Tapestry.

This image is called Trapped Unicorn. I'm not that innocent.

Since I was a kid, I have loved the song Tapestry by Carole King. It's a song about a woman who has lived a life full of different colors, textures, and viewpoints. The first verse of the song always gets me. "My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue. An everlasting vision of the ever changing view. A wondrous woven magic, in bits of blue and gold. A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold." I actually JUST put it on my iPhone at work. It's definitely better than the Mariah Carey song playing on our Muzak at work.

I love the idea of life being a series of color experiences. Today I tried to put my own life into this spectrum, and it leaves a little to be desired. The past few months I've felt that my life has been a little too gray. Anxiety, depression, a feeling of being lost and general malaise have caused the last two years to be colored a light shade of gray with definite blacks and whites. Not that my life hasn't been pretty amazing. I have great friends, a wonderful family, and I am able to pay my bills. The past two years have included some pretty memorable experiences, and I don't take them for granted at all. But it seems that something is missing. Some feeling of joy, excitement, ecstasy...you name it, and it is lacking.

It was lacking even when my favorite actor said hello to me on the set of Burn Notice. Lacking when I was on a comic book convention panel for the first time ever. It's been lacking since the day I accepted a full time position in a country club when my heart and soul belonged on a stage. The day I allowed someone else's perception of me to be MY perception of me. It's been wonderful to get out of debt and have some real savings in my bank account. I have been squirreling away money for an eventual home purchase, but everything in me is screaming to not be here anymore. There's too much anger and hurt associated with a place that was once my home. I can't get past it. I want to, but I don't know how. I feel as if I am stuck in a limbo that was created for living beings. And I want out.

I want the gray to go away. I want to be able to be happy, and I hope that a change in locale will cause me to remove myself from this self destructive and negative place in which I find myself mired. I want the blues and golds. The rich and royal hues. And maybe, just maybe, if I challenge myself again and move outside my comfort zone, I'll get them back. I'll stop feeling this constant sense of not good enough, and start feeling better than.

Or, I'll be back in debt. Who knows? I've come pretty far for a chick with a Bachelor's Degree in Theater. I'm just ready for that next step, whatever it may be.

And don't judge me for loving Carole King. She's the bees.

Fiction Friday, the Fourth on the Thirteenth.

My friend gave me the suggestion of clams to inspire this post. I didn't like it. So, I reached out to my facebook people in an effort to get another word that would inspire me, as I'm basically a curmudgeon and a control freak. Their responses were even less inspiring to me. I feel full of piss and vinegar today. I don't know why. I slept well, ate good food and got to visit with some kids that I used to babysit that are now 28, 27, and 25...oh, wait. That may be why. I'M OLD, PEOPLE!

So. What word will inspire today's post? Clams, prickly pears, confidence, Postimperialism, Antidisestablishmentarianism, Defenestration, Bjork, and Paraprosdokian.

PS-I have NO IDEA WHY I WROTE THIS PARTICULAR STORY. It just came out. Interpret at will. I am not pregnant. Just in case you thought that. As I said to my boss the other day,"There's a whole process that has to occur before that can happen!"

None of the Above
by This Girl

The fluorescent lights clicked above my head as I waited impatiently for my name to be called. It had been over an hour since I had borrowed a clicky pen from a cup at the front desk and checked in for my appointment. I had already filled out my paperwork, checking the single status that they require for some reason. My legs were asleep. The anorexic magazine selection had ceased to entertain me, and the hacking cough being forced from the lungs of the man across from me was not only getting on my nerves, but had probably transmitted some sort of virus to everyone in his vicinity. I hate doctors. Hate them. And this one was about to ruin everything.

It had started simply enough. A drunken night. A one night stand in my one bedroom apartment. An expired condom. A missed period. Wishing symptoms away had not worked. Finally biting the bullet, I called my ob/gyn and scheduled an appointment. For this day. For an hour ago.

I knew in my heart what the pee test would say. I knew as well what the sperm donor would say. I had no idea, none at all, what I was going to say. To myself. To the something growing inside me. To my parents. To my friends.

A bored looking nurse in puppy dog scrubs came through the patients door, squeaking in her bright orange Crocs as she mispronounced my name. Looking at my hacking compatriot, I grabbed my overpriced handbag, smoothed out my pencil skirt that had become a little snug in the last two weeks, and followed Nurse Humane Society into the back room, my 3 inch heels clacking on the dingy linoleum. We headed to where the humiliation was about to begin: the scale. "Hop on up, honey," Pound Puppy said, impatient with the time it was taking me to drop the purse, kick off my shoes, and unclip my phone. Every ounce counts.

"My name is not honey, " I snapped as she adjusted the weight further and further over from where it had sat for the past 5 years. "Hmm, 145...that's a jump from your last visit. Let's head to room 1." After the niceties of taking temperature and blood pressure, she asked me the question. "What are you here to see the doctor for?" Wanting to correct her incorrect grammar, I told her. The snarky expression on her face softened. She lead me to the bathroom, and I stared into the toilet, cup in hand for what seemed like an eternity.

The time had come.

Ever the perfectionist, I didn't spill a single drop as I deposited my sample ( a sample that could change my world, would change my world, oh God, what was I gonna do) and exited the small sterile bathroom . Plopping on the exam table fully clothed, I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

I was about to lose my mind when a delicate knock sounded at the door. I squeaked a "come in" in a voice I did not recognize. The doctor, followed by Nurse Scooby, entered the room with a neutral expression on her face. I couldn't read her. Scrappy Doo was an enigma as well. Had these women trained at some sort of acting school to not show any emotion as they delivered news that could shatter a person's life? I wanted to scream at them to tell me...just tell me, goddamnit!

Then they did. Slowly, calmly, they told me that the test was positive. That I was pregnant. That all the worries and the sleepless nights wondering had been confirmed. They looked at me with sympathy as I lay back on the table. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. They left me alone to recover myself.

Tear were welling up in my eyes. Why was this happening to me, now? When I finally had my life in order. When I had a career, and friends, and happy hours to go to. When I was alone and not ready. I wasn't ready. At all. Not for this. Not...

And then I looked around. Really looked around me. I saw pictures of babies. Diagrams of a child in the womb and advertisements for different types of formulas. Sample packs of pre natal vitamins.

And I started thinking, I can do this. I can do this.

And my life did change. It was shattered, but put back into place in a different formation. And I was right about the father. About how everyone would react. But they don't matter. None of it matters.

All that matters is you.

Love is a funny word.

I say it to my family. I say it to some friends. I say it to my dog. I say it about my favorite restaurant. I don't say it to myself.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has this problem.

As a single lady with a lot of interests, I find myself more and more spread thin in terms of time. I say yes to everything whether it be a part in a play, or an errand for work.

This morning I put on a pretty dress, did my hair and make-up, and slipped on some rocking purple high heels. I looked down at myself and felt happy that I had so lovingly chosen an ensemble that made me feel pretty. Then my eyeballs locked onto my toes. With little time for pedicures, the red polish was chipped on both exposed toes, and I decided to remove it and go fresh footed into my work day. But as I removed the layers of lacquer, I noticed that my nails looked like my dad's. Cracked, bruised, damaged, and gnarly, my tootsies looked a little like how I have felt lately. There's no specific reason except that it's the holidays and the single jokes increase in frequency and dig just a little bit deeper at this time of year. Friends and family are moving onward and upward and though I'm ecstatic for them I am bogged down by the fact that I am standing still.

PMS is on hold. My improv career is on hold. My stand up career has yet to begin. My singing career is non-existent, barring a performance scheduled for January. The highlight of my acting career this month is playing a talking sheep in a nativity scene at a church. I feel lost, and I don't like it.

This morning I googled "Nicest Small Towns in America." I started looking for jobs in Black Mountain, NC and Hanover, NH. I'm desperate for a change. A change in job, a change in locale, a change in anything that will take this nagging feeling of panic and pending doom away for just a little bit. I know it's probably a change in me that needs to happen. I've had it pointed out to me ad nauseum.

For now, I'll cover it up with a smile like I covered up my nasty toes with a quick layer of purple potion nail polish. It's a temporary fix, and I know there's more work to be done on both myself and my cuticles. After this weekend, I'll put the effort in and maybe see a change before the birthday of some guy who did something to save some people. Here's hoping.