All out of love

I’m all out of love…

Over the past two years, I have thrown my heart and soul into a couple of key projects - “Mastermind”, first the play and then the short film, and the play version of this blog, “Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis”.

And I threw my heart into someone that was so very close to what I thought I wanted, what I hoped would turn into something. Held my breath and jumped.

And I sit here now, out of love with most of the things in my life. And I’m not sure where to go to fall in love again.

“Mastermind” was one of those very precious, special projects that took every ounce of creativity I had. Getting into Comic-Con with it made me think it was going somewhere that would… I don’t know what. Change my life, change my destiny, seal for me that I am something special, that I am capable of creating something truly special.

And then… nothing.

Cast and crew couldn’t have cared less. It was me. That’s it. Me. Promoting, pushing, building, creating, willing it into life. While everyone stood by and watched. And now the film sits on my hard drive, my will to do something with it completely and totally gone. The love sucked out of it.

Then “Diary”. Wow. “Diary”. Taking this blog and writing the play was so… overwhelming. For over a year, I lived and breathed these words over and over again every single day. Figuring out how to put them together in a way that would speak to people who didn’t know me and who probably didn’t care about my life. Trying to find a way to make it not masturbatory, make it real and honest and open. I fell back in love with my own words, my own writing. There are entries in this blog that I still can’t believe I wrote and things I wrote that I could barely hear read out loud when this show got up on its feet.

Lived, breathed, loved.

And then… it all crumbled around me. I cast someone who couldn’t handle the language. Okay, I’m not Shakespeare but I’ll admit that my writing is challenging. She gacked and blew my entire opening weekend. Crushing my heart, crushing my soul, crushing my love. Lost two other actors in unprofessional and disappointing ways. Had probably the most difficult rehearsal/production of anything I have done in my entire career.

My having to go on stage and replace my actress was bittersweet. I actually enjoyed getting up on stage for the first time in years and reveled in telling my own story. And maybe if I had planned to do that all along, it might have been different.

But by the end, I had been beaten and battered. And the resounding lack of audience and support crippled me.

I was left at the end empty and broken and devastated.

And then you.

You.

I get it, we talked, that’s fine. But even after we talked and I thought the friendship would live, you faded away, breaking my heart even further. I get that you didn’t want what I wanted but…

And now I sit, alone, week after week after week since “Diary” closed, buried in depression, buried in melancholy, trying to get back on my feet, trying to figure out where to go next.

And I realized tonight that I am out of love.

I don’t know if I ever want to direct again. I never thought I would say that. Directing has been the heart and soul of my life for more than ten years. But now, there’s nothing in front of me that I’m in love with, that’s driving me to direct again. And I’m tired. Tired of fighting for what I want, tired of building and building and never moving forward. I’m watching people who, granted, have worked just as hard, but they have incredible support around them and are moving forward in ways I thought I would be. And it makes me wonder why I’m doing this. What am I doing wrong that’s keeping me here? I don’t know if I’ve got the energy or the passion left in me any more for this.

My artwork still moves me but I can’t remember the last thing I painted/drew that I was in love with. I can’t paint right now. Oh, sure, I’m painting but it’s stuff I have to paint. A painting for school, life drawing class, illustrations for a children’s book I’m supposed to be doing. But nothing that stirs my passion, that drives me to the sketchbook or to the easel. While I was at Comic-Con this summer, I began to feel the stirrings of passion but they’ve faded away in the ensuing months.

And in researching the art school I’d like to go to on the East Coast, there’s no way in hell I could afford it, even if I got accepted. Grants and loans will only go so far and I can barely pay my rent, never mind find $20,000 for school each year.

And you. I really don’t want to feel that again. I don’t want to find someone and reach out and give away and feel that strongly again. I just don’t. Because it always ends this way - me, alone, even the friendship gone. And it’s so incredibly painful and confusing and heartbreaking. And I just don’t want to go through that again.

So I’m all out of love, in every single area of my life. I’m facing 50 next year, and I thought I had it all figured out.

And now…

Out of love…

Out of passion…

Out of answers.

Not sure where to go from here. The sense of loss is overwhelming right now.

Maybe it’ll turn around, now that I’ve put words to it. Maybe I can get some perspective and find that love again. Maybe.

I should have

In the dark of the night
Now
Long after I should forget you
My one regret
Is that one night
That perfect night
When you had me in your arms
And I could hear the pounding of your heart
Over the pounding of mine
My one regret
Is that I didn’t kiss you
Because then
At least
I’d have the memory of that.

Missing

Can you hear me
over there
if I whisper
"I miss you"
from over here?

Let go...

I saw you tonight for the first time in a long time. And for the first time, my heart didn’t break when it saw your smile. And that made me a little sad.

But I guess I had to let you go completely eventually. It just took me a very long time because my heart refused to listen to my brain.

And now, it’s wistful and it’s sad but it held together.

I wish you hadn’t disappeared from my life. I wish you were still a phone call away. I wish.. I wish…

But tonight, I think I realized that I have let you go…

Though there is still a tiny place in my heart where you will live always…

Wishing...

I wish I could tear you out of my heart, forget how your eyes looked into mine, how your arms felt around me, how close we almost got.

I wish I could not feel you so often and so strong, like your heart is reaching out to mine, despite your denials, despite your not being able to look me in the eye anymore. Despite the fact that when you do, there is still something there, something sweet, something delicate, that you choose to tear away.

I wish you could be strong enough to stay here, be here, not leave me behind. Be what you said you would be, let us be what we were.

Because I miss talking to you. I miss that. Just that. So simple. Just talking. For hours.

I wish you were more than a season, more than a lesson, more than something ephemeral, something to be lost as a sweet memory, something -- someone -- who happened once.

I wish I could tell you this because I thought I could tell you anything.

And I can’t.

Because I can’t. Because you won’t.

I just wish I could tell you…

… how much I miss you.

Only two weekends left of "Diary" on stage

If you're in the Los Angeles area, check out the play version of this blog, "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis" Eclectic Company Theatreat in North Hollywood.

Critics say: "The writing is personal and hits hard...Her depth and sensitivity give her an individuality that few autobiographical characters have...Lee deserves credit for not holding back and not being afraid to tackle subjects such as abuse, divorce."

Oh, yeah, and not sure if I've mentioned it but I'm on stage as myself for the balance of the run. So it's also the last chance to see me on stage ever.

Eclectic Company Theatre
5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd., North Hollywood
818-508-3003

Fri., Sat. @8 PM, Sun @ 7 PM

Mention this blog and get $9 tickets at the door!

Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb

I was dumb enough to believe you.

Because I always want to believe.

Because I want it t be so.

Because I wanted to believe you. That you were different. That you would stay.

I was dumb enough to believe you.

But you lied.

And you left.

The same way others have before.

You snuck away, not saying anything, leaving me standing there, wondering what the hell happened.

You said you’d always be in my life. That you treasured me and you treasured us and that nothing would change.

And I was dumb enough to believe you.

And I can’t say anything because you’ll deny it.

But you have changed. You’re gone. You’re polite and you’re nice but you flinch when I touch you and you barely answer my calls and you have found new muses that expect nothing from you so they’re safer than I am so you answer their siren call and leave me at the side.

I should know better.

I guess I do now.

So when you get back from your adventure, you’ll find me gone.

But what breaks my heart…

You won’t miss me a bit.

Review of "Diary"

Great review of "Diary", especially considering it was on the first weekend I took over the lead...

The Patch.com

"Diary" comes to life

Here's a peek at the stage version of this blog, with me in the middle of my sock puppets:

Life imitating art imitating life...

Because nothing in my life is ever that easy...

Turning this blog into a play has had its challenges in every way, from writing to the script to casting to raising money. Well, the challenges continue...

Through a series of circumstances that resulted in my lead actress leaving the show, I am now going on as... well... myself in "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", the play, starting tonight and for the entire run through July 3rd. Under any other circumstance, I would never consider stepping into a role in a play I'm directing, but since this is my life, it makes the most sense.

So if you're in LA and you want to see how this all turns out, get your tickets at Eclectic Company Theatre and see how it all turns out.

Fall in love again

I need to fall in love with my life again.

When I first began this journey just about six years ago, I discovered a life that I fell in love with. I embraced the newness of what I found. I fell.

And for a long time, it was true love. Beautiful, touching, amazing. Discovery around every corner. Adventures. Love. Perfect in its imperfection.

But then reality set in and, like most things, love was fallen out of. And it got difficult. And ugly. And hard. And the love I felt once, so long ago, was gone.

And I’ve been not in love with my life for a while. I’m not sure when it happened but I turned around and there was no love there.

And I need to fall in love with my life again.

I need to stop shedding tears over what has been and what has been done and I need to find tears of joy for what is to become.

I need to find the music and the dance and the joy and the light. I’ve spent too much time in the dark, living on the edges, peeking around corners at life.

I need to stop waiting, wanting, needing, craving someone to share this with, someone who will somehow magically make it all better, make it all light, make it all love. I need to truly discover that I am enough and that I need to let go of the expectation that someone is going to be at my side and lead me into the sunset. The vision I had a few years ago of a window and a chair and music and love is fading. It was a beautiful fantasy while it lasted.

But now I need a new vision, one that is solely me. And for the first time in a long time, I can’t see the canvas that this vision will be painted on. I just see… me. Just me. Nothing else. No one else. That’s the vision, that’s the future.

And it doesn’t mean I’ll be alone. It just means I have to be able to be alone and be able to find the joy that way, not through someone, not because of someone. But just because of me.

I need to fall in love with me again. The me that made me leave. The me that believed I could be strong, I could be powerful, I could be exactly what I wanted to be.

I need to look around my life and be in love with every moment and every day and every second.

I need to be in love with this life because it’s taken blood and sweat and too many tears to count to build. And it would be wasted if I didn’t love it. It would mean that everything I’ve done doesn’t count, doesn’t mean anything.

And I need to be in love with me. Broken, battered, bruised, fragile, delicate, breakable, and all of that, all of the flaws. Be in love with that and treat that person with the love she deserves.

I need to fall in love with my life again. And right now, I at least have a crush on my life again.

Feature article on "Diary"

So my play version of this blog opens this Friday in LA and an article I wrote about the production, this blog and all that goes with it is featured on the LA Stage Times website today. Check it out.

http://www.lastagetimes.com/category/blogs/

Photos from the stage production of "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis"

For some of you new followers, you may not know that I am turning this blog into a stage production, which opens in North Hollywood, CA on May 27th.

Here are a couple of shots from the show.



If you're in LA and want to come see the show, check out the info at:

A long time ago...

You were so handsome. Waiting there for me. I was so glad we did the tuxes and the dress and the whole nine yards instead of just a suit and a dress.

Everything was perfect. From the silly invitations we designed ourselves to the simple reception in the church basement. Simple. Personal. Perfect.

I loved my dress. It was exactly what I wanted and it was exactly what I could afford. I felt more beautiful than I had ever felt in my entire life. And you even said so.

I knew it was right. I knew we’d be happy. I knew we’d be forever.

Twenty years later…

You’re there and I’m here. We don’t talk - we can’t talk because I won’t let us. It got dark and ugly and brutal. It went from forever to fourteen years in the blink of an eye.

I never thought there wouldn’t be a forever, even when I told you I needed time. I always thought you’d be there at the end of that time. I always thought you’d be there along the way, figuring it out with me, taking your own time to see where your heart was.

But I guess you did.

And now we’re here. Forever is forgotten. And I’m not sure what it all meant, what it all means.

And I’ve lost faith in forever. I’ve even lost faith in fourteen years.

And I still miss you every single day.

And I can’t help but wonder if you miss me. And I mean MISS ME. Me. The me that was there at the end, not the one you imagined me to be.

And taking this blog and putting up on stage just brings it all too close, too present. And the emotions are impossible to sort out. Love, fear, anger, passion, pain, resentment, faith, trust… all of it. And I don’t know what was real anymore and what is just my clouded memory.

But I do know I remember that day. And I do know that I loved you more than I ever imagined I could. And I do remember how perfect and how beautiful and how much I looked forward to the next twenty years.

And now…

Here we are.

Not where I thought we’d be.

Yes, it's bad poetry time

I'm so afraid
I broke us.
And I'll turn around
one day
and
you
won't
be
there.

I miss...

...the hope of you.

And so it begins

So Tuesday, April 19th, I start rehearsals for the stage production of "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", putting this blog on stage.

I'm very excited about this. I think it's going to be an amazing production. I have a great cast and the script has come together very well.

So be prepared for updates along the way. The show opens May 27th here in Los Angeles (North Hollywood, actually) at Eclectic Company Theatre.

If you'd like to contribute to the production fund and help the show out, please go to:

IndieGoGo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis

Thanks!

Not broken

Thank you for handing my heart back to me without breaking it. Though I do believe a small, special, precious sweet spot will remain with you as long as you’re in my life - and beyond that - because of this.

You taught me a lesson, whether you knew it or not. You taught me that I can love just as fiercely and just as ferociously without being in love. That it’s okay to still love you that much and that you wouldn’t run away from that. You’re stronger than many men I’ve known in the past to stand up to my ferocious love and not hide from it.

And that you love me as much as you can, without being in love with me. And just the fact that you’re still here after what was said and what we said and how much was put on the table makes me know that you love me and that much is true.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish it turned out the other way. If I said I didn’t wish for the rom-com moment where you come to your senses and realize I’m the only woman for you. Because a part of me still wishes for that, still hopes for that. But I know it won’t happen because that’s not what life is about. Life is about hurting and growing and changing and discovering and surviving. Life is about tough choices and hard answers but that doesn’t mean it can’t be good in the end.

And I’m glad we’re okay - better than okay. I’m glad we never missed a beat after all of this. That we’re exactly where we were, without my ridiculous, crazy, muddled heart standing in the way. We have something precious and special and it has survived what has killed most in my life.

And I hope that we stay this way for always. Close, special, true. There is a quote from Brian Andreas from storypeople.com that always makes me think of our friendship:

“They came to sit & dangle their feet off the edge of the world & after awhile they forgot everything but the good & true things they would do someday.”

But I know so much in my life is transient and wayward and that you may not always be there, despite your best intentions. And if you decide to leave, just drop me a note before you do so I can say good-bye. Because I would let you go. I just need a little advance notice.

Almost... but not quite

You were almost. Just so close to almost. And I was willing to wait, despite my many denials that I would. But you were so close…

And we were so close. Your hand on my face, your arms around me, the way you looked at me that one long night. So close. So very close.

And I was willing to wait to see how close we’d get, to see if we could get past so close and just be whatever comes after that.

Because you’d look at me that way, your eyes so full of your heart. And my heart would look back out my eyes at yours and we’d be thisclose. So close.

And I thought we’d get there. I really, truly did. Despite the red flags, despite the wondering and the waiting and the what the fuck. But we were so close.

Your heart pounding as you held me. The touch of your hand. All those little silly, ridiculous, wonderful things you said, did, showed me.

And I thought you were almost. Just so close to almost.

But you’re not.

Because you showed me that we’re not almost. We’re not so thisclose. You showed me by omission that I’m not in your heart or your mind. You showed me that I’m chicken soup for your soul - there when you need me but otherwise, out of sight, out of mind. Not almost. Not even close. Nothing.

It was a simple thing that a single call, a single text, a single email could have shown me that I was almost.

But I guess I don’t get to be that for you. And you no longer get to be that for me.

And I almost forgave you. Because that’s what I was taught to do. I was taught by years of abuse to be passive, to take what I’m given and make that almost. To be willing to be invisible, to be willing to be unimportant, and to say, thank you, sir, may I have some more?

And I went there. I forgave and was ready to hand my heart back to you and say, please sir, may I have some more? Because you’re almost…

Until I got my shins kicked soundly by those who see me and love me and know me. They made me see how not almost you are now. And how almost will never happen because you don’t choose to have it.

And you probably won’t even notice that almost is gone. Because I’ll still be there on the periphery. I’ll still see you and I’ll still talk to you and we’ll still be friends… almost.

But the almost will be gone. And the special connection that we had will be gone. Because I choose it. Because I don’t want any more, thank you, sir.

Because I deserve more than almost. I deserve someone who will make that call when it should be made. I deserve to have someone who doesn’t see me as chicken soup but sees me as something beautiful and delicious and wondrous to be savored and cultivated and cradled as often as possible.

And I’m so sorry you weren’t that. Because you were almost…

But I have to let go of almost and of you because I deserve more than.

And it hurts like a motherfucker.

Can't do it again

I can’t do it again. I can’t be the one to fix and to hold and to solve and to help. I can’t look at you and see the wounds and want to heal them. And I can’t look past the things that are right in front of me that scare me about you, because I’ve done that before and I can’t do it again.

And it’s killing me because it’s so familiar and it’s so exactly what I know that I don’t know how not to do it. How not to be drawn to it and to you and to that.

I need you to want to heal me and to chase me and to solve me. And you’ve done that a bit, enough that makes me hopeful and hopeless, but I guess I want/need/have to have more. And I don’t know how to do that either. To let you know I need more because I’m not sure you can give more.

And I can’t do without more again.

And I adore you, and that’s familiar, too. And that’s what gets confusing and difficult and heart-breaking. I adore you. And when I get near you, I lose all my conviction and just fall into your eyes and into your embrace. And I adore you. And I forget about the flags and the warnings and all the rationales. I just see you and your eyes, looking back at me the way I want to be looked at. And I adore you. And there in your eyes, I see you adore me, as much as you can.

And you’re him and you’re the other him and you’re a bit of the other him and that’s just… too many hims maybe. And I got lost in their eyes, too. And I wanted to heal and to help and to fix and to hold and to solve. And I got lost in them. And they left me standing here, broken, alone, wanting, needing, hoping… and then there’s you…

And there are those moments that are so clear, so crystal, so present, where I’ve seen this in a future moment a while ago, where I’m where I want to be with someone I want to be with and it’s beautiful and it’s perfect and it’s right. And there are moments with you that are so clearly from that vision, from that moment where I saw it, and it takes my breath away.

But the echoes of the past blur the edges of the future and I don’t know what to do.

I want you to get lost in me. I want someone to get lost in me. And maybe I’m so afraid of that never happening that I let myself get lost instead.

And maybe this is where I learn to break this cycle, step away from the familiar, pulling my reluctant heart away from your eyes. Still care, still be there, but just not be all the way there. Stand on the periphery of you so you’re not left alone, because I think you’re very alone and I would never leave you like that, like I’ve been left. And I will continue to adore you, just maybe from a safe distance.

Because I can’t do this again. As much as I wish that I could… as much as I wish you could let yourself go and make this into something, take the chance, take my heart. But you won’t and you can’t.

And I can’t either.

Get the f**k out of my way!

This has been an interesting week of discovery of how I manage to get the hell in my own way all of the freakin’ time.

As I’ve mentioned before, the years of emotional abuse have left me constantly trying to figure out all angles of any situation before I get into any situation. So I spend a lot of time just going, okay, so if he says this, then I’ll say that and then what if this happens and what if that happens, then I should do this and… and… and… and I get on the hamster wheel and run in circles, because there is no answer to any of it.

And because of a couple of men in my life who have hurt me in quiet and vicious ways, I’m so afraid of making the wrong move with someone I care about that I obsess and obsess and obsess over making sure I do everything just perfectly right.

Well, you know where that gets me? That’s right, hamster wheel. I run in circles and circles and circles. And you know what that running in circles does? It generates enough kinetic energy to wind up the clowns and set them loose.

And I found myself there the other day, running in circles, clowns hooting and hollering and circling their little clown cars. All because of a minor change in communication, which was totally understandable and rational, but clowns, when you’re on a hamster wheel, do not allow much room for rationality. So I allowed myself to chase myself into a very dark place, all because of… well… absolutely nothing. Just because he was busy this week and we didn’t talk as much. However, this is how a major relationship with a major OOMA ended - he just stopped calling, stopped returning my calls and emails and just basically faded away, taking my heart with him. It took a while for me to realize this because he was a master at it. But it left me afraid when I don’t hear from a man who I care about because, of course, I’ve been taught that I’m always wrong and everything I do is wrong. And so, I had decided I had done something terribly wrong and he would be angry with me and reject me out of hand.

But, wait. What?

I found myself circling the drain and then finally was able to stop and really think about what I was doing.

I was getting in my own way. Making decisions about what was going on without having any information from the other side about what was going on. There was a big clown-me standing in front of me, getting in my own way.

So I kind of screamed to that clown-me, Get the fuck out of my way!

Wow. Silence. The clown-me stood for a moment, trying to figure out how to fight me. But I pushed that clown-me out of the way and listened to the silence while the clowns retreated as well.

And you know what I heard in that silence?

Silence.

Just pure silence.

No mental math, no algebra. No hamster wheel. Nothing.

Just silence.

And I had a nice conversation with the me that was left. Told myself to just calm down. Just breathe. Just be real and be honest and be true to myself. That’s all I can do. In any relationship. But my relationships with men always seem to get so complicated by the clown-me. The one who’s been taught to complicate things.

And I just want to get out of my own way and be true. Just be me. Just be silent for a while mentally and really listen to what’s underneath everything. How DO I feel? What DO I want?

And really listen to him. Hear what he’s saying, whether it’s out loud or not. Just listen. No matter where this goes, listen to him. To his soul. To his heart. Because otherwise, what’s the point if I’m not listening?

Because if I can’t get out of my way now, when it’s just friendship, when it’s just the beginning of something maybe/possibly/hopefully, how can I get out of my own way if it actually turns out to be something?

I have to learn not to drag the past along behind me and start to let the past go, get out of my way. This relationship is its own creature. It will have its own voice, its own rhythm, its own time. And if I get in my way and drag this shit behind me, then this has no chance of being anything but what has gone on before.

And I want to see what this relationship may be, whatever it ends up being. Good friends, lovers, colleagues, collaborators, something in between all of those things. It almost doesn’t matter as long as I let it be what it is going to be.

And the only way it can be that is if I step aside and let it be, quietly, simply, honestly. Not try to figure it out, not try to force it to be something, just get out of the way of it and follow it instead of driving it.

Huge lesson. Hard lesson. Reeeaaallly hard lesson.

When I get out of my own way, I can hear my heart and my breathe and my soul. And what those pieces are whispering to me is just trust, just be real, just be honest. Don’t struggle, fight, figure, calculate, panic, freak out. His

And then I can hear his heart, his soul, in those quiet moments, sitting on the floor, listening to him talk about his life and his soul and his hurt, without saying it. And that’s as beautiful and true and real as it can get.

So get the fuck out of your own way, stupid, and maybe -- just maybe -- there’s a chance.

Fight or... let's get the hell outta here...

I want to run right now. Run away. Away from figuring things out. Away from the inevitable hurt that’s going to come. Because I want. Because I need. Because I’m me.

I want to hide away, pretend nothing was ever there. Because I’ve been here before -- and again. And probably will again. And it’s always the same.

Because I want to run. And I usually do.

And tonight I thought, I need to pull away, run away, leave you there because I think that’s what you want… now. After all that, after all the close and the want and the pounding heart, I have now decided that you don’t want it or me or any of it and it’d be easier to just run and hide and pretend there was never a want or a need or pounding hearts.

But really, I have no idea what you want, need, whatever. Because you’re a guy. And you’ll never let on what you want, need, whatever.

So my instinct right now is to run.

But a thought invaded my carefully laid plan to leave you in the metaphorical dirt.

Why is it when it comes to fight or flight, I flight? Why don’t I fight? Why don’t I stand in front of you and challenge you instead of running and hiding? Why don’t I take a risk, take a dare, take a chance and just fight for what is hanging in the air between us? Why is fight not an option?

I dunno.

Because fight means that it means something. Flight allows me to pretend that it never meant anything. Flight means I get to keep myself protected and pretend I never even thought about what was there.

And I don’t know how to fight for whatever is there. Because what if there is nothing there and I’m just shadow-boxing?

Because you’re in flight. Because you won’t fight. Because you’re so good at pretending there’s nothing in the air - no want, no need, no pounding heart. Because you’ve had to be in flight your whole life because nobody ever fought for you.

What would you do if I fought for you? If I stood my ground and made you see it. If I just refused to let you flee. Would you fight for me?

I dunno. Probably not. Because no one has ever fought for me either.

I guess I’m tired of fighting for something that the other person won’t fight for. I’m tired of having my gloves up and protecting myself while the other person fights their way past me, leaving me in the ring alone. Because that’s where it ends up - me alone.

And if I run away now, at least I choose to be alone and it’s in my control. If you leave me behind, then it’s not my choice. And I’m left to close up the wounds left behind.

But why can’t I choose to fight? Why I can’t I choose to be the one to do something about the circling and the shadow boxing?

I dunno.

I don’t know a lot tonight. So I apologize if this blog makes no sense. It just needed to get out.

You may return to your regularly scheduled… whatever.

Guest blog

Check out my guest blog on Her Film. I get to talk about being a female director who wants to direct like a man.

http://herfilm.wordpress.com/2011/03/26/we-can-do-that-guest-post-by-filmmaker-susan-lee/

Wildly optimistic heart

I was listening to my Ipod on the way home from job #342 this afternoon. It’s been a long day and my butt is tired and I was looking forward to coming home and crashing for a bit.

Then my Ipod got the better of me, playing Keith Urban’s “If Ever I Should Love”.

Go to:

http://www.cmt.com/videos/shows/cmt-crossroads/529722/cmt-crossroads-with-john-mayer-and-keith-urban-if-ever-i-could-love.jhtml?artist=1161250


Then my wildly optimistic heart took over.

First of all, I love this song. There is something to the rhythm of it that just makes me twitch. And there’s a point near the end that is so beautiful, so full, so ridiculously wonderful that it almost makes me cry every time I hear it.

So I’m in my car, singing at the top of my lungs and, suddenly, my hands take over. I used to be a dancer, for those of you unfamiliar with me, although I haven’t really danced in probably ten years. Not even at parties/weddings/social gatherings. The closest I’ve come was probably in 2006 at karaoke. Some drunk guy was dancing with all the cute girls and kind of decided to dance with me at the last second. He was actually pretty good, considering how drunk he was, and we danced really well together, ending with him dipping me in the most fabulous way. When I stood up from the dip - which I executed with aplomb - he stood there for a moment and finally said, “Wow.”

But there haven’t been many “wow” moments since.

I also kind of resist dancing because, well, it breaks my heart when I dance. I miss it terribly. But for a lot of reasons, I just don’t really dance anymore. Occasionally, I do what I call “kitchen ballet”, where music will move me, usually while I’m making dinner or something, and I’ll bust out a couple of moves in the kitchen.

But lately, I’ve felt like dancing. My hands get started, marking dance steps, marking rhythm, getting my brain doing on what I could do to this music. And then my body starts to twitch and my feet start finding the rhythm.

The other thing that has gotten me thinking about dancing lately -- well, actually two other things. One is that, in turning this blog into a play (opening May 27th in North Hollywood), a number of dance numbers have erupted in the writing. A couple of fun jives, a waltz or two and a (hopefully) heart-breaking tango in the middle of it. So I’ve been thinking a lot about dancing, in regards to that.

The other thing is that a really wonderful man who is close to my heart constantly refers to me lately as a dancer. Not “oh, you used to be a dancer”. But “you’re a dancer”. Usually associated with me knocking something over and being incredibly clumsy (many things have been spilled in his apartment), since dancers are notoriously clumsy off the stage. But the way he says it… He sees me as a dancer. Period. And that makes my heart soar.

And right now, my heart has reason to be optimistic. So the lyrics from the song really speak to me right now, making my heart want to leap out of my chest and go running wildly through the streets. I feel so close to something wonderful, which I’ve probably jinxed by putting that thought out here in this blog, that I can hardly breathe sometimes.

The last verse of the song builds and builds and that’s what made me dance tonight. These lyrics:

“I was scared to love again
Feel the pain that came when she walked out of my life
I got hurt so bad I swore I'd never
Let another get inside this heart of mine
But you touched my hand and every plan that I had
Disappeared like a falling star
And there's a new beginning
And I'm movin' to the rhythm of a beating, braver heart”.

And I was thinking of this special person and how he makes me feel. And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve really, truly felt this happy. And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve danced. And I mean DANCED. Full on, no holds barred. Just let the joy out and danced.

And so, I got out of the car and my feet could hardly hold still. There was a little pirouette at the mailbox, I will admit, which I’m sure made my neighbors wonder even more about me. And I couldn’t wait to get into the house. Dropped my bags, tossed my jacket aside, reset the song to the beginning and danced.

And danced.

And danced.

My heart soared. I know, it’s corny but it’s true. Tears streamed down my face… tears of joy, of pleasure, of hope, of love. All the emotion I hang on to so tightly, all the passion I feel for this hope, this man, this heart let go and I danced. Like I haven’t danced in years.

I’m sure it was ugly. I’m sure it was clumsy. I’m at least thirty pounds overweight for dancing (or anything else, really). I have no idea what I’m doing anymore when it comes to dance. And I'm sure this love, this passion will all come crashing down around me, because that's what it does, and next week, I'll be back to my usual heartbroken, morose self.

But tonight, I danced.

And it was beautiful…

Upon a time

03/14/11 - upon a time

Once
upon a time,
he cradled my face
in his hand
just as you did
last night.
Looking at me
with want
and pain
and true
real adoration.
He held me close
like you did
last night,
our hearts beating
together
together
just as ours did
last night.
And I’m so afraid
you’re going to
be him
and I’m going to
be me.
And I’ll be right back
there
then
again.

But I don’t remember
holding my breath
waiting
hoping
wanting
like I did
last night.
Praying
it will be
different
better
more.

But
I don’t know
if I can
do
it.

Fundraising round deux

As time creeps closer to this blog turning into a play in Los Angeles, I have started another IndieGoGo campaign to raise the production funds needed to produce the show.

Here's the blurb:

"Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", written and directed by Susan Lee, chronicles her recovery as she rebuilt her life after leaving a sixteen year long abusive marriage. Based on her popular blog, http://diaryofamidlifecrisis.blogspot.com/, the play will be filled with discussion of abuse, the beauty of discovering lost talents, unrequited love -- and clowns. And sock puppets. And maybe some martial arts. And one beautiful heart-breaking tango. (And, no, Susan will not be performing in addition to writing and directing. She's not that much of a narcissist.) A percentage of any profits from the play will be donated to Sojourn, a shelter for victims of domestic violence - http://www.opcc.net/tabid/88/Default.aspx.

Here's where to give me your dough:

http://www.indiegogo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis-1

Any contribution is welcome - $5, $50, $500. There are perks at every step, from a simple thank you on my website and in the program to sock puppets and clown noses to an original oil painting done by yours chumly.

So if you've got a buck or two to spare, please toss it into the IndieGoGo fund and I shall be eternally grateful!

Thanks much.

A heart worth breaking

You’re going to break my heart… and I’m going to let you. Because apparently I haven’t learned how not to let someone break my heart yet.

It’s the same thing - I fall, you say you don’t. Yet you do. Yet you won’t. But I will.

And I’ll dream and I’ll want and I’ll wait.

And we’ll do this … whatever this is. This limbo, this nothing yet everything. This thing that leads nowhere yet we can’t not do it.

And we’ll be thisclose and this far. And then thiscloseagain.

And you’ll break my heart. And I know it.

But I can’t wrangle the want and the need and the hope. They all lead me down that inevitable road, where there is nothing at the end but nothing. You going this way, me going that. We’ll smile, we’ll hug, you’ll say we’re friends and we’ll always be friends.

And you’ll be gone. But you’ll linger in the pieces of my heart, where the ghosts of others come before live.

And I’ll go on and you’ll go on. And maybe you’ll remember and maybe you won’t. But I will. I’ll remember the talks and the poetry and the food and the laughter and the want. And you’ll be held dear deep inside, whether you want to be or not.

So I’ll let you break my heart because I don’t know how not to. And maybe next time, I’ll learn.

“This time I’m mistaken/for handing you a heart worth breaking.”

Just to be safe

Just to be safe

Safe
–adjective
1. secure from liability to harm, injury, danger, or risk: a safe place.
2. free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.
3. involving little or no risk of mishap, error, etc.: a safe estimate.
4. dependable or trustworthy: a safe guide.
5. careful to avoid danger or controversy: a safe player; a safe play.
6. denied the chance to do harm; in secure custody: a criminal safe in jail.

Such a small word - safe. S-A-F-E. Four letters.

But so many meanings.

Safe.

To be safe. To feel safe.

Something we all want. To be safe, to feel safe. To be with someone who makes us feel safe. To make someone else feel safe.

Sounds so simple.

Safe.

I have never felt safe in a relationship. Neither of my marriages made me feel safe. My familial experience with safe is spotted at best. I thought that was just the way every relationship was - “safe” was a word that meant something but didn’t apply.

I’m not sure what would make me feel safe. I’m not sure I could ever feel safe at this point in my life. I do have people in my life who I trust -- mostly my girlfriends. But safe?

“Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.”

Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk.

I want a relationship free from hurt, injury and danger. But I’m not sure any of us can have that. We all get hurt, we all hurt. Doesn’t matter our intentions, we hurt. That’s life. That’s nature. We hurt, we get hurt, we get injured, we injure. How can we feel safe if it is inevitable that we will get hurt, get injured and injure those we love?

I threw a life preserver (virtually) to someone last night, hoping to make him feel safe because I know that he doesn’t -- in any aspect of his life. And I want to be the one to make him feel safe, to make him feel secure and whole and valued and beautiful and loved. But I know he probably won’t let me because he’s been hurt and injured and he’s hurt and injured and maybe he thinks he will never be able to be safe again so he lives in the hurt and the injury rather than risk.

And I stand over here, pondering how to maintain a peaceful heart when all I want is someone to make me feel safe. Someone to throw me a life preserver - virtual or otherwise. But I know I won’t let them because I’ve been hurt and injured and I’ve hurt and injured and I’m not sure I can make anyone feel safe anymore because I’m not sure I believe there is a safe left.

And can I love even if it doesn’t feel safe?

Sometimes, I think safe is not trying to love, not letting someone in. If I don’t ever let him in, then I won’t ever get hurt. Or so I tell myself. And maybe he’s not the one hurting me, maybe I’m the one hurting me by not letting him in.

Safe is protecting myself and keeping my heart to myself. Safe is not letting him get as close as I’d like him to because then neither of us can hurt each other. We can stand at this distance, arms at our sides, heart buried deep inside, fighting the urge to risk, fighting the urge to hurt, fighting the urge to just not be safe for one single, delirious, beautiful moment.

Because that would be dangerous. That would be risky. And the definition of safe is “free from… risk.”

So how do we be safe and not safe at the same time? How do we do that? How do we put ourselves out there in the ether, praying it won’t hurt this time, praying we won’t hurt him this time? How do we risk when the cost seems so very high and when it feels safer to just stay home, just keep your heart tucked away, keep yourself and himself safe?

I risk so much every single day in the life I have chosen to live. I risk the system, I risk living the life I want to live. I risk losing everything every day because I can’t pay my rent and I can’t pay my bills, and I can’t even afford gas for my car this week. That’s risk. That’s danger. That’s pain and hurt and all of that stuff. But I choose to do that every single day because of love. Because I love my life. I have chosen a life I love and so I’ve chosen to not be safe.

But I can’t yet choose to not be safe with you. And you won’t choose to not be safe with me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So we’ll both just stand here, at a safe distance, still hurt, still hurting, still wanting and aching and breaking and needing. But “safe”. Without seeing how unsafe we are not.

And maybe we’ll never be brave enough to let go of safety enough to be with each other as more than just good friends. Maybe there’s a safety in that that somehow reassures us and keeps us here. Occasionally, one of us risks the loss of that safety with a touch or a glance or a few moments of holding my hand, unexpectedly, overwhelmingly. Yet we retreat to our safe corners, to watch, to wait, to be safe.

Or maybe -- just maybe -- I say, fuck that and jump. Because I want the way it feels when it’s not safe. I want the risk, I want the unknown, I want the… everything that goes with not being safe. I want to feel. I want to live.

I want what this poem expresses so beautifully. But until I risk, until I stop feeling safe, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.

So I’ll end with a little e.e. cummings, who was never safe and always risked and left behind a legacy of words filled with un-safety and beauty. Because I already carry your heart with me now, whether you know it or not.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Let It Be

“Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. There will be an answer, let it be.”

Yeah. I’m not good at that.

Letting it be. Whatever “it” is.

I have to know. I have to know what the answer is. I have to know what the end result will be. I have to know. I have to examine every situation from every single angle and figure out all of the variations that could come from any situation so I can figure out what’s going to happen in the end.

I finally figured out where that comes from.

My family life growing up was chaotic, to say the least. I never thought there was anything wrong or different. I thought everyone lived like we did. Fighting. Arguing. Mom throwing things. Mom being just a little bit bipolar so never really knowing how she was going to react to anything. Whatever I thought she was going to do -- bad or good -- she always reacted the polar opposite of what I expected. And the rest of my family, well, let’s just say there were other challenges within that dynamic.

Then with both of my ex-husbands, who both came from alcoholic families and had all the tendencies alcoholics have, I found myself repeating this pattern. I had to figure out every angle on everything so I would be able to be what they wanted me to be, to do the exact right thing and be the exact right thing. Maybe not so much with my first husband but definitely with my second.

R was volatile at the best of times but if things didn’t go the way he wanted, there was hell to pay. Now, emotional abuse is hard to understand unless you’ve been on the receiving end of a vicious, cruel, screaming tantrum. You live to avoid those situations so you become really good at figuring out how to walk the minefield that has somehow become your life.

So I’ve spent most of my life dodging minefields and tiptoeing through relationships. Trying to protect myself, trying to make sure that everything stays stable and easy and that I don’t get my head ripped off because of some tiny, teeny, little, bitty thing I missed.

“Let it be, let it be…”

But now, when I don’t have that crazy, insane, abusive life anymore, I’m still hanging on to one or two vestiges of that life. And one of those vestiges is trying to figure everything out. Which is not necessary when life isn’t crazy and I’m surrounded by people who love me and respect me.

But when it comes to the men I care about, the ones (oh, let’s be honest right now, the ONE) who I want to be with, who I want to invite into my life, I still cling to those old habits. Figure out everything, analyze everything, make sure I know every angle of every situation and try to figure out how to make everything work out perfectly, no matter what the response from the other person is.

The problem is, the man I am currently interested in is not like my two exes. Well, in some ways, of course he is because there is something in each ma I’ve fallen for that ties them together. But he is not abusive, he is not angry, he is not vindictive towards me. He is gentle and sweet and challenges me just the right way. This goes for all of the men I have fallen for in the past five years. They’re gentle, they’re sweet, they respect me like I’ve never been respected before.

Yet I still walk on eggshells. I’m still afraid that what I’m doing is going to be wrong, going to drive them away, going to end up with me being screamed at and destroyed and ruined, all because I’ve done something wrong.

So I still spend hours and hours and hours trying to figure out what every gesture means, what every word means, what every single interaction means. Because if I can figure that out, then I can make everything perfect.

Except I can’t.

Because there is nothing to figure out. For the most part, these men - including the current OOMA (object of my affection) - are pretty much what they seem to be. They have issues, sure, don’t we all. And some of those issues are complicated and do veil things but not the way my brain thinks it is. So I obsess and I lose hours and create heartbreak in myself because I simply cannot just let this be. I HAVE to know. I HAVE to figure it out. I HAVE to have an answer.

But there are no answers by doing this.

“There will be an answer, let it be.”

I’m trying to learn to just let things be. I cannot control anything but myself, as much as I want to control him. I cannot make him do what I want him to do, no matter how many ways I think about how to do just that. I cannot understand what’s going on in his head because I can’t. I have to just let it be what it is. Friends? Something more? Something less? Every algebraic equation I come up with won’t solve anything. Won’t net an answer.

“There will be an answer, let it be.”

I have to just let it be. In so many ways. Not just with whatever is going to happen with this OOMA but with many things in my life. I have to learn to let go of the patterns of abuse and try to heal that last, lingering part of myself and learn to just let it be. Chanting helps. Since I’ve joined Soka Gakkai International, a lay Buddhist sect, chanting has become a big part of my life and helps me let go some, let the universe know what I’m needing/wanting/lacking and trying to just let the universe take care of me. But I’m not good at that yet so I’m still pushing and twisting and bending.

“There will be an answer, let it be.”

Maybe once I learn this, I can leave the last of him behind me, the last of our life behind me. Maybe then I’ll be able to move forward with someone, whether it’s this complicated, enigmatic OOMA or someone else in the future, and be able to just let things be. Not try algebra for the simplest things, just let it be.

“There will be an answer…

Let it be.”

Thought for the day... or for life...

I'm currently reading Nick Hornby's "A Long Way Done" whilst trapped on the LA
Metro (which on twitter has become lametro - lame-tro). He wrote the novels
"About a Boy" and "High Fidelity". Brilliant, funny, dark, moving writer. This
one is about four people who climb to the top of a tall building in England to
jump off and kill themselves on New Year's Eve. Instead, they form a twisted,
dysfunctional, poignant family, trying to help each other find their lives
again. I'm not quite finished with it yet so I'm not quite sure how it's all
going to turn out.

But as I am currently going through a very deep, dark peer into my soul right
now (that has nothing to do with "Diary"), there was a passage today in this
book that really spoke to me. Don't know if it'll speak to you but here it is
anyway.

The quartet are meeting for coffee, trying to understand why they each wanted to
jump off the building. They began to talk about what they would do differently
in their lives or what they would want back. If they had three wishes, what
would they wish for, what would their lives be like? Then there's this passage:

"We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we can't
have it. And because it sounds ungracious, or ungrateful, or disloyal, or
childish, or banal. Or because we're so desperate to pretend that things are
O.K., really, that confessing to ourselves that they're not looks like a bad
move. Go on, say what you want. Maybe not out loud, if it's going to get you
into trouble: 'I wish I'd never married him.' 'I wish she were still alive.' 'I
wish I'd never had kids with her.' 'I wish I had a whole shitload of money.' 'I
wish all the Albanias would go back to fucking Albania.' Whatever it is, say it
to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it'll get you a punch
in the nose. Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying
corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies just for one minute."

I love that.

"Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying corrodes the
soul, so take a break from the lies for one minute."

Take a break from the lies of surviving life today and say "I wish"...

And make it a big one... or two... or twelve.

I wish...

Such powerful words.

If we start with "I wish", where do you think we can end?

I'll start:

I wish I left my marriage earlier, then maybe we both would have been happier
sooner.

I wish I could spend every single day directing.

I wish I had someone in my life to be a partner and a lover and to share this
difficult and amazing journey with me.

Now you go...

(share if you want to, don't share if you don't, but wish)

Dark of the night

Bottom of the pit last night.

Very dark, very black.

Darker than I’ve been in a while.

Can’t quite make sense of it all… or of any of it.

Don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.

Can’t figure out if what I’ve done means anything at all.

Dark of the night, dark of the soul.

Not sure I’ve quite shaken it today.

Maybe gotten to indigo from pitch black.

But the pit is still there -- tempting, taunting, teasing me to jump.

Just give up.

Just give in.

It’ll all be fine if you’d just…

Give everything up and just accept mediocrity.

It’ll all be fine.

It’ll all be easy.

Just do it.

Just
do
it.

Comfort food

I am tired of being the human equivalent of comfort food for the men in my life.

I’m the girl they turn to when they’re alone, when they want someone to make them feel warm and fuzzy and loved -- with no strings attached. They know I won’t demand anything of them because, well, because I’m stupid. I’m so happy to have their attention, have their focus, even if it’s just for a few hours, that I toss everything aside just to be there for them.

The late night visits which, in someone else’s life, should turn into a booty call turns into watching “Thomas Crown Affair” and searching Craigslist for someone for ME to hook up with since apparently nothing’s gonna happen with Dude Boy.

The last call of the day from Dark Boy, who wants/needs/desires to have someone be just that, with long, wine-filled conversations and poetry, who thinks I’m amazing as long as I’m doing things to help him out. But when push comes to shove, I’m not the “spice” he’s looking for. But I’m comfy enough to spend time with… as long as someone else isn’t there.

I’m the one they turn to when they just need a warm fix. They don’t want sex. They want soup. I’m chicken soup. I’m warm cookies. I’m reliable and dependable and maybe I smell good.

But comfort food is temporary. Once you’ve been comforted, the empty soup bowl goes into the sink and then back into the cupboard, to wait for the next rainy day, the next cold, lonely night, to be brought out when there’s nothing else to eat.

But I’m done with that.

I will no longer comfort you, unless you’ve lost a limb.

I will no longer answer your last-call-of-the-night calls.

I will no longer be your comfort food. If you need comfort, find someone else. I’m done with warm and fuzzy and good-smelling. Well, maybe not done with good-smelling.

I am moving on to being dessert.

I am that gorgeous, delicious, indulgent cake you see sitting in the dessert case, beautifully lit, just waiting for you. But you can’t reach into that case unless someone lets you in. I am the dessert to be coveted, to be oogled, to be desired and wanted, only to be denied unless I decide to let you open the cupboard.

You have to earn me. You don’t just get to have me. You’ve got to plan and sacrifice and leave room for me.

You are going to miss me, I guarantee that. But I’m out of comfort for you. It’s time for some comfort for me.

Oh, but I thought… cuz you… oh…

Oh, I thought that we were…

Because there was poetry once…

And the four hours we always talk…

And the food on the spoon…

And soup…

And you reached out…

And I reached back…

So I thought…

And we acted like…

And you treated me like…

And there seemed to be an us growing…

But I guess…

But I thought…

But apparently you didn’t…

And then you said…

And then my heart broke.

Single word

A single word tonight, from either of us, could have changed everything.

But I think we’re both just so afraid of that single word that we just don’t know how/when/if to utter it.

Just a single, simple word.

Stay.

I wanted to hear that word, even though everything else was screaming it. I wanted to hear it from your lips, to see it in your eyes.

Stay.

Just that simple word.

You, over there, sleepy, beautiful, and, for a very brief second, vulnerable in a way I have never seen you be.

Me, over here, tentatively placing my hand on your leg, you not pulling away. My hand resting there, your eyes closed. The closest we’ve been. The closest we’ve let ourselves be.

I just wanted to hear that one word.

Stay.

And I guess you were saying it by just letting me be there, letting me connect, letting me in for just a single moment.

And I didn’t hear it. Until it was too late. Until I broke the silence and brought us back to where we were.

I heard that simple word just as I opened my mouth and took it all away. Screamed in my head to just shut up so I could hear that word that was hanging out there, unspoken but said.

And I wanted to just take it back, to go back to just being there with you, the simplicity of my hand on your calf, your eyes closed, the quiet of the room. That moment of time, just suspended, just hanging there.

But it was gone.

And I still hoped you would say that simple word. Even as I walked away, I wanted to hear it. I wanted my phone to ring and to hear you say, come back, stay.

But I guess we’re not there yet. And I guess we’re both afraid to say that simple word.

Stay?

Stay.

Because it is not so simple. It would change everything. It would mean everything.

And maybe we’re just not ready for that.

Not yet, anyway.

Blatant self-promotion post

Huge news! "Mastermind" has been selected to compete for a $250 grant through Patron of the Arts to help with festival submissions. The whole thing is driven by Facebook so if you have a Facebook account, help us out!

Please "like" Patron of the Arts page:

http://www.facebook.com/patronofthearts

And then go to the Mastermind link and "like" Mastermind (near the comment box on the bottom).

http://www.facebook.com/patronofthearts#!/photo.php?fbid=486399397874&set=a.486398867874.260373.106420007874

Two quick steps, one quick vote, and you can help "Mastermind" take over the world. Please repost and help us out.


For those of you who haven't been following this blog very long, I am a filmmaker and "Mastermind" is a pet project of mine, which I shot last year. Last summer, it made its world premiere at Comic-Con, which was amazing! But I don't want to stop there. However, financially, it's expensive sending films out to festivals so this grant could cover submission fees, publicity, etc. So if you can help out, that would be awesome!

Mourning us

I don’t think I really mourned us. The loss of the entity that was us. I felt my broken heart for me but not for us.

Because us was something special at one time. We came together to build a life that was full of potential, full of possibility, full of future. There was a “we”. There was an “us”.

But that entity took over our individuality and us became something big and dark and heavy. The potential, the possibility, the future got stuck in the void as we lost ourselves into the expectation of what we should be. We folded ourselves into us and left ourselves behind.

And when it ended, I celebrated the death of us because us had become excruciatingly painful. Us was the entity that ate my soul. Us was something I couldn’t wait to no longer be a part of.

I didn’t see the corpse laying at my feet, battered and beaten and bleeding. I stepped over it and ignored it, pretending that my footprints weren’t left behind in the leftover viscera. I left that empty shell behind and never looked back.

Until tonight.

And finally, I am mourning.

I am mourning the loss of what we built. The loss of forever. The loss of the us that came to be.

I am mourning that there is nothing left between us but emptiness and hollowness and pain.

I am mourning that you are not here. And that I cannot let you be here. And that I can never let you be here again.

I am mourning that we won’t grow old together and see all of our imaginings come to fruition.

I am mourning the death of the love we once surely must have had. That barely a memory of that love has managed to survive. That it wasn’t enough to avoid this inevitable demise.

I am mourning the loss of you and the loss of me. That we gave so much to something that could not survive all the pressure, all the pain.

I am mourning that we didn’t stop long enough to try to avoid the end, that we didn’t see it, didn’t acknowledge it. That we just let it come and watched as the us that was us died.

I am mourning the loss of you because there is still a hole there where you should be. And it will never be filled.

There is nothing now to do but weep and pine and rend something to signify the loss. My heart has worn the rend for a long time but now it has surfaced and become real.

But from the mourning, maybe there can be healing. Maybe it will set me free and let me let us go. I can occasionally lay flowers on the grave. I can occasionally pause to acknowledge the loss. I can maybe finally put us behind me and truly move forward as only me.

You'd think I'd learn

I apparently don’t learn very easily.

I like to hang my heart out like a piñata and hand the current OOMA (object of my affection) a big honkin’ stick and just let them have at my heart with all their might. I get fooled into thinking that this time will be different, that maybe there’s something there, that maybe THIS ONE will be the one who won’t break it but, inevitably, they do.

In five and a half years of being on my own, you’d think I’d see the signs. They’re always the same.

Guy seems to dig me. Tells me how amazing I am. How talented I am. They stand thisclose and feel so near and so present. The connection is electric and literal sparks fly. This goes on for a while until there’s that moment - that one moment that makes me go, ooooo, here it is, we’re one step away from something wonderful and beautiful. And I hold out my heart, stopping just short of screaming from the top of the nearest building, “Here! Take it! I know you want to! Finally! Yay!” And I create beautiful rom-com scenarios of how it’s going to play out and how we’ll fall in love and how wonderful it’s going to be, because it’s right there. And I’m on top of the world for a day or a week or, this time, a month.

And then…

Nothing.

It’s gone. Suddenly. Without warning. I wait and hope and think, “Next time I see him, it’ll be magic. It’s finally going to be what I want it to be.”

And then…

Nothing.

Actually, worse than nothing.

It’s nice. It’s lovely. It’s friendly. Most people won’t even notice the change.

But I do.

And my heart does.

And tonight, my heart is kicking me in the shins for letting it get dragged around and fooled again. It’s pissed off at me for not seeing the signs and letting this one in. Being fooled by a brief moment of almost, fooled by language and words and this-close-so-close-but-not-quite-there-intimacy and one single night filled with potential that ended with hope, if not anything physical.

And my heart is wrapping itself up in steel and chains and barbed wire and a big fucking lock and hiding the key, refusing to tell me where it is. It’s warning me that if I do this again, it’s going to break for good and never be healed. It’s warning me that I’d better prepare for a long fallow period because it’s not coming out for anything - ever.

Because I have been stupid with it and it won’t let me be that stupid again.

Chasing (your name here)

Just finished watching “Chasing Amy” for the… I don’t know how many-eth time. One of my absolute favorite films and my absolute favorite Kevin Smith film. The dialog and the relationships are so honest and true. I think the brilliance of Kevin Smith is that underneath all the cussing and the in-your-face rude beats the true heart of human emotions. When he gets it right, he gets it so very right.

The last five minutes of the film rip my heart out and throw it on the floor and then back up again and drive back over it. Holden (Ben Affleck) comes to a comic book convention (he’s a comic book artist) to have closure on his relationship with his former partner (Jason Lee) and the woman he was -- and still is -- in love with, Alyssa (Joey Lauren Adams). The conversation between Holden and Alyssa is so innocuous and nothing but watching Affleck and Adams just look at each other is heart rending. I think it’s one of the most under-rated performances Affleck has ever given. You can see how much these two want to be together, how much they regret their choices and how they have no choice but to move on and leave each other in the past. Crack - there goes my heart, breaking.

Because I’ve been there. Okay, I didn’t sleep with someone who was gay who decided to not be gay so they could be with me and then fuck up the relationship by suggesting a weird, twisted threesome. But that moment -- that moment with that person that you should have/could have/might have made something beautiful and perfect but somehow, you fucked it up and there’s no way to go back. And you both stand there, the moment hanging between you, the want, the need, the regret tangible as you talk about nothing. The desire to say, I love you, you changed me, you marked me for life. I will never forget you. I wish I could take you in my arms right now and that we could go back to before all of this. I wish… I want… I’m sorry.

But we never get to say that. We never get that perfect closure. It’s always held between you, with nothing and no way to ever close it. We just look, we just wish, we just let that breath, that moment hang… until it’s gone.

And you move through the door. You say, oh, that’s just some guy/girl I knew. And that’s it. Some person I knew. And the door closes and it’s gone.

And it makes me stop now, as I’m chasing again, and suddenly realize that it’s going to be the same thing that it’s always been. Chase, heart held out, crash, boom, bang. Door closing. That moment, that look, that breath filled with intent and thought but never expressed. Chasing (your name here)…

Some day I may figure out that chasing is a waste of time. There are those who cannot be caught.

Deja vu

I don’t want this one to be like the other ones - me standing here, my heart in my hand, holding it out to you. You, standing there, looking at my heart, pondering it, making me think it’s yours to take. But I’m left standing there, heart out, soul out, with no one to take it.

I want to hope you’re different. That you’ll reach back, your own heart in your own hand, holding it out to me, letting me ponder it. Because I want to reach back to you.

But I don’t know if I can hold my hand out that long anymore. I’ve done it too many times, only to be left alone and empty.

So if you’re going to take it, take it soon. And if you’re not, then tell me know and I’ll put it away.

To hope again, the next time…

This moment

These are the days I live for.

Got up this morning, too early for me, to teach Thanksgiving art camp at Mission Renaissance. I was glad I only had two kids because that means an easy day for me. I brought my watercolors with me so I could do a quick little painting while I was teaching. I do this so that I don’t hover over the kids and make them crazy. Great kids, really easy camp day. Couldn’t ask for me. Getting to do a job that I love is a great way to start a day.

The painting came about after a Career Success Group meeting the other night.

Okay, guess I should back up a bit.

The Career Success Group is a group I run that helps us set goals, figure out the big picture and what you have to do today to get to your ultimate goal. I started doing this with another group of friends a long time ago and we had to disband because we all got too successful to keep meeting. I decided to start it up again recently because I have achieved all of my initial goals set so long ago and needed to refocus and figure out where to go next.

We met on Sunday night at the wondrous apartment of the newest piece of my heart, Mark. He’s an awesome guy who played a dead body for me this summer during “Blonde Alibi”. He’s become a good friend and a great colleague.

After the CSG meeting, I hung around to clean up and he and I engaged in our traditional shot of Jamesons as we went over stuff from the meeting. We talked until the wee hours and at one point, we were pouring over a book of art by painter J.M.W. Turner. So beautiful! Mark then challenged me to find some inspiration in the book and lent it to me, along with a couple of plays to read.

Okay, so that brings us to today and the painting. I think it came out all right, for a quickie painting done while I was teaching.




Mark had also offered up his living room as a place I could come and write whenever I wanted to, since I usually write at a coffee shop because there are far too many distractions at home. So today was the first day I took him up on that.

I swung by his place, showed him my homework, which he praised very nicely. We chatted, he started the kettle for some hot cocoa for me (it was chilly here in LA today) and then headed into his room to work and I curled up on his overstuffed, very comfy couch to write.

Bliss.

Sometimes, writing at the coffee shop gets too loud, too noisy, too coffee-shop-y. To sit in a cozy apartment with no distractions, no coffee grinder going, and just write was amazing. Occasionally, I could hear Mark singing along to the music coming from his room and that just made me smile. I was worried about intruding but obviously, that wasn’t a problem.

Mark came out a couple of times just to chat and see how I was doing. The company was more than welcome. Then we walked up to the store, picked up some French rolls, wandered back and he made us soup. We sat and ate and chatted about absolutely nothing.

Finally, I decided I needed to head home. Quick nap. Quick shower.

Then I met Mark at our friend, Marie’s, script reading tonight. Marie is an old friend. I produced “Father Xmas” for her years ago and am delighted that she has circled back into my life. She is also a part of the CSG so we went to support her. Her script was awesome, part “American Werewolf in London” and part “Bill and Ted”. Funny, raunchy, very excellent. Mark and I laughed our asses off. And the other scripts read tonight were also very well written, great comments from the members of the group, strong actors. Mark and I both networked our little butts off. Mark walked me to my car and gave me a big, warm hug and good wishes for the holiday (he’s going home for the holiday - and he’s the best hugger in the world - next to Ranger Smith) and I headed out.

Home now, with a purry, feisty kitty tackled my hands. Feeling very satisfied, very loved, very much enjoying this life I’ve built. While I hope that some day I can let go of where I came from to get here, I hope I never lose the appreciation for the life I have put together. Yes, I can’t pay my rent (quite literally - probably getting a three day notice tomorrow). Yes, it’s a struggle sometimes and it’s certainly not easy. But on days like today, where I get to spend my time painting and drawing with awesome kids, spend a significant amount of time creating while in the company of a friend I adore and then share in someone else’s amazing creativity, I wouldn’t change a single moment of what I’ve done.

Melissa Etheridge echoed on my IPod - I want to stay here in this moment…

From 8/26/06

For some reason, as I'm working on the play version of this blog, this particular post struck me as timely and relevant right now. So enjoy a blast from the past. And stay tuned, I may start posting either new blogs or reposting some of my favorite ones from the past.

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(From my blog, dated 8/27/06 - Titled "Crossing Lines"

Then, in trying to find something inspirational to send to Monica to wish her luck on her interview tomorrow (today by the time I post this – good luck, sweetie!), I found this on storypeople.com. Thank you, Brian Andreas.

“I have too much to lose, she said, if I cross that line. Like what? I said. She could not think of anything that day so she said she'd get back to me. Since then I've been thinking what I would lose if I cross my line & I haven't come up with anything either. There's always another line somewhere.”

We spend our whole lives avoiding crossing lines – picket lines, yellow lines, invisible lines we’re not even aware of. Those are the hardest ones, those invisible lines. What are they? Where do they come from? How do we find them if they’re invisible?

This ties into the all-consuming conversations lately about the men in our lives and all that goes with that, hence, all-consuming. My friends and I feel that there are lines there that have been laid down that we don’t dare cross.

But what if we did? What if we did take that bull by the ever-hesitant horns and vault over that line written in chalk on the floor? What if we smudged it a bit and moved it ever so slightly to a more advantageous spot? What if we ignored it altogether?

“What would I lose if I cross my line…”

That’s the tough question. I would lose my…

How about fear? I have begun to learn in the last year (2006) that crossing lines doesn’t mean finding pain and disaster on the other side. Of course, most of my line crossing has been fairly safe, mostly involving creative endeavors in my life. My biggest line cross was the end of June last year, when I saw a life on the other side of my line and I decided to leap over it and grab that life without worrying about crossing a line.

Fear keeps us all on this side of our line, not allowing us to even peek over that line in case there might be something we want on the other side. If we peer over that line, we might see another set of eyes peering back over their own line back at us, wanting, needing, begging someone to lead them over their lines. But the thing is this, we’d have to cross our own lines to reach out to those eyes – no matter how appealing – and we don’t seem to be able to do that. That line, though drawn in Magic Marker or chalk or by our own toes in the sand, might as well be a brick wall 18 miles high and as wide as a continent.

“What would I lose if I cross my line…”

Excuses. As long as I stay on this side of my line, I’ll always have an excuse for not crossing that line. It’s too soon, it’s too hard, it’s too soon, he’s too close, we’re too… the list is longer than I could ever post on this blog. That line protects me from being hurt, from being open, from being injured. Excuses allow me to hide behind that line, keep that line in front of me so that those eyes on the other side of the line won’t be able to see me and reach me. And maybe those excuses keep that other pair of eyes from reaching out from behind their line to help me climb over mine.

“What would I lose if I cross my line…”

My heart. If I cross the biggest line in front of me right now, I could lose my heart and maybe not ever be able to reach the eyes on the other side of his line. That’s the biggest chance of all – crossing your line, hoping that the person you’re crossing it for finds the strength to somehow grab you and be pulled across their line to join you in the middle. Because most people won’t cross their line. Most people live their entire lives behind that line without ever poking a toe over it. Maybe they’ve crossed it before and lost their heart to the middle. So they’ve gone back and hidden behind the line again, not ever daring to even venture a toe over it. There are some that seem to leapfrog over their lines when it comes to so many things in their lives but when it comes to their heart, that line becomes the wall again and their eyes disappear behind it. But if I never venture over that line, how can I know if he will venture over his? We cannot spend our lives peering across the lines, protecting our hearts, and hope to find happiness or love along the way.

“What would I lose if I cross my line…”

Nothing. Everything. It’s time to find out which…

See you on the other side.

Who are you and what are you doing with her?

Okay, I realize I don’t really blog anymore but I couldn’t let this one go…

I was talking to the wonder that is Zadra the other night, bemoaning my continued ability to fall for men who really appear to want to be with me, yet won’t. Yes, once again, I’m in that spot, dear readers. Cuz I’m an idiot and apparently like to torture myself.

Anyway, Zadra peppered me with questions as only she can do. Her point was this is now the fourth time (well, maybe third cuz we decided one of the guys is an anomaly) that I’ve kind of fallen for someone who really, really, REALLY seems interested, all the physical contact, saying all the right things, and yet, no movement in the romance department.

Now, I realize most guys are kind of dense about this kind of thing, which makes me laugh. My guy friends will say, in one breath, if a guy likes you, he likes you and he’ll let you know. Then in the next breath, they’ll say, but we don’t always know if you like us so then we’re scared to make a move and sometimes we just are too afraid to make a move, especially if you’re a friend already, and then we get scared cuz what if we’re wrong or maybe we don’t see the signs… You get the picture.

But Zadra brought up a really interesting thing to me the other night. Despite the fact that these men all have very different personalities, they all share traits that I apparently find attractive - very, very smart, very funny, grounded, dependable, consistent, emotionally supportive, did I mention smart? All great traits and I understand why I want those traits in the man I’m with.

The other thing these men share - they’re all with what I would call the “Oprah Cult” - women who live and die by what Oprah says and which books she says you should read. They’re the ones who think “Eat, Pray, Love” can change their lives. The ones who accessorize by Glamour, only without the originality, and who are the ones whose lives will only be complete with the husband and the white picket fence and the dog, as long as the dog is the kind that Oprah tells them they can have. They live perfectly fine lives within their white picket fence world and they get down right offended when you point out that life within that picket fence is not perfect and maybe Oprah isn’t right and that “Eat, Pray, Love” isn’t about your life, it’s about someone else’s and your trying to bogart that experience isn’t going to enrich your life, just empty your wallet. They live ordinary lives with ordinary expectations and will look back in thirty years and maybe wonder, for a half a moment when Oprah’s at commercial break, if maybe there could have been more. But then Oprah will come back and tell them, yes, you can break out of the mundanity of your life, but only if you buy this book that’s on my best seller list. And they’ll look back and think, I did what I was supposed to do, was with the kind of guy I was told I should be with and I lived the way I was told I should live.

I know I sound harsh and I don’t mean to. These women are very lovely women. They’re sweet and they’re well-meaning and they’re always very kind and gracious to me, particularly when it comes to my hanging out with their men. They work very hard and they struggle with all the same crap that I struggle with. They’re perfectly fine women.

Well, “fine” to me is not a great adjective. In a writer’s group I used to belong to, if you brought in pages that were solid and okay and straightforward but maybe a little vanilla but not bad enough to criticize, they were called “fine”. Fine because there’s nothing really wrong with them but there’s nothing really right with them. They kind of exist and they don’t offend anyone so they’re fine.

I find these women “fine”. I know this because I used to be one of that cult. I was “fine” for a long time. I was what I was supposed to be. A good wife because I cooked dinner most nights of the week. Fine because I supported my husband and made sure he came first. I read Oprah’s magazine and took all her advice. I did accessorize a little better than Glamour and always stuck to my own style so I deviated from the cult a little bit. But I tried to do what I was “supposed” to do and be who I was “supposed” to be, whether it was by his expectations or my interpretation of what a woman was “supposed” to be.

But I left the cult because it almost killed me. I discovered I had more to give than good chicken dinner. I had more I wanted than just being a pretty accessory. I had more to say than just “yes, dear”.

And maybe that’s why these men find me attractive but maybe a bit scary. Part of me is that woman who will make dinner and take care of them when they’re sick. Part of me is that “fine” woman who is what she is “supposed” to be. But the other part of me is the scary/sexy/attractive part. Maybe a little dangerous. I’m a woman who does what she wants and doesn’t necessarily “need” a man to hold her up and carry her along. I don’t need you to tell me how to run my career, I don’t need you to tell me how to cook dinner, I don’t need you for all the things that society has told women they need men to do. And that’s maybe a little scary and daunting and exciting for a guy. A woman who doesn’t have windshield wiper emergencies. A woman who can hold her own in any room. Yet who can be kind and gentle and loving. And who really needs them just the way the "fine" women need them, but maybe that's not quite as obvious.

But I’m not comfortable, maybe, for most men because of this. I don’t feel like the other women they know because I’m not like the other women they know. I’m like the bad boy that women are drawn to - different, exotic, thrilling but just a little scary.

So these men, while they may be drawn to that weird, different, uncomfortableness that is me won’t ever step outside their comfort zone to be with someone… well… uncomfortable. We’re just not made like that, I guess. We see something different, we desire it, but we’re afraid to go after it because it’s different.

Then Zadra asked me about why I’m drawn to these men. Yes, they’re smart, funny, talented, sincere, grounded, all that stuff. Is that my comfort zone? Am I looking for something familiar, something comfortable and missing something unique and exotic and scary? Am I doing the same thing, looking for something safe instead of something I want?

That’s a hard one because I want - I need - someone stable because I’m not terribly stable. I need someone to ground me, but I also want someone who’s ready to leap off the cliff with me, maybe pausing to grab a couple of parachutes and some rations for when we land.

I know I’m comfortable with these men and they make me feel safe. But does that mean they’re “safe” and “fine” and I’m not willing to step out of my own twisted version of the white picket fence? Am I seeing what’s on the other side of the fence, something that is maybe not so white-pickety, that may be a little scary, a little different?

Hmmmm… I’m not sure. I’m not seeing many options other than those standing in front of me so I’m not sure I’m missing something. But Zadra’s comments made me stop and think about sitting in my comfort zone and whether or not I’m just following my nose to something familiar or are these men not familiar?

The hardest thing is the new guy who won’t date me has raised some red flags in my head. He’s so similar to my ex in so many ways, I should avoid any contact with him at all. Zadra sees it, too. But most of the familiar things are the things that attracted me to my ex in the first place, although there are a few of the deep, dark things lurking there. However, he also has many traits that are not like the ex, which is the saving grace, I guess. But it brings me back to am I attracted to him because he feels like someone I’ve been with, something I know? Or am I attracted to him because I’m just attracted to him?

I have no answers today. Not sure I ever will. But it got me thinking and it’s something I will have ponder more…

Help "Diary" come to life

I'm changing tactics on fundraising for the play, "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", opening May 2011 in Los Angeles.

I'm using IndieGoGo to raise money to cover a deposit for the show in May. So if you've enjoyed reading the story of my life over the past few years -- and god bless you for continuing to follow me -- please take a moment and toss a few bucks my way. Any amount will help - skip your latte and contribute $5, or send $500 and get an original oil painting from me.

If you can't contribute, I completely understand. Times are very tough. But help me out by sharing the IndieGoGo link on your Facebook and encourage your friends to read this blog and contribute if it speaks to them.

You know the whole reason this blog is being translated to stage? Because of your encouragement, my dear devoted readers. It's going to be hard, it's going to painful but in the end, I think it'll all be worth it.

Remember, 16% of profits will be donated to Sojourn, a shelter for domestic violence victims.

Oh, yeah, the link:

http://www.indiegogo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis

Thanks!

Update on "Diary"

So I've decided to donate a portion (16% to be exact) of any profits for "Diary" to Sojourn, a center for domestic abuse survivors in Santa Monica, CA.

(Those of you who are friends with my ex, you can stop reading here because I'm sure you don't want to hear it.)

When I talk to people about my marriage, even those who knew my ex, they are stunned by the level of emotional abuse that I endured. The constant battering about how everything I did was wrong, how I would never succeed for a variety of reasons, how he undercut everything I did, from what I wore to what I directed. Every decision every day was tempered by what amount of rage was going to be generated by that decision. No one should have to live that way. I almost didn't, almost choosing to end my life one night rather than continue on the way it was.

And while I was able to leave and create a new, amazing, incredible life, many women are not able to leave, whether it's because of financial issues, fear or fear for their children. Sojourn provides a place for women to go for counseling, for financial and emotional support, a safe place for their children to be. They are advocates for these women and their families to be able to start again, leaving the pain and the anguish of their life behind them.

While my ex never laid a hand on me, the scars are still there and still deep and powerful. I want to give something to those who are seeking a new life, a new way to become the women they should be. And if it's only $10, then it's $10 more than they had.

The opening night for "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis" will possibly be a fundraiser for Sojourn. Working out the details for that since opening night will be May 27, 2011 but I hope to be able to present them with a healthy check not only that night but at the end of the run.

For more information on how you can help get "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", the play, off the ground, check out http://kck.st/bBkMi2.

Thanks for your continued support.

Contribute to "Diary"'s production!

"Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", based on this blog, will open as a play at Eclectic Company Theatre" on May 27, 2011. I'm very excited and a little daunted by the prospect of putting my life up on stage for the whole world - or at least the neighborhoods around North Hollywood - to see.

I've launched a Kickstarter account where interested parties can contribute to the production fund to help put this show together. You can donate as little as $5 or as much as $500. There rewards for every level. Please check it out and donate if you can!

"Diary" on Kickstarter.com

Let me know if you have questions!