days have been great - working on songs with Simon in Voice, Viewpoints and Chorus work with Michael, Flocking in Butoh, and a very encouraging and exciting Creation last night - and this afternoon looks like it should be more of the same.

I'm absolutely loving this Chorus work, what little we've done of it. There's something so pleasurable in being a part of a group that moves as one while remaining many. It helps me to listen, and encourages me to find a level of unity and calm that eludes me more often when I'm alone onstage, or have to be a separate entity. But at the same time, I'm enjoying having the opportunity to move the chorus when I *am* a separate entity, when I am the speaker or the protagonist who faces the crowd. It's all very exciting, dynamic work. And it's joyful to feel that unity and connection in the group after these past weeks of Grotesque, which brought out the grotesque in all of us.

It's good to be back.

Now is the (warmish) winter of our (mild) discontent

I feel so listless these days, so vaguely frustrated and slightly ill at ease. I feel like complaining all the time, though I have no cause for complaint. I feel stuck, and unengaged, and boring, and bored. And I don't know why, and it's Driving. Me. Nuts.

Bleagh.

Maybe it's because Grotesque has been so difficult these past weeks. Maybe it's the midterm slump. Maybe it's because I've been working in the same small creation group for a month now (and though it's consistently been a wonderful group to work work with, that's a long time to spend working so closely with so few people), and our most recent presentation felt like a letdown to me - like we'd worked so hard for so long and thought we'd gotten somewhere but actually were still stuck with the same notes, the same obstacles, in the same rut. Maybe it's just the nature of the work - Grotesque is dark and pulls downwards, and Tragedy is dark and pulls downwards, and those are the two territories we're exploring this term. Maybe it's leftover angst from recent school politics. Maybe I'm premenstrual. Maybe I just have the blahs.

Blah, blah, blah.

In which case, no one can combat this ickiness other than me. Let's try with a handy-dandy list, entitled Things That Have Not Been Blah. Ready? Let's go.

Things That Have Not Been Blah

• Enchanted (with Cecile)
• The Mutt(on)/Lamb Rap with Erin
• Erin, upon learning that I'd also written several songs with Carrie, dubbing me the Timbaland of LISPA (AWESOME!)
• Mexican Night at our house (featuring homemade fajitas by Jed and Karim, guac and chips, Coronas with lime, tequila shots, and Desperado)
• No Country for Old Men
• The engrossing ongoing drama that is the Democratic delegate race
• My bangs
• My new, dark brown, knee-high, leather, pirate-superhero boots from Clark's that I got for £25!!!! (70% off! Yow!)
• Working on the Chorus in class yesterday - from Horse Racing Crowds to Watching the Titanic Sink
• Moving into a new theatrical territory in general - it was time to be done with Grotesque
• Little parcels of musical love in the post (THANK YOU, LIV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Ah. I feel a little better now. Fingers crossed ... I hope it sticks.