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Wednesday, April 23, 2008
jitters
Posted
9:38 PM
by Michelle
I'd say I have that new invented "restless leg syndrome" disease, except for it's in my whole body. So I get up and do pathetically geeky things- like, set out the clothes for the next day (gym clothes, check, real clothes, check, what day is tomorrow? Spin or yoga? check) or even get the coffee maker as ready as possible for my morning ritual (one packet of Splenda, cinnamon, favorite travel mug, check) until I run out of things to do. Then it's off to nighttime trimming of roses out in my yard to put on the table. Check.
And then it's still only 10:12 PM, and I know no matter how tired I am, I'm hours away from sleep. Cue digging out best possible bad fantasy novels, diving between warm flannel sheets, and then reading for, literally, hours.
Maybe it's because I'm exercising too little, or more likely, too much. Maybe it's because, let's be honest, it feels like a hundred years since I've, umm, *known* someone, in the biblical sense. Maybe it's because my stress level at work is at a whole new, Grade A, fuel-injected 241 horsepower high. Maybe it's a combination of things. But I'm running out of fantasy novels, and heading toward full-scale actual exhaustion.
But... it's that time of night again. At least the roses are beautiful.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
I said no, no, no
Posted
10:02 PM
by Michelle
At one point today, I quite literally flung myself on the floor of my office, in front of my staff, arms to the sky, and thanked the gods. At another point today, I danced alone in my jammies to Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" with- no joke- a big glass of red wine in my hand. It's been one of those days.
But this idea of giving in to fear is something that has been haunting me lately. It seems there is so much to fear, if I choose to operate from that place. There is everything from: when I answer this call, will it be someone who is unkind? to, will I ever be lucky enough to have children? And sometimes it threatens to pull me under. Last night, when my staff was in hour 10 of what would be a 13-hour day, one of them had the insight to say, "I don't want to make a decision on this based on fear, or on finances, or on anything other than what we truly believe in." And so we made a courageous decision, and today, when I expected the house of cards to fall down... well, it turns out it was made of stronger stuff.
The aftermath is not done. Tomorrow might be even tougher than today. But I'm grateful to be in this work, and grateful that I've managed to surround myself with people who can be strong, even when I can't. And it inspires me to recommit, to these people, to my work, and to my life, even when things feel so fuzzy and strange. I'm still in desperate need of a couple of weeks in Hawaii, but for now, I'm here, and I'm in.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
brown paper packages tied up with string
Posted
12:28 PM
by Michelle
Barnaby's smile:
Sweet Hildy's unconditional love:
Barnaby "making eggs" in the bath:
Barnaby putting up with Aunt Michelle's adoration:
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
sacramento, part II
Posted
8:56 PM
by Michelle
The shifting of feeling dismissed to feeling valued. The ability to serve, in a way that matters most. The ability to be a part of a process that brings arts education to children.
Another hotel room, with crisp white sheets and free internet, where I don't mind that the view from my windows is of the dumpsters.
And the wondering, if I could go back to living half a life on the road: would it feel any more or less like home? And the realization: maybe I need to stop wondering, and need to start focusing on the life I do have.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sacramento
Posted
6:59 PM
by Michelle
The sadness of friends gone back to foreign lands, and a birthday party missed for a little one. The depression of looking in the mirror and seeing the same body, no matter how many torturous hours in the gym. The exhaustion of trying so hard to have fun the night before, when emptiness was the real order of business.
The cavernous maw of the week ahead, the stings of the week before, and an unsettled uncertain hope that guides what I do. Another evening of pouring over work at the bar of an unfamiliar restaurant in an unfamiliar town. Another weekend shaped around the work that spilled over from the last week.
The dread of a life long hoped for, and the yearning for something altogether different, again. The battle against loneliness, against anxiety.
And the going to bed, only to get up, to do what is expected, whatever is next. And the knowledge that, sometime soon, I'm going to snap.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Comme ci, comme ça
Posted
9:23 PM
by Michelle
One night this week, I had to speak in front a body of planning commissioners. This is not unusual, but I knew that I had both supporters and detractors in the group, and it came at the end of an already-stressful ten-hour day. But I prepared like crazy for it, as I always must do, and came with prepared notes. I stepped in front of them and introduced myself, and started talking, without looking at my notes. And then that thing happened- that thing, when I'm really prepared, when I'm speaking about something about which I'm an authority, when I care about the topic, and my notes dropped to the table in front of me and I told the story I was there to tell. And the naysayers, who were shifting in their seats and looking anywhere but at me, became meaningless, and those who were curious or already engaged were completely with me, nodding, laughing, shaking their heads. It was a short speech, but it was one of those fleeting moments of connecting to my audience that drove me to be a performer in the first place.
Also, I got to end my talk by saying, "Our elected officials in both Sacramento and D.C. have asked me to be an arts liaison for all of them, to keep them informed on local arts legislation, issues, events, and support for the arts in this region. I'd like to make the same offer to you: look to me as your resources for research, trends, or information on policies or programs that can support the creative community here in your city." It was also my way of saying: our elected officials are fantastic arts supporters, better than many of our local politicos, and they are PAYING ATTENTION, so you ought to as well. But I couldn't say that outright.
So that felt fantastic. And then today, I was working on a lengthy grant report, as well as reading a bunch of other grants for a panel next week... when the ugly, small, but loud group of naysayers- those who believe that they know better than I how to do my job, and who love to shoot slings and arrows but never to my face- found a way to get past my defenses and lob a cold water balloon directly at my heart. It really put me through the loop for about an hour. It's amazing that the more support we get, the more people who get behind us, and the more success we create, the angrier some people get. It's exhausting, and stupid, and in my worst moments, it makes me want to run away and fold clothes in some little boutique in a coastal town, hours or miles away.
But then I remind myself that all we can do is perform, and perform well. That that kind of bullshit is going to happen if I'm going to actually do anything in this community. And that if I work with integrity and transparency, the naysayers won't have a leg to stand on. But it still, frankly, sucks ass, and sometimes having to pick myself up, again and again, starts to really wear on me.
And now, it's late on Thursday, and I'm slowly working through the 80- yes, 80- grants I have to read and score before Monday. I'm sitting on a three-day, state-wide grants panel next week, and I'm really excited about it... but I'm also feeling utterly overwhelmed. I only have 15 grants left to read, but the stack of them is next to me on the couch, taunting me with their thickness as my brain threatens to slowly ooze out of my ears.
I'm still yearning for that vacation- where I go somewhere entirely "other" and do nothing but see how deeply I can dig my toes into warm sand- but for whatever reason I'm reluctant to schedule it just yet. I can barely see what next week looks like, so I just don't feel ready to make any major plans. Soon, though. Soon.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
once and again
Posted
3:45 PM
by Michelle
I just went to the snack car for a bottle of water, and on my way back to my seat, I had to squeeze by several people who were standing around the snack car and the loo (which share an unfortunate proximity). I squeezed by one guy in particular, who as I passed bumped closer to me and said, “Hey, baby” in a very low, very slimy, somewhat threatening voice. And I was transported back to a time when I was 13 years old and riding the bus from New York into New Jersey.
I was with a former family friend, who could be called many things except a “guardian” of any kind, but we didn’t know that at the time. I don’t know why I was traveling with her, but it was late, and we were late catching the bus, and we took the last two seats, which were not together. I sat in a front seat next to a man by himself, and all I remember about him now is he was wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt, and his hair was longish. I spent the ride staring out of the front window into the NY/NJ night. About halfway through, I thought I felt a slight tugging on my sleeve. I froze. I saw through the corner of my eye that the man next to me was sitting with his arms crossed, and that his hand was probably very near my arm where I felt a tug on my sleeve. But no, I must have imagined it. A couple minutes later, I felt it again… and then again.
I was terrified. I was anything but naïve, even at that tender age, but I wasn’t entirely sure what this tugging meant. I didn’t move for the rest of the ride, both dreading and waiting for the next little tug. He finally gave up, and when it was time for him to get off the train, before I could get up to let him pass, he squeezed his way out, pressing the front of his legs into mine and basically shoving his crotch into my face.
I spent the rest of the ride bewildered. What exactly was he hoping for? If he was a normal guy, wouldn’t he just have said “hello” if he wanted to engage me? Did he realize I was only 13? Was he a rapist or a horny bastard or just a lonely guy? In essence, what the fuck? I, at that point, was used to the attentions of older men. I generated an unfortunate amount of that attention, even though I was emotionally (if not physically) very much still a child. So while I was accustomed to that attention, I don’t think I had any idea just how dangerous it could be.
The woman I was with, upon hearing about my little encounter, thought it was hilarious that I’d been “hit on”. I didn’t find it so hilarious, and if that exact thing happened to me now, I think I’d be equally bewildered; but I’d also either switch seats, confront the guy, or take some other kind of action, particularly if he didn’t get off the bus before I did.
Fast forward twenty-two years, and this nasty man on the train to D.C. makes me feel that same sort of yuck. Public cat-calling or just saying hello or even sweet but misguided overtures are one thing; whispered, dark come-ons meant for my ears only- or my sleeve only- are something else altogether. You can argue that it was a harmless come-on, but I would ask, what is the end game? This guy was not going out of his way to tell me he found me attractive or appealing in any sort of appreciative way. The only way I can describe the feeling is that he wanted to possess a part of me. Rape, abuse, all of it is about control and rage and little else, and even though all this guy did is rub up against me an utter two little words, it makes me want to kick him in the nads. It makes me want to take retribution. It makes me want to put him in a situation where he feels threatened and scared, even for a minute, even in the sunshine with a train full of passengers.
Of all the battles I regularly fight alone, this is one that actually makes me feel lonely.
I think it was particularly difficult because of just having left one of the safest places I know. When I’m at Sean and Jordi’s, I’m realizing, I don’t feel “defined”, in a way. I don’t feel like a single person, I don’t feel attractive or unattractive, I don’t feel even happy or sad or angry or righteous or anything particularly specific. I just, sorta, “am”. I don’t worry about anything other than figuring out who happens to be awake or who might be watching Barnaby or who might need a snack- including me. It’s a wonderfully peaceful and safe feeling, and sometimes when I’m in Queens for a stretch and I leave the house, I’m jarred by having to interact with the world.
But- here I am, going from a houseful of babies to a town full of elected officials, many of whom will have to put up with me in the next couple of days. Both worlds are important to me, and along the way, there are going to be dicks that I’ll have to deal with. But it’s no surprise to me, really, that since I was quite young, I’ve been attracted only to taller, stronger men, I think with the primal, unconscious hope that when I do have to deal with these dicks, someone will have my back. Funny how that hasn’t ever actually worked in my favor. It’s not hard to imagine, though, that someday, I just might snap, and actually, finally, kick some nasty dude in the nads.