You are enough.

I want to say it again.

You are enough.

YOU are enough.

You ARE enough.

You are ENOUGH.

Any way you emphasize it, start living it.

I had the amazing opportunity to bask in the glow of Sir David Razowsky this weekend.  I'm not sure he's actually been knighted, but he should be. An amazing person and an amazing teacher, Mr. Razowsky touched me, and not in a dirty way.  His lessons in mindfulness and letting go of the past were everything I needed to change me from a miserable person to be around to someone less miserable to be around.

I think.  Give me a week. Maybe two.

I was scared the whole workshop.  Scared that he'd call me out as a fraud.  Scared to go up first. Scared to go last. We went through two days and 7 hours of workshop before I finally felt like I had the cajones to just be an improviser. And it was the best moment for me. I rarely breathe in improv scenes. I'm manic.  But I was able to slow down and listen to David tell me what I needed to do, what I needed to get rid of, who I didn't need to be.  And the bullshit went away. I feel like a gentler person. I feel like a more confident person. I am enough.  I AM ENOUGH. I need to look at everything that happens to me in joy instead of conflict.  On stage and off stage.

The show was awesome. Weird. And awesome. Casey was generous enough to share David with us at the end, and the scene I was in with him and 2 other actors was about nothing but a lamp and family dynamic. It was great.  I was on cloud nine, ten and eleven. I'm still there. My day job today has been tough but I've been handling it. An irate member started yelling at me, and I kindly asked him to leave the office and come back and start again.  I handled him with joy and caring and he left smiling. It's not an easy thing to do, but it's the right thing to do.

Thank you, David. Your lessons for life and improv have done much to improve my outlook in a mere day and a half.  I am a more confident improviser and a much improved human being.

I am enough.

Is that something in your pocket, Matthew, or are you happy to see me?

Is it me?

My doctor has made me believe that I am crazy.

And not because she put me on anti-depressants.

I went in a couple of months ago as I was having consistent leg pain.  Today was a follow up to the brain pill appointment, and I told her yet again that the leg pain was hindering my fitness and well being goals.  I had downloaded a yoga app and attempted a tree pose with disastrous results.  The muscle behind my knee and my thigh felt like a razor blade was running through them.  The veins on the leg in the pained area were dark, dark blue, and I had to stop so I wouldn't barf on Kevin's still damp barf spot.

This is what my doctor looks like. Just with dark hair and bigger eyeballs.

I told her all of this. Even poked the leg where it hurt and was tender to the touch.

Vitamin D deficiency, she says.

WTF?

I worry that she thinks I'm a hypochondriac.  That every time I leave the office with a new script and a scheduled blood test that she's snickering with the nurse, lamenting the waste of time that is my appointment. I lost 6 pounds in a month.  The nurse said, "Have you been trying to lose weight?"  I responded, "No." CAUSE I EAT A LOT OF PASTA, PEOPLE. It's poor people food.  I put butter on it. And feta cheese. EVERY OTHER NIGHT.

This is not a weight loss plan. (I have been drinking a ton of water and eating a lot of ice, so may finally be hydrated. Moot point.)  I've been eating ice like it's my job. Craving it.  Dreaming about it.  Thinking I could just run into work and grab a cup of the soft, pellet ice from the ice machine near the golf shop. At midnight. As I'm driving past work on the way home from rehearsal.  I tell her that.

"Pregnant women do that."

I'M NOT FREAKING PREGNANT.

"It may be an iron deficiency, though your blood test in June doesn't indicate you are iron deficient.  You need pre-natal vitamins."

WTF?

This is my 2nd doctor in 2 years, and I'm afraid to change again and learn that I am in fact insane. What's a girl with good insurance to do? I want my $15 co-pay to go towards making me feel better, not making me feel like I belong in Arkham. Le sigh.

I'm gonna go eat some pasta and lose another 3 pounds.  Wish me luck.

Why can't I just improvise for a living?

WORK IS STUPID.

I'm typing this from work.

I'm itchy again.  It happens a lot. Work gets a little hairy, and I want to be anywhere but here. It's been 7 years (minus one week) that I've been working at this one place.  That is crazy to me. 2 years is my limit. On jobs and relationships.  Apparently, this job is the first thing I've ever really committed to and I resent it for that very reason.  It's gotten to the point though, where this job chose another woman over me and I think it's time to move on.

How dare this job choose another woman over me? JILTED FACE.

There are so many options.  Move further south to be closer to improv shenanigans. Find a cheaper place/get a different job/move to Colorado/a small town/somewhere with mountains/near my grandma/anything. My mom keeps sending me houses for rent in Columbus and jobs in Gahanna, her hometown. It's tempting to move somewhere I love, where people I love live.

The problem is I've fallen in love with a troupe in South Florida called the Sick Puppies. Head over heels in love. I feel important.  I feel special.  I feel like I have a voice without needing to scream at the top of my lungs to be heard. There are so many opportunities, and no one is telling me that I can't/I'm not good enough/to stop wanting more. This is new for me. New and exhilarating.   It's fulfilling a part of me that I had sworn off on after the last 7 years of improv frustration and anxiety.  SO HOW CAN I THINK OF LEAVING WHEN I FINALLY FOUND LOVE?

Decision deadline is November 2014 when my lease at the stupid, rude flood apartment is up. Any thoughts, dear readers? What should I do?  Who should I be?  Where should I go?

UNGH.

I kissed Scott Adsit. Twice.

Then my house exploded.

It's been a weird couple of weeks.

I had a productive morning on Sunday, July 6th. I had breakfast with my friend, Tiffany. I went to a house I'm sitting and set it up for the homeowners who would be arriving the next day.  I went to work and tried to fix the phones that had been out since Friday.  I was gone from 9am-12:15pm.  The whole time, gallons of water were pouring into my home per minute.

I lost my mind when I walked into the apartment to find water everywhere. Lost it. Sobbing hysterically lost it. Too many things to do.  I had to save Kevin (who looked pretty content sleeping in the bathroom where the water was spewing out of a burst toilet valve).  I grabbed his leash and beckoned to him to go outside, while he happily splashed through puddles in the living room to get to the treat I had left out for him that morning.  I called my parents once I knew Kev was ok. I had broken my phone the week before being a bonehead, so have to speak on speakerphone at all times now. "Look for a shut off valve," Mom said, calm and collected.  "I CAN'T FIND ONE!" I screamed, the opposite of calm and collected. I scrambled under the kitchen sink and under the bathroom sink. No go. We hung up shortly after, as cell phones and gushing water rarely partner well.

I have no idea when the leak started. I know when it ended. 15 minutes after I discovered it, as the maintenance emergency phone number went directly to voicemail. Twice. The office phone number went to voicemail.  Twice. I grabbed Kev, got his soggy ass in the car, and ran into the main office with him in tow. One of the leasing agents was there. I was out of breath, my jeans soaked to my thighs, almost screaming that there was water gushing into my apartment and that I needed maintenance.  "I don't know where he is." A gentleman came in behind me in beach gear, calmly telling the lady that water was coming in his apartment. He had been talking to the maintenance guy outside. Rushed back to the apartment to see the guy looking at the water flowing out of my front door. HE calmly (SLOWLY) walked over to the shut off valve located OUTSIDE AND 15 FEET AWAY FROM THE APARTMENT.  My next door neighbor came home, and I not so calmly told her what happened. "My apartment is fine, " she said. She also complained about the water being off to the maintenance guy. Bitch.

I put Kevin in my car with the windows down.  I stood outside, crying. The gentleman who also reported the leak brought me a bottle of water and asked if I needed anything. I said I was fine. He and his mother offered to pick me up some lunch.  I thanked them but said no. I called my sister. "I know it's your day off, but my apartment flooded and can you come and take Kevin to the parents house? Please?" She came. She took Kevin. She came back. My best friend, Jen, showed up. Then Nick, Brooke's boyfriend. They got me moving. Mopped up the kitchen and put everything from the dining room in there to stay dry. Emptied my cheapo bookshelves that were absorbing water by the second. Books were everywhere. In bins.  On tables. The plumber showed up. Fixed the valve and added a shut off valve to the water heater.  Convenient. Left debris from the wall all over the floor. Maintenance shop vac'd the bathroom. Everything was wet.  They threw my bath mats into the bathtub where they stayed until Wednesday when I finally felt comfortable being in the apartment. The carpet company came (3 hours later) with a cleaner the size of a road atlas. Brooke, Jen and I put cut up trash bags under all the furniture to save it. Maintenance manager showed up and started yelling at the carpet guy. Carpet guy called his boss. Handed the phone to maintenance manager. MM started yelling into the phone. At this point, we had done everything we could. I packed some (inappropriate) clothes and walked outside.

My downstairs neighbor arrived at this point.  I heard crying and yelling. We offered to help. She was beside herself.  Brooke offered to go check on Kevin, as it was about to rain and we had packed some important items into her car. She picked up food on her way. I stopped into the office and was told by the leasing agents that no one of authority was in and that I'd have to come back on Monday.  Also, that my renters insurance covered the apartment, not the contents. IDIOTS.  I soggily made my way to the parents house.    I smelled bad. I was soaking wet. I scarfed Wendy's and Brooke and I had a couple of beers.

It was a bad day. That bad day lead to a bad week. The insurance adjuster came in on Tuesday. Put every piece of furniture on the claim. Clothes. Tables. Couches. Dresser. Everything. The bookshelves were completely ruined. I spent the next few days arguing with the office about the living conditions at the house.  I was told a couple of times that I was wrong when I mentioned that the carpet was still wet.  I took my mom's friends with me, thinking they would respect them. NOPE. The manager was not only rude, but dismissive of concerns and just kept saying, "We don't do that. No. We don't do that."  She also said that it was a "freak accident." No. NO, IT WASN'T.

No makeup, Eyeballs after discovering mold in my laundry basket.

I met with her again to discuss compensation for the time out of the apartment and electric for the 4 fans and the dehumidifier that had been running for 5 days straight as well as the A/C that had been running (after being broken for 3 days.)  No compensation except for days out of the apartment.  Also, I had just reported the A/C was broken on Tuesday. Not true. I told them on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday and was told that it was just running hard due to humidity in the apartment. BULLSHIT. Just...bullshit.

There's still a hole in the wall of my bathroom. The carpets are tacky, weird feeling under my feet. Kevin is missing a bed. There are no bathmats, as I had to toss them. My dad came home and helped me move out all the damaged furniture so I can actually get into my bathroom now. My plain, bare bathroom.

My lease is up in November.  I'm crossing my fingers that there are no further issues dealing with these idiots. Still waiting for insurance to let me know what's going on. We shall see.

AT LEAST HALLMARK IS SHOWING CHRISTMAS MOVIES IN JULY!!

Maladies and Honesty.

I haven't been feeling well lately.  And by lately I mean since November. I started having stabbing pains in my legs after Thanksgiving when I went to Universal to meet my cousin and his girlfriend (then fiancee, then wife. All on the same day.)  It didn't hinder the trip, but I had one of those weird heating pad stickers on it the whole time. Since then I have been having more and more leg pain, progressing from dull aches to sharp, guitar string plucking style pains all day long. My restless leg has gotten worse.  Muscle spasms have been occurring in both legs as well as my left pinky and right hand.  My left arm randomly goes numb.  My veins are visible on 90% of my body, and the areas where they are visible are sore to the touch.  I've had major dizzy spells. I am exhausted all the time. I've been randomly throwing up.

And there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. According to my doctor.

She ran a battery of tests before I left for my mission trip (a mission trip where I wanted to cut off my own leg after 5 days of lawn work). Blood work shows I am 100% healthy. Like, the healthiest of healthy.

Thinking it might be side effects of birth control, she told me to go off of it.  I discussed with her the fact that I am on birth control for PMDD issues, and that I guess I'd rather be in pain than yelling at people while sobbing hysterically and making bad life decisions.  She left the room to look into other forms of BC with different estrogen levels, and then came back with a light in her eye and a spring in her step.

"What if we put you on anti-depressants for the PMDD?" she asked, oh so casually.  As if the idea of being on mind altering drugs was going to solve all of my problems.  As if I would be excited about the idea of an anti-depressant.

I've been here before. A previous doc put me on brain drugs for the week before my period to help with the PMDD symptoms.  I mentioned this to new doc. She replied, "No, you'll be on it all the time. Every day."

I'm torn, here. What if the drugs mess with my creativity?  Am I going to turn into some sort of improv zombie?  Will I still be able to cry on cue? Or will my tear ducts dry up as my ups and downs even out? AND WHAT DO BRAIN DRUGS HAVE TO DO WITH LEG PAIN AND DIZZINESS?

Oh, did I have leg pain? She didn't remember me mentioning that. Even though that is specifically why I went to see her in the first place.

I kinda hate doctors right now.  But I also feel helpless.  I feel like I need a second opinion. But where do I go? What do I do?

I'll take some of the brain drugs and see if it helps me find clarity.  OOOOOOO...........shiny.

What a week.

Some people have been asking me, "Lauren-why were you in Virginia with a bunch of kids?"

The answer is "Yes, and..."

Performing improv is a large portion of my life. I also use a lot of improv rules in real life, which sometimes means that I say Yes before I even think about things. Life is too short and all that.

Last week, I drove with 11 girls and one youth group leader, followed by a van with 3 boys and another female chaperone to Vienna, VA for a week of service through Week of Hope, a religious organization that teaches about the works of Jesus through community service.

I am an agnostic/deist.  I have my doubts but can see some sort of order to the universe. I definitely don't like organized religion. Definitely. Don't.

So, I just spent a week sleeping in a church classroom with those 11 girls and that other female chaperone. On air mattresses. There were 2 showers. For 60 ladies. Adults had to shower between certain hours. Meals were held in the gymnasium. I coined a catch phrase when I thought the kids were misbehaving. "Whoa, whoa, whoa." They started repeating it back to me by the end of the trip.

It was awful and it was great.  I was the sole person in charge of a group of 5 kids. 5 kids who ended up being atheists/agnostics who really just wanted to help out and hang out with their friends for a week.

Day 1:  Got there late. Did not get schedules. Did not get paperwork. Got assigned a group comprising of two girls from the youth group I was with and 3 from another group from Delaware. They were not very communicative at first, but were "besties" by the end of the week.

Day 2: Went to the home of David and Virginia, an elderly couple with some major health issues. Cleaned their house. Edged and weeded their yard. Scraped and painted a swing that they courted on. It was sweet and awesome. Then we fliered a neighborhood for 3 hours in the heat with no access to the bathroom. I was mad at that.  The pastor of the church we were staying in was a jerk. A big jerk. I kinda hated him.

Day 3: Spent all day at the home of Betty, a lady with heart issues and one lung. Did yardwork. All day. We got done early, but were at the mercy of one of the organizers as we had no vehicle. We spent the last hour laying on the grass under a huge oak tree, chatting about life and goofing off.  That was the highlight of the trip for me. The whole youth group went to DC. We visited a couple of museums. We ate junk food. I pretended to be running really fast on the Metro every time it started up.

This group of knuckleheads made the week worth it.

Day 4: Yardwork. All Day. At the church we were staying at. I took the kids to Starbucks and Dairy Queen. We ended the day by spraying each other with the garden hose.

Day 5: Yard work. Half the day. Then got to organize a flower closet that had an a/c leaking all over the floor. We put garbage bags in the baptismal pool. Classy. Two girls had allergic reactions to a plant and almost passed out on Benedryl.  Then asshole pastor made us flier. Again. It was stupid. We walked back to the church from the school where he had us passing out things to kids (creepy) , and he pulled up behind us in the bus honking the horn, startling all of us. As we walked past, I muttered to my kids, "What a dick." They laughed.  The kids were allowed to stay up until midnight. I told them to wear their blankets as capes. We went to Wal-Mart to resupply for the ride home the next day. I bought giant marshmallows and incited a marshmallow war with all the kids at the camp. Fun. Sweaty. Times.

Day 6: We finally left at 8:41am. Got home at 4:30am on Day 7 (Saturday). I got in my car, drove to my brother's house as Kevin was there and it would have been silly to drive from Delray to Gardens only to drive to Boca the next day. My lovely sister in law made their bed up for me. I slept til 8:20am and headed home as my brother was sick and sneezing everywhere.

I am still tired. I ache all over. I have muscle definition in my arms. I lost two pounds.  My mom and sister keep telling me that I need to run every decision by them from now on, as it was a crazy week and I really didn't even have to do it. Eh. I like my Yes, And attitude. I have much better stories to tell when I embrace it. And my arm jiggle is gone. WIN WIN.

Happy birthday....to me???

This just in. My birthday weekend is going to be simultaneously dumb and awesome.

Saturday, June 14th
9:30AM: Donate blood for one of my best friends, who is having surgery and needs backup O-.
8:00PM: Arrive at Showtime Theater for Sick Puppies Show warm up.
9:00PM-10:30PM: Sick Puppies Show
11:00PM: Meet Youth Group and drive 14 hours to Manassas, VA for a week long Mission Trip. 11:00PM-12:00AM: Bloodlessly sing Kumbaya for an hour to annoy Youth Pastor.

Sunday, June 15th-My actual Birthday
All Day: Drive to Manassas. Sing more Kumbaya.

I'll be in VA til the 20th. Sleeping on air mattresses. In a church. There may be indoor showers. They may be communal. They may be outside. There may be a/c.  Participants make the meals. We'll be doing good work in the area and I get to hang out with some pretty cool kids. The adults are ok. :)

At least we'll be getting home some time on the 20th. I think. Who knows at this point?!?!?!?

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. I am an idiot who says yes to everything. 

Happy birthday to me