So I awoke, again, somewhere around 2 a.m. I’m not sure, maybe a bit later, surely not much.

I woke because I was frightened by what I was seeing.

What I was seeing was everything (my dream world, whatever it happened to be at the time) suddenly merged into amorphous shapes all squished together… and melting. In a very Dali-esque sort of way. Except there was no desert backdrop, no stark plains. It wasn’t just objects…

It was everything. Everything was melting and it was horrifying and I had to open my eyes. My heart was hammering. I was truly in a state of panic.

I’m missing something. It’s like a part of me has been taken away, a part that I never even got to know fully.

After which I stayed awake, and tortured myself (and likely someone else) with other thoughts and musings that really didn’t lead anywhere except to confirm my complete dissatisfaction with life due to my own inadequacy.

I’m so tired. I’m tired of wanting things, having them offered only to see them disappear.

I’m not sure what I did in a previous life to deserve to ALMOST reach potential and fulfillment but never quite manage, having them taken away or denied.

I may quit school, if I can get a passable full time job. I didn’t WANT to become a mindless automaton in the day to day grind… I wanted something more. But maybe I’m just not cut out for anything else. I’m not good enough to have more…

I’m not good enough for a lot of things, it turns out.

It’s so funny, when people compliment me. “You’re a good writer!” Yeah, and what has that ever accomplished for me? Being able to be marginally descriptive does not a novelist make. “You’re beautiful.” So much so that I get passed over when looks come into play. “You’re so smart.” That’s why I’m failing all my classes at the moment, and I’m a terrible conversationalist. “You’re such a great dancer.” This is why I don’t get gigs. At least… none that pay.

Maybe I should just face it. I’m a middle-aged woman trying to raise a kid… and according to her father I’m not even doing THAT right. Apparently my parenting choices aren’t good enough for him.

I’m the jack of all trades, master of none. I can learn things well enough to be passable… just enough to pull it off here and there… but I never master anything. I never truly excel. I’m smart, but not a genius. I’m pretty, but not beautiful. I can sing, but not well enough to be a soloist of any kind. I once played the piano, but never good enough for anything other than fooling around on it for fun. My dancing isn’t bad at all, but I lack training and technique, as well as that natural instinct to improvise. There are other things I could mention… that, you know… at which I’m just not all that bad… but neither am I exceptional. Not enough.

I’m just not good enough. Not when it counts. Not when it matters to me.

No wonder I wake up from seeing everything melting horrifically right in front of me. Maybe next time I’ll try not to wake up and I can just melt as well. I wonder what would come of that.

And I feel…

not good.

I still have costumes that need altering, because they just aren’t fitting right, and I appear to be roughly the size of a house in them… I still have a giant styrofoam ball that has to look like a moon in two days, and I’m thinking that ain’t gonna happen… I feel like I’m two left feet and all thumbs with a generous dose of I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing thrown in… I don’t feel pretty.

It’s a weird place to be.

Shouldn’t one be excited and anticipatory about an upcoming performance?

I just feel kind of sad.

Still.

And if I have anymore ‘alternate reality’ dreams with robed people and post-apocalyptic tribal horror artists in them, I’m going to crawl into the corner of my closet, wrap my arms around my knees and start rocking back and forth.

Not familiar to my waking life, but familiar in my dreams. I visit them over and over again as I wander the landscape of my subconscious, usually as an observer only, watching the inhabitants of these places play out the roles my tortured mind assigns them.

They fade so quickly upon waking, but I still retain impressions of them. Here are a few of them.

A large, circular building with a wide pillar in the center that houses a staircase behind its hidden door. This staircase leads up to another smaller room. The main room seems much like a tent, as the ceiling is of draped fabric. Always, within this place are robed adults and small children, most no older than 8 years old, the majority closer to 4 or 5. Another adult arrives. There is a flurry of activity to either disguise the children’s heads with the hoods of their robes, or whisk most of them through the hidden door, up the staircase and into the small, secret room above. Soon after, more robed adults arrive, but their attire seems more military… and they brusquely go about inspecting the building, stopping to carefully peruse the little ones… As they go about this business, the others surreptitiously make sure all hair is hidden behind hoods on the children… I get the impression the children are ‘outsiders’ and do not ‘belong’ in this society. The good people that belong to this building have taken them in, and will assimilate them slowly, building up documentation so they may live ‘normal’ lives, if they can avoid being caught in the process.

Then I am noticed for the first time, by everyone. All eyes turn to me. The officials register first alarm, then cruel intent on their faces. The others show compassion and sorrow in their eyes.

And I flee.

Running down narrow streets with fast flowing streams in gutters down the center… dodging behind gates, squeezing through the spaces between fences and buildings… eventually I find myself before a tall brick building, no way around. I will be trapped unless I push through the weathered door.

When I enter I am in a long, narrow room, split by a counter. Atop the counter, and on the wall behind it, are fantastic creations that would rival the finest special effects artists in Hollywood. The heads of various creatures, both beautiful and hideous, are modeled in perfect, frightening detail. There are busts; there are masks. They are flaking and rotted, or pustulent and oozing… each looks as though, if touched, my fingers will come away dusty or wet.

The impression here is that of a workshop. There are works in progress down the long, narrow aisle in front of the counter. Vats of some heated, viscous fluid, floppy molds of faces that have not been detailed… The denizens here appear very clearly to be ‘outsiders’. They exhibit signs of what my own waking culture would call ‘counterculture’. Dreadlocks, piercings, prodigious tattoos… But all of their markings, their decorations, their jewelry… seems somehow ritualized. Each piece or mark clearly has meaning to all of them, denoting rank, or station, or esteem, or perhaps their job within their small society.

These also notice me, but only nod gravely. A few smile faintly. A tall, imposing figure steps over, takes my hand, and leads me behind the counter, along the cramped space there. I take care not to disturb their creations. I have the impression that to do so would be disastrous, either to wake them into being, or to anger those who made them. I am led to the other end of this long, narrow room, to a door in the wall upon which many of the hideous masks are hung.

This door falls open, and my guide gestures gently, but firmly, that I should exit. I step out into a rain-soaked alley. A muddy yellow stream flows across in front of me spanned by a low footbridge. I look back. Again my guide gestures, his imposing, fearsome tattoed and pierced face frightening, but the eyes shining with something like the care I see in the eyes of those who love me.

Forward I go, across the filthy stream to find myself in more familiar territory. These are streets not unlike those I drive down regularly in my waking life.

There is a car before me, I find keys in my hand. I slide into the driver’s seat of a red convertible, start the car and shoot off down the damp streets careening around corners. I don’t know where I’m going but I want to get there fast. I slow as two women go running across the road in front of me. They look familiar to me, as though I might know them when I’m awake… but they run off down an alley as I turn and go the other way. Then I see why they were running. A gang of men, closer to boys, are running after them, laughing, with clear malicious intent.

Somehow, I realize I could be no help to these women, and may in fact find more trouble myself if I go back, but I still pause and contemplate trying to help anyway…

Here is when I always wake. A moment of choice, a moment of moral decision.

I’ve visited this world many times. The circumstances aren’t always the same, but I have been in that tented circular building before. I have been in that long narrow horror workshop. I have driven, or walked, these damp streets with gutters and streams running down their centers. I know the brick buildings. I know the grassy weeds that push up between cracks in the pavement, or along the foundations of these structures.

It is bleak, dark, overcast, oppressive.

Is this the landscape of my mind?

oh my beautiful liar

oh my precious whore

my disease my infection

I am so impure

me: because why?
me: because I’m a procrastinator

e: You gotta be a pro at something.

teehee

And I am, that… a pro at procrastination

Not grumpy. Not angry. And I think I may have managed 8 hours of sleep… though… in pieces.

Now… I’m sewing. And I turned on the TV while I was sewing… and WHAT did I see?

It’s called an Itsy Bitsy Spiderman…

It sings…it dances… it’s Tickle-Me Spidey!

OMFG!

WTF?!

It hurts, mommy. It’s HURTING me…

What have they done to my hero?

There are more scary things here… just scroll to the bottom. You’ll see what I mean.

And yes, I know that little kids like Spiderman, too. It’s just… well… I don’t know… the kids’ webslinger things and Spiderman suits, the action figures… all that I can live with. But… CUDDLY Spidey? Singing and dancing Spidey?? MR. POTATO-SPIDEY???

I shudder.

1. Height?? 5′5″

2. Have you ever smoked drugs?

No. Not interested. I don’t like being out of control.

3. Do you own a teddy bear?

I do not.

4. Do you reminisce about high school a lot?

Definitely not.

5. Do you get nervous before “meeting the parents”?

Nope.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?

I like German hot dogs.

7. What’s your favorite Christmas song?

I don’t know the name of it. It’s a call and response kind of spiritual thingy.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?

Water.

9. Can you do push ups?

One, maybe? Dreadful, I know.

10. Is your bathroom clean?

Mostly.

11. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?

Grandma’s wedding ring that I inherited. It means the world to me.

12. Do you like painkillers?

I do when I’m in pain.

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?

I pretend to be interesting and complex. And I tell them I’m doing it.

14. Do you have toys?

Yup.

15. Do you remember the first date you ever went on?

Vaguely.

16. Middle Name?

Dawn

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment??
1- I need sleep.
2- I am frustrated.
3- I need a maid.

18. Name the last 3 things you have bought:?
1- lunch at Sam’s BBQ
2- a bottle of tea
3- a horrible, horrible sandwich from the school vending machine

19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:?
1- Water
2- teas of varying sorts
3- goat’s milk

20. Name 3 people you think about all the time:?
1- Graham
2- My daughter
3- me

21. What is your biggest pet peeve?

People who cannot manage to even drive the speed limit

22. Current worry?

my future in general… money specifically

24. Favorite place to be?

Not here.

25. Least favorite place to be?

with people I don’t like, or who don’t like me.

26. Where would you like to go?

I’ll keep that to myself.

27. Do you own slippers?

yes.

28. What shirt are you wearing?

a completely unremarkable t-shirt

29. Do you burn or tan?

Burn, for the most part.

30. Favorite color(s)?

Red and green. No, not together.

31. Would you be a pirate, if so what would your name be?

I don’t think I’d make a good pirate. Though I supposed I’d manage well enough if it turned out I HAD to be. And I don’t know… Black Joy?

32. What is your shoe size?? 6.5

33. What songs do you sing in the shower?

I generally don’t.

34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?

I don’t want to talk about that.

35. What’s in your pockets right now?

I have no pockets.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?

My daughter’s clever remarks.

37. Best bed covers as a child?

Crisp, cool, soft cotton sheets

38. Worst injury you’ve ever had?

Broken foot.

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?

1

43. What’s your msn name?

Which one?

44. Do you wish on shooting stars?

Nah.

45. What is your favorite book?

That changes regularly. Depends on my mood, I think. And I’m pretty certain I don’t have a favorite at the moment.

46. What is your favorite candy?

Dark dark dark bittersweet chocolate.

48. What song do you want played at your funeral? Samuel Barber’s Adagio For Strings, followed by something ridiculous.

49. What were you doing at 12 AM last night?

Sleeping, I’m sure.

50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning?

I’m not going to share that.

1) Which is more important in your ideal partner? Intelligence or good looks?

Frankly… both.

2) Soda Pop: sweetened or diet?

Neither. Water is good.

3) What would your ideal fortune cookie say?

Nothing. It’s a cookie. I would eat it. The slip of paper inside it, however, might have printing on it. If there WERE a slip of paper inside a cookie, I’d be most pleased if it turned out to be a large denomination of legal tender.

4) What’s your favorite season?

Fall

5) Your best ideas come to you when you are….?

Nowhere near a pencil or any other means of recording them.

6) What advice did your mom give you as a child when things didn’t work out the way you wanted?

She didn’t. Grandma used to say “No use crying over spilled milk.” though.

7) What advice did your dad give your when things didn’t work out the way you wanted?

I don’t remember if he ever gave me that kind of advice.

What’s your most sentimental memory about bucking authority?

I don’t have any sentimental memories of it.

9) How about a time when you regret not having listened to an authority figure?

I have never regretted anything of that nature.

10) Combine two cliches or sayings into one in an interesting way or reword one in a way that completely changes the meaning.

If at first you don’t succeed… keep on sucking til you do succeed. (Little bit of innuendo in there, too, if you look for it.)

11) Would you rather get laid more often to people you are not all that inspired by or laid less often holding out for people or a person who really gets your juices flowing?

Less often.

12) Do you think time is fluid or fixed?

Should I care?

13) If you had to die, what would be the most poetic/romantic way to go?

Without knowing it was happening.

14) When you grow up, you want to be….

me.

15) What your favorite sound? smell? taste? texture to touch?

Right now, in this moment, the following (subject to change without notice)

- A certain voice.

- The air after rain.

- Intensely dark chocolate

- smooth cotton sheets under the soles of my sliding feet

16) Would you rather achieve glory or be associated with someone who has achieved glory/ success?

I don’t care about glory. I care about what I get for the success in terms of monetary and satisfaction value. I can share it.. and I don’t need recognition for it for the sake of recognition.

17) Can you write backwards in cursive? Do you?

Maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever tried, nor can I imagine why I would.

18) If you had a secret signet ring, what emblem would you want to imprint in wax to seal your love letters? business letters?

I think the dragon tooled into my handmade leather checkbook cover is pretty cool. Something like that maybe.

19) Who is your ideal role model and why?

I don’t think I have an ideal role model. There are those who possess attributes I admire, but nobody has all of them, and everyone is flawed.

20) If you could draft any person to be the President or leader of your country, who would you choose and why?

Someone who didn’t want the job, to start with… and someone with a strong sense of duty and honor.

21) When you park in a large parking lot, do you park in the back or drive around in circles trying to get a spot up front?

I don’t mind parking in the back unless it’s dark and scary. Sucks being a woman.

22) What do you think the main difference is between rural and urban attitudes?

More opportunity for solitude and peace in a rural area.

23) Do you or would you own a Darth Tater Mr. Potato Head?

I do not, and probably would not. I’d give it to the young nephew, most likely.

24) Do you think your name has affected your psychology?

Without question.

25) Do you think legalizing drugs would increase or decrease violent crimes worldwide?

Decrease, if handled properly.

26) Do you have a favorite nutritional supplement? If so, which one?

I haven’t one. I know I should probably look into more of them, though.

27) What’s your favorite form of relaxation?

Ummm… I think I’d rather not say.

28) Do you like or dislike locks?

Like.

29) How far would you travel to find your ideal partner?

I think I’ve proved that already, to some extent.

30) What kinds of things are you above average at?

I honestly don’t know. I wish someone would tell me. I feel no more than average at most things. At least I don’t feel I’m bad at them.

Well, at least it isn’t guilt anymore.

Bitch session in progress. Leave now if you don’t want to experience it.

Nope, definitely not guilt anymore.

So, apparently, another promo opportunity came up to do stuff out at Riverpark this weekend and next. This was passed on to the rest of us in the group via email, and I replied to everyone that I think it’s a GREAT opportunity, and I’d be happy to show up and perform if someone wanted to get the sound system, haul it and set it up. Because… it IS a great opportunity.

Then I got home after spending HOURS doing a rehearsal for the teeny bit I’m doing in The Tempest to find an email that says “Ok… great everybody. I’m glad Joy wants to do it, so if you want to as well, email her and she’ll get in touch with the Rogue people and blahblah”….

Uh…. no.

No, I will NOT take charge of this.

As it is now, I am far more involved in this Ananka Rogue show than I ever intended to be when we started talking about it last year. I very distinctly recall saying, “I’ll still do it, I’ll still participate, but I just can’t do even half as much as I have done in the past. One, maybe two numbers…”

Yeah. I’m in FIVE. I did all the photoshop work for the flyers and the print ad. I’m doing the program. I’m figuring out how to make a big styrofoam ball into a goddamned moon… then trying to figure out how to dance around with said styrofoam-ball-moon and not look like a fucking clown while doing it. I’m faking my way through creating something to wear as Medusa. I’m trying to figure out how to make my astronaut costume not be totally lame.

Now… I KNOW that the other 4 core people in the group are working their asses off… 3 of them sewing like demons, PK doing all the sound work on her own this year as well as being the Rogue contact, TC creating the entire backdrop setup from scratch, LJ finding music and sewing and I don’t know what-all, and Ely orchestrating the whole mess, teaching us choreographies… etc… so on…

I do understand this. And I am grateful they do it. I do not expect them to take point on yet another promo opportunity…

I just REALLY do not appreciate it being assumed that just because I say “Hey, I’m willing to show up” I will be amenable to being put in charge of the operation.

No…fucking…way.

I do not have the time, the energy, or the emotional fortitude for it.

Frankly, I am a flake and have been for the better part of a year. It’s not going to get better any time soon, and putting me in charge of anything is like asking me to give up and decide to not even show up for the shows.

After saying I can only participate peripherally, I still end up doing WAY more than I intended, and nearly as much as I did last year.

I can’t do it. I can’t handle it. And I just can’t be there.

WHY is that so hard for anyone to understand? I’m not the go-to girl! I’m failing all my fucking classes, for Christ’s sake! WHY the hell do I want to take on something ELSE to do?

Yeah… I’m doing the play thing… why? Because ALL I have to do is show up, put on the costume that THEY give me, go stand in the spot they tell me, dance a little, and go home. Nobody expects me to edit photos, nobody wants me to edit music, nobody wants me to be in charge of making sure people show up, go where they’re supposed to and then clean up after them.

Maybe I’ve been too dependable over the years. Maybe I shouldn’t have always showed up on time, with all my costumes together, all my wee little ducks waddling in a row behind me. Maybe I shouldn’t have provided a website all these years, free of charge with web administration, free graphics, free design, and free maintenance. As it is, asking that the group pitch in for the monthly fee is like asking for somebody’s right arm.

You know… I don’t want to abandon people I’ve been dancing with for so long, of whom I’ve grown so fond, with whom I have so much fun.

But I’m SERIOUSLY considering jumping ship the instant the Rogue is done, without preamble, without fanfare… just… done.

Maybe I’ll calm down after a while.

Right now… not calm.

“Oh… Joy wants to do it… here, go talk to her, she’ll be in charge.”

Nuh-uh. Time for some of the new kids to step in and show some responsibility.

I do NOT have time for this anymore. I’m not a bored housewife with nothing better to do. Not that the others are… but they’ve found ways to fit all this into their lives, because they have their lives in order… I’m still trying to figure out how to HAVE a life. I need an education and I need a job. I need to devote more time to things outside of dance than I have in the past. Maybe once I’m done with school and I’m making some money I’ll be able to devote myself more to things OTHER than me…

But these days, *I* really need to come first.

My God, I’m frustrated.

No count today. Count me the fuck OUT this week.

And yes, I know there are certain of you who know PRECISELY from whence cometh I.

YARRRRGH!

Maybe because it’s raining. That doesn’t seem right, though. I generally love rain.

Maybe I’m just exhausted. I’ve been averaging 5 hours of sleep nightly, or less, for several weeks now, for various reasons. That may take a toll that I don’t see…

Maybe it’s because I’m failing every single class I have, and I see no hope of catching up in any of them… even one.

Maybe it’s because I have some sense of misplaced guilt. We’ve been left out of the Rogue Full Circle promo on the first, because we were never notified when it was time to sign up, and when we finally did find out it was time to sign up, every effort PK made to contact someone was completely unsuccessful, because no one ever made clear exactly who to contact or how, and then it was too late… and somehow I have this completely ridiculous feeling that if I’d offered, way back when, to step forward and be active in these sorts of things, I might have miraculously, instinctively known what she could not (absolutely silly), and it would have been all better. PK is disappointed at failed effort, Ely will be annoyed and disappointed, and I have NO idea why I feel they’ll be looking at me as if I could have done something. They probably won’t. Yet I still feel that stare at the base of my skull.

Sighing is.

Depression, fatigue, paranoia… Oh. And a bundle of nerves. I still don’t fully remember the choreographies I’m supposed to remember, and I haven’t totally choreographed Jessica Rabbit… and I have an enormous styrofoam ball to paint into something marginally resembling a moon. I do NOT want to do that number. I just… really… really… don’t.

At least I’ll look somewhat hot in red sequins slit to the thigh.

The good news… my kid seems to enjoy Shakespeare. We went to The Tempest rehearsal last night and she sat there the entire time, completely engrossed. She’s hoping she’ll get to go with me to the dress rehearsal tonight so she can “see the whole thing”. If her Dad gets back in town in time, though, she will not. It was extremely difficult to get her out of bed and off to school today, given that we were up until after 11 last night. Her usual bed time is 9. And if she goes tonight that will be another extra late night.

We can only afford one flunking student in the family, I think.

Maybe her dad will bring her to one of the shows.

It will prove to be an interesting weekend. Tempest Dress Rehearsal tonight, first Tempest performance Friday. Saturday I go with Lydia to her fire performance to be her ‘fire angel’, then we’re both off to do another Tempest. (SHE has to go to Ghaleb’s after THAT and dance. Sheesh.) Sunday is Rogue Tech rehearsal. Somewhere in all this time I have to finish putting together 3 costumes. Before Sunday.

Uh… yeah.

Did I mention I’m not eating right? *giggle*

In other news… Saw David Copperfield on Monday with the podling. A friend at school had given me tickets for Christmas. He knew I’d enjoy taking the girl… and he was taking his son, so we all sat together in the second row. It was a fun show. It’s magic. What’s more magical than David Copperfield magic? And THEN Eric’s son caught the shiney silver ball thrown into the audience, and I somehow ended up on the stage while he was getting ready to do the ‘teleporting to Australia’ trick. Smiling, nodding my head, picking two letters, writing the letters on his arm with a marker…

Don’t ask. I don’t know. One minute he and the girl chosen to travel to an island off the coast of Perth were there, on a boom out over the audience, the next… they were smiling and waving at us, showing us the letters I’d just written on his arm, the polaroid that had just been taken of, and signed by other audience members on the stage… from what was ostensibly a live feed from Australia. Then after another moment, he was standing at the back of the auditorium under a spotlight.

Do I rationally know that magic is not possible and illusion, sleight of hand, and audience suggestibility and belief are what make it all seem real? Of course. I still can’t figure out how the majority of it is done… and really… unless you’re in the business of ‘making the magic’ yourself… why do you want to know?

I rather enjoy being astounded and amazed at what these people can pull off. The man made a 1940s roadster appear on a stage surrounded by people for heaven’s sake. If nothing else, it takes monumental skill and planning, with crazy attention to detail. I respect that.

Life is better with magic in it. And now I can say I got to meet, EVER so fleetingly, David Copperfield. And I have the autographed stock photo to prove it. And it was fun.

Incidentally… if you’re in the market for one, I won’t charge much for it.

(Something I’ve noticed: Magician types are always moving. Always. Either they all have ADD and can’t sit still, or it has something to do with continual misdirection.)

Anyway… I should probably eat food at some point today. And work on the costumes some more. And find some flesh colored tights because the costuming they chose for us for The Tempest is rather less than I wear when I dance. Sooo… yeah.