Fiction Friday-WOOOOO!

News: I  have an official boyfriend, he met the family, they love him, Bailee quit PMS, I cried and now I'm PMS'ing.

Now on to Fiction Friday.

I had a friend comment on a status update with "Mmmm, brains." So. That's gonna inspire today's Fiction Friday.  I hope you like it.

Brains

by This Girl

I've been sitting here, in this jar, for what seems like ages. Floating around in formaldehyde, with no stimulus other than the occasional mad scientist's assistant coming in to steal one of my neighbors for some crazy, misguided experiment. They never pick me.  They barely even glance in my direction.  I'm going to be honest and say that it's beginning to effect what was once a brilliant and somewhat egocentric mind.  I was never the last one picked. Always the first, always the best.  And now there is a film of dust covering the label on my jar that screams to the world two names that during my life were connected with the word genius.  I honestly couldn't tell you at this point of my death what those two names were, but I hope you'll forgive me as it's been years since this brain was actually inside a skull.

I can remember how I died. An argument with the wife distracted me whilst I was combining elements that required precision in measurements, and boom! My hands were blown to smithereens and I bled out on my laboratory floor while she screamed like a banshee for help that never came. Why I ever married that woman is a question I have pondered on countless occasions while on this shelf. I should have stayed in the lab when my dear mother told me to come upstairs for that ridiculous party.  I should have never bowed to societal pressures and began courting that ridiculous creature, and should definitely not have placed a carbon allotrope ring on her finger.  She was always nagging about how I loved my work more than I loved her, and she was right. That night she had gotten upset about my missing a dinner party. She claimed my absence caused her embarrassment.  Usually, her complaints fell on deaf ears, but the addition of flying missiles being hurled at me from the staircase caused my attention to wander.  I'm sure she has since remarried, or has died of consumption. I don't know and I don't care.

I long for the day when a hunchbacked Igor will grab my jar from the shelf.  When a Dr. Frankenstein will take my gray matter into his hands and plunge me into the cavernous skull of some patchwork cadaver, then animate me with the electricity of the gods.  The day will come when I will be able to walk and talk and create again.  My research was on the verge of completion when that harpy ended my life with her absolute idiocy.  An irony to die while researching immortality, but no one can say that I don't have a sense of humor.  Didn't have a sense of humor, as I can hardly laugh in my current state.

The day will come. I'll be plunked from the death I could not avoid and live again. My hands may be larger and rougher than my delicate, white hands with which I was born.  My gait may be lumbering.  My speech may be impaired, but the ideas and the genius behind them will be immediately recognizable.  I will outreach even my new master in regards to fighting and beating death.  I will conquer death and with it, the world.

If I had a mouth, I would maniacally laugh right now.

   

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.

Nutbag.

I realize that there is a reason that I am single. I was contemplating this last night as I sat in my level 2 stand up class and began crafting a joke about a ring I recently purchased. It's a plain silver band with a round pink stone gently nestled under four metal prongs. It's a rose quartz, and I'll explain why this has anything to do with matters of the heart in a moment. But first, the events that occurred prior to and after my purchasing this ring.

I was home alone as my parents were visiting my grandmother in Ohio prior to the Christmas holidays. I was working a lot, and was spending my off time in my pajamas, laying on a couch and watching BBC television shows on Netflix. I was low. Lower than I'd been in a while. I was basically eating(too much) and drinking (too much), and was wallowing in self pity from being so overwhelmingly alone. No one called. No one cared. So, there I was. Miserable.

A friend called on a Sunday morning and asked me to join her and her husband for breakfast at my favorite restaurant. I decided to snap myself out of this self imposed exile and go. I dressed for the day in a cute sundress with ballet flats, blew out my shoulder length hair, and applied lip gloss to my somewhat overworked (from chewing) mouth. I felt good for the first time in weeks.

Something happened at that lunch. I decided that while I was out, I would go to the local green market and get some healthy foods to stop the constant intake of cheese, crackers, and alcohol. I still felt lonely, and the evidence of families shopping for dinner ingredients, couples canoodling of cannoli's, and old sad looking ladies with their dogs made me want to do more for myself. I deserved it. I'd been through depression, people! A jewelry vendor caught my eye. I walked over, and the lady behind the table told me that they could customize pieces while I waited.

Looking over their massive array of natural, polished stones, I noted that they had several rose quartz pieces. As a teenager, I became fascinated with the idea that certain stones represent certain things, and can create a certain energy if you wear them upon your person. Thirteen year old me started collecting rose quartz, which was supposed to draw love to the owner. During this period of my life, I also wrote intolerable sappy poetry. Here's a sample.

As I look into the sunken eyes
Of the one I hold so dear
I suddenly find sweet release
From unrelinquished tears
His sweet smile, but a shadow
On his work and haggard face
He looks at me with love so strong
And lets out a sigh
And with a weak squeeze of my hand
My love, he says goodbye.

Yeah. Melodramatic, much? Granted I had just lost both of my grandfathers to cancer, but still. A little odd.

So, back to adult Lauren, who is standing at this booth. Single. Still dramatic. Still wanting romance and love to come into her life. Waiting for an epic something to come around.

So, adult Lauren bought a ring. With a stone intended to attract love to her. And she's wearing it, now, as she types this blog. It's on the middle finger of her left hand, the side that is closest to the heart.

Shortly after her purchase, she also got her shoulder length hair caught in her lip gloss. And immediately went to the salon to chop it all off.

Adult Lauren has problems. And I guess admitting it, on a blog, for all the world to see, is a step towards dealing with those problems.

Til next time. I'm off to go and get some lavender and sage to smudge myself. Get rid of the bad juju to open myself up for a new start. And maybe I'll start working on this personality (which may be the real reason I am single to this day.)

Waka waka.

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.