TWBITW Returns!

Update from TWBITW

Howdy, blogoverse!
How have y’sall been doing? I know, I know, I’ve pretty much abandoned you since…almost a month ago, making me TWBITW (The Worst Blogger In The World) (SORRY!); however, before I get into the meat and potatoes of this post, I wanted to take a couple minutes to share some metrics for the month and (once again! You guys are the best, I absolutely love my readers and the community this blog has opened up to me!) extend the biggest THANK YOU that I possibly can via the internet. Each and every last one of you hasd contributed to a successful blog – in fact, more successful than I ever imagined that it could be!

As of right now (3:31 PM pst; Wednesday, February 5th, 2014), we’re at:
-15,638 Unique visitors from 40+ countries (and steadily counting)
-31 unique visitors today alone
-318 comments
-85 blog subscribers (those of you who get an email every time I post)
-15 Tumblr. subscribers
-37 Facebook followers
-2 Twitter followers

HOLY LIVING SHIT YOU GUYS. I LEAVE FOR A MONTH (almost) AND THE METRICS STAY THIS GREAT? I have no words. I really don’t. The best I can say is “THANKS!,” and I hope you know that I mean if from the bottom of my wee black heart.

Anywhore, it’s been a busy busy BUSY month, and I have a shitpile to tell y’all, so let’s get started shall we?

When I last wrote to you, I’d just started the new job. Well, a month in and I still absolutely LOVE it. In fact, I’ve gotten a micropromotion – added Social Media Manager to my title, and as a super awesome added bonus perk, I now get paid to BLOG! Seriously! I’m not going to link you to it here in the name of maintaining a modicum of anonymity; however, it gives me the opportunity to write (A LOT!!) about finance (yay!), being a millennial in the workplace (yay!) and inject some personailty into my job’s online presence. Overall, I’d say that it’s a major fucking WIN, especially since I’m salaried anjd therefore protected from some of the nonsense that comes along with freelancing. Not quite an author per se, but writing my wee heart out nonetheless. It feels right, and it’s doing wonders for our SEO, so I must be doing something right, hey? Haha, I kid – I KNOW this is the right thing, the right place, the right time. Professional life is on point.

You won’t know this by the time that I publish this post, but right now, I’m actually not at work – I’m awaiting Brother Vega to come meet me and guide me through some Facebook/Twitter issues I’m now having to deal with on the comnpany’s behalf (natch, thre dream job comes with some expected headaches); and I gotta say, it’s damned nice being able to cut out of the office to come do some work at a coffee shop with my not-blood-brother, who is hilarious and awesome and can hopefully help me break the Internet. Perks of desk jobs #332: remote work, and coffee shop meetings that let me effectively leave my job two hours earlier than usual. Big girl job = way the fuck better than barista. I’m just not cut out for retail after all these years – I crave stability, challenge, and the opportunity ton advance these days more than I do easy money from gracious tips.

So that’s work. Tl;dr – work is great, got a promotion a week in, get paid to write for the majority of my day now. Win.

Moving onwards, I suppose the next highlight from the past month was attending an industry conference with Vega in Anaheim at the end of January (perks of desk jobs #339: the ability to take a weeek off because of the magic that is working remote), and it was seriously just awesome. Out of respect for Vega’s privacy, I won’t say too much about what conference I attended (it’s the biggest trade show in his industry, and I met Kerry King, and was two feet from Stevie Wonder. Twice. That’s all ya get!); however, I will say that it was absolutely wonderful to see my man in action, to spend some quality time with him on a short little vacay, and (of course) to walk around Cali for a couple days – one of my favorite places to go, and made much better by being there with my love! And yes, before the questions roll in, this was bthe same conference he was at last year when we’d only technically met once and before he’d come to visit me in the 506.

That’s the vacay, Tl;dr – went to Cali with my beau for just under a week, rubbed shoulders with some musical bigwigs, saw my man in action as a sexy businessman, relaxed a bunch. Win.

Otherwhore, not a bunch of outwardly thrilling stuff. Got my taxes done (2009-2012…DON’T BE LIKE ME KIDS. DON’T DO IT), which ended up netting me an additional 1000$+ that I hadn’t been anticipating. It’d be cool if the CRA would be snappy about processing those…but until they do, I’ll just keep checking the mailbox compulsively and praying that the Tax Accountant Gods are kind and quick! I also got myself a credit card (after having royally fucked my credit up at 19…it’s been a long road with a lot of learning curves thrown in for good measure), which should be in my hands by the end of the week! YAY! PULLING MYSELF TOGETHER FEELS SO GOOD. I got the man of my dreams, I live in the city of my dreams, I have the job of my dreams…my turn to put myself into the financial situation of my dreams, and I’m making great headway! It’s so so so exciting to be taking real consideration towards my future, what I want to achieve, and not only reaching my goals, but blowing them out of the fucking water on the whole. Also exciting is the prospect of getting all my stuff (a lot of stuff, cds, posters, clothes, etc) back from my parents ASAFP. I’m still awaiting a final date from the shipping company (ughhh), but the long and short of it is, that once I have my stuff back 100% of my loose ends are OFFICIALLY TIED UP, BEEYOTCH! Hell to the yes. Tl;dr – getting my finances in order and it feels so go-oo-oo-oo-d.

(For the record, it’s 10:14pm now. Vega is at hockey, and TWBITW is finbally finishing this entry!) Yeah. So I had my meeting with Brother Vega, which was good! I was sitting at the wrong coffee shop (derp), but when we found each other he helped me conclude that I’m somewhat fucked but also somewhat okay. So there’s that. After we finished up, I caught the bus home and was thoroughly entertained by the  meth head and the crack head who couldn’t quiiiiite communicate. Vega and I had some quality time together, then dinner, then he left for hockey. I have so far picked my outfit for work tomorrow, chatted with some friends, and taken a shower. Now, I’m listening to 90s hip hop and enjoying the heater!

Tomorrow, I’m hoping to FINALLY get back in the gym after last week’s unexpected cold from hell (oh yeah, I was sick last week and worked from home two days out of five – perks of having a desk job #235: remote work. Aww yeah.)) – Vega and I signed up for a gym membership in December, and I’ve been going hard with him with the weights. According to him, my ass looks better already – and my jeans are certainly fitting nicer again. It’s exciting doing this weightlifting stuff – I am eating ALL THE THINGS and still losing weight. Lift heavy things, put them down. Repeat. Go home. EAT ALL THE THINGS. Sleep. DOMS. Repeat ad infinitum. I can’t wait to be stronger – it feels nice feeling my body catch up to my mental strength. If that made no sense, blame “good advice” (hahaha, I think you’re the only one whoi’ll get that one, Vega).

Anyways, I think I’m gonna call this a post and go make a smoothie. Oh, munchies. Why do you always want ice cream?

For now,

TWBITW (Wallace), out.

PS: We’re up to 15,662 unique views as of 10:31pm. ❤

“The poet and the painter…”

The poet and the painter
Casting shadows on the water/
As the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea/
The do-er and the thinker/
No allowance for the other/
 As the failing light illuminates the mercenary’s creed/
The home fire burning/
The kettle almost boiling/ 
But the master of the house is far away/
The horses stamping/
Their warm breath clouding/
 In the sharp and frosty morning of the day/
And the poet lifts his pen/
While the soldier sheaths his sword 
And the youngest of the family/
Is moving with authority/
Building castles by the sea/
He dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside/
(From “Thick as a Brick” – Jethro Tull)

Love me some Jethro Tull. ❤

Hello, blogosphere.
So, I managed to get back to sleep somewhere between 7:30 and 8:00 this morning. Vega came down at noon for his lunch break and despite a valiant effort to rouse me from my slumber, I kept right on a-sleepin’ until 2:30 this afternoon. Long story short, I didn’t make it out into society to get any writing done, and the most productive thing I’ve done all day has been making a gigantic cup of jasmine green tea and reading endless BuzzFeed articles. It’s 4:22 now and I could happily crawl back into bed and call it a day. Exhausted and sore as hell are the two best descriptors for me today. How are your hump days going, readers? Hopefully y’all have been more  productive than I. I was going to add some self-deprecating humor there about my sloth, but I was allowed by Vega to sleep in on the promise that I wouldn’t feel guilty about it later. So.

Parks and Rec. Are you on Netflix yet? hmm.

…so, here I am now on the couch, dog in lap, tea in hand, Radiohead in background. I feel…out of place today. Kinda weird and very much an unsettling  sensation. I’m also freezing and very excited for Mr. Vega to finish up his work day (half an hour now!) so that we can snuggle on the couch and eat dinner and go to sleep. Back to where I was, where everything hurts and takes way too much effort and I’d really rather just stay in bed with the blinds closed all day. That said, I have Christmas shopping to accomplish still and my tea supply is dwindling; so in that regard, perhaps I’ll drop the bar on my “leaving the house this week” goal and settle for hitting downtown and killing both them birdies with one stone on Sunday, when my final paycheque from Hell – ahem – the Bean is ready for me. Or maybe I’ll be even more realistic and put it off until Monday when my bank will be open. Who am I kidding? Sunday is for tea and pyjamas, even when I’m not feeling all mopey. This week’s a write off. I am just not ready to venture into society just yet. It’s me, tea, and my sketchbook for the next few days, and you know what? I’m alright with that.

I just need a few more days of crying and crappy television. I’ll have this shit handled again soon.

I don’t really know what I logged on here to say. You’re all painfully aware by now of where I’m at right now, and I have no brilliant revelations to share with you. I think I’m just trying to keep my brain busy – two days from now is the anniversary of the worst night of my fucking life, and I wouldn’t call it a hasty conclusion to decide that the sleep fuckery, the upset stomach, the general malaise are all psychosomatic symptoms. The brain is a funny little machine that way – despite my knowledge of the opposite, I still maintain to myself that I’ve dealt with all of this. I think what’s hurting me the most right now; what truly is fuelling this depressive episode is the acceptance that at the end of the day, I am still very much a wounded soul. I pride myself on my sunny disposition, my unrelenting optimism…and here I am, struggling to hold on to the frayed ends of the proverbial rope. I want to feel strong again, want to feel powerful and integral and worthwhile. The irony is that Vega makes me feel all of those things; however, being unemployed (again) makes me start in on my faults and shortcomings and I manage to convince myself that he’s wrong for making me feel any of those good things and that he’ll realize it one day and evaporate from my life, too. That’s literally the precise train of thought I grapple with multiple times every day. I suppose it’s time for me to eat some of my own humble pie though, and take my own advice. Every time I’ve ever felt this way in my life, good things have come of it. I’m too blah to remember that feeling right now, but I know that it’s the natural progression of things. Self-care first, though, and for the time being, that means not thinking as much as I’d like to and more TEA.

 

Truth.

 

Anyways, I’m dying for a cigarette, so for now,

Wallace, out.

“The high road, not ’cause of the drugs we take; but the memories we keep and the friends we make.”

Happy Tuesday, blogoverse.

I hope y’all had fantastic long weekends and are attacking this week well rested and ready to kick some ass.

I’m having a rough morning. No, not because of the fact that I’ve been awake since 5:06 am. I got word through Facebook that yet another friend of mine has been ripped from the earth far too young. I don’t know what exactly happened as of yet (it’s still to early for any of my friends to be awake, let alone answering texts), but I know that the grey, drizzly weather matches my cold and dreary mood just perfectly. Not sure how exactly I’m going to get through this shift without letting the carefully crafted façade of impenetrable pleasantness I’ve put up for myself crack. I feel like a superheated glass fresh out of a too-hot washing machine-whole, but with the very real potential to splinter into a million little pieces if anybody so much as looks at me the wrong way. It’s going to be a long eight hours of smiling-I’m pulling deep from the depths of my acting skills today already.

I’m sitting on the bus now on my way to the aforementioned long ass shift. I feel removed from it all, like I’m the narrator in the story of my life. People watching – there’s a Canada Post delivery person, some construction workers, a keen high school student. It’s not enough to distract me this morning. I keep letting my mind wander to the how’s and the whys of my friend being dead.

It sounds so cold when I say it like that. The truth actually hurts to verbalize. This is the tenth time in two years that I’m saying goodbye for the last time to someone who deserves life more than I do.

Anyways, it’s my stop up next.
For now,

Wallace out.

Extended Hiatus (on Mia-Terms) Over! (or, “Damn You, Nightmares!”)

Hello blogosphere, happy Monday to you all!

Hopefully the weather wherever you may be is more savory than Calgary’s second-coming-of-Winter that seems to be going on. So frustrating, but what’s an Alberta girl to do? I suppose I should be used to massive dumps of snow (my least favorite 4-letter word, seriously) in the middle of what is supposed to be springtime. Inhale, exhale, focus on Victoria. Sorry prairies, you’ve been a slice, but I’m definitely a coastal girl at heart. More on that in a bit.

THREE MONTH (and a week) BLOGOSPHERE UPDATE–as of 8:07am 04/15/2015, we’re up to 3,293 unique page visitors; 193 comments, and 1 unspeakably excited blogmistress. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU ❤ I am humbled and amazed! 😀

Anyways. It’s been a good ten days–my apologies for going MIA (ha! see what I did there?!) on y’all, I’ve just been preoccupied. I am sad to report that since the PR run that was the makings of my last post, I haven’t made it out to hit the pavement since. See aforementioned grumblings vis a vis 2nd coming of winter. Regardless, I have stayed true to my personal goal of 6 workouts/week, 4 hours yoga/week, and am sloooowly seeing results. Not much in the way of inches lost yet or anything, but I feel much more like my usual bright bubbly DOMS laden self. There is a lot to be said for sweating hard once (or twice, if there’s sexy time involved hehe) per day. I’ve also been eating a lot freakin’ better–takes some willpower (and yes, there have been a few cheats–I’m not on a W30 right now, so sue me–I’m talking to you, delicious sushi and frighteningly tasty Reese’s ice-cream), but the general lowering of my consumption of dairy and grains has meant that (knock on wood) I haven’t had a flare since I’ve been back in the 403. Praise Jeebus and all that jazz. Besides the ridiculous circuit/tabata/boxing/yoga I’ve been doing, Vega and I have been making time for lots of Battlestar  (let me just take a minute to say that I AM DYING OVER THIS FINAL FIVE THING. SERIOUSLY. GUH.), and Dexter, and cooking some ah-mazing food (recipes to come sometime this week when I get off my lazy ass (actually, when I make more time to sit on it hehe) and download the pics so that y’all have visuals as well as instructions. We also celebrated Chef’s birthday on Saturday evening with Veggie over some UFC fights (YEAH FABER) at a casino. It’s nice to have good friends–they’re both really growing on me, and I’m going to miss them a ton when we move. Good news, of course, being that we still have a few months to make even more awesome memories–it’s so comforting, having good things that I will remember in Calgary, rather than feeling nothing but doom when I inevitably think on my hometown.

I digress. This morning started much, much earlier than I had anticipated. Vega and I went to sleep around 2:45am, and I was exhausted. It was a weird sleep I had–one of those “pretty sure I was dreaming about tossing and turning” kind of nights, I am sure I slept because I definitely sprung awake (much less tired, but not well-rested..grumble grumble)–and I laid there from about 6 until 6:30 doing my damndest to get my eyes to take me back to sleepytown. No such luck, so I hauled myself to the living room, had a smoke, and cuddled with the puppy while reading the new posts on the Whole9 forum. Finally got through the unread ones, decided it was coffee time, ground some organic, fair trade dark roast beans (yeah yeah yeah, I’m one of them hippies. I know. Soon I’ll be where I belong with my hippie of a handsome guy 🙂 ), and here I am. There really is very little better than a good strong cup of coffee and a cigarette in the morning–and I must say, my visceral hatred of the morning is slowly fading as I grow older. I’m learning to enjoy the peacefulness of the day breaking (and it’s nice to have a little me time. Love you, Vega, but I feel super-guilty writing blog posts when we are snuggling on the couch. It’s also near impossible to think clearly enough when Beta is in the room–nothing against her, but a) I don’t want her finding my blog, and b) she’s 19 and has the conversational energy of a nineteen year old. Too many thoughts end up floating around). Right now, my situation is a good one–hot coffee, sleeping pooch beside me, Monday blues nowhere to be seen… Hmm. A half year ago I wouldn’t have recognized this person. I missed this side of me. I keep re-introducing these long forgotten facets of myself back into everyday Mia-existence. It is freakin’ lovely, as I’d convinced myself that these parts of me had packed up and moved away a long, long time ago.

Before I move too far away from the tangent of sleep, that seems to be the one thing I am having the hardest time “fixing” (in the same way I am “fixing” my diet and exercise). In the last 2 weeks, Vega and I have done better in the way of actually going to bed (fewer although not none in regards to all-nighters), but it seems that even when I am just pooched and should theoretically be sleeping like a rock, that I’ve been having bouts of the worst nightmares known to man/womankind. They’re so vivid, so bizarre, and so unsettling…ugh. The only conjecture I have on the matter is that I’m processing things on a subconscious level–my conscious is for the most part at peace these days–and Vega took it a step further to add that it probably has something to do with me truly realizing that I am safe and I am loved, and coming to grips with that, too. Whatever it is, I hope to kill it off with the assistance of the aforementioned workouts, eating, and LOVE (I am so loved, it blows my wee brain)–and hope that if nothing else, maybe I will get a good cry in one of these days and just physically let it all go. I’d really prefer to not have to resort to the latter (I really, really hate crying–although mead and ridiculous conversations with Vega seem to drag it out of me), but perhaps the urge will strike and I’ll just get it out of my system. Alternately, I can also see a hysterical Mia-style laughter-out-of-fucking-nowehere-for-45-minutes session as a potential release. It is unfortunate one cannot force these things, as I’d also get a killer workout from the giggle-fest. 🙂 Grieving one’s past is a strange and liberating experience.

Anywhore. A  little over an hour and my Vega will be waking for the day. Is it pathetic that I miss him terribly right now (even though he’s under the same roof, sleeping soundly in the bed I was in with him less than two hours ago)? No matter, it’s the truth, and I am revelling in it. Absolutely wallowing in the depths of the love I have for that perfect-for-me-man. Going back to the first bit of this post, 99.99999% of why I’m so excited about Victoria has to do with Vincent and I. We are flourishing so much already–every day that goes by, we learn more about each other, grow closer, make new memories, come up with bigger and better goals and dreams for the future–our future. It’s truly overwhelming to have found the person who makes me whole – and we’re really just beginning. As the days and weeks go by and the move draws nearer, it’s becoming clearer and clearer to me that when you do what you’re supposed to be doing, things tend to work out as they should. In the beginnings of our relationship, I had nothing but doubt coming from my few friends who bother to give me their $0.02 on my life. The number of times I heard that we moved too fast, or that I was acting on impulse, or that I was going to invariably get hurt if I moved from the 506 to the 403 to be with Vega…well, let’s just say that upon seeing/talking to me now, none of them have anything left to say–in fact, most of them are quite literally speechless–and it’s great, quite frankly. Nothing is as simple as it seems; however, sometimes you just have to go with your gut. Mine seems to make some pretty wise choices (so does Mr. Vega’s). I’m so so so excited for the summer–excited to move (hopefully for the last time in a while! haha), to meet Vega’s family, to find our corner of the universe together in the 250! I’m excited about the weather, and about being by the water, and about exploring new neighbourhoods, and restaurants, and making new friends. I’m excited about the unknown–and I’m excited by what I know for sure; that is, the prospect of starting to put down roots somewhere beautiful with my fiancé and our pup and overwhelming amounts of positivity and love and happiness (and, of course, good food). To anybody who doesn’t know me, this probably reads like the diary of a madwoman. Perhaps I am mad–was it Twain who said that the best of us always are?

Speaking of authors, I am starting a new read when I wrap up this post here. Vega’s lent me “A Game Of Thrones,” by George R. R. Martin. I’ve been meaning to get in on this series for a long while now (and I haven’t watched the TV show yet, so shh! No spoilers!), and I’m looking forward to sinking my teeth into a good book. Have I mentioned yet how excited I am that I’ll be able to read by the water again soon? And do yoga by the water? And run by the water…? The list goes on, but long story short, all good things in life are made better when done by the water. True fact. Also true fact–this will be a reality in what really is a matter of weeks. I should really get a move on the whole Kijiji-selling-of-things. Maybe today after my workout. We’ll see.

Today should be a continuation on the positive-vibes theme, methinks. I’m already 2 cups of coffee into the day, have a killer boxing circuit and some kundalini yoga planned for mid-morning (after brekky with my love, natch), and besides vacuuming and a possible grocery run later in the day, all I have planned is pooch snuggles on the couch with the aforementioned read o’the week–no better way to spend a snow day. Taking it easy, one day at a time–trying to find that balance I’m always talking about–I’m pretty sure my Nirvana lies somewhere between Vega, Visa, and Vinyasa.

For now, I have exhausted my rambling muscles. Expect recipes (and hopefully, less of these ten day hiatuses) very, very soon.

Wallace, out.

 

 

“Once More, With Feeling” (Or, “End Scene”)

The rush of an audition is like nothing else. Sitting outside the theatre, going over lines, warming up vocal chords, pretending you aren’t scared shitless and mustering a brave-yet-humble smile. They call your number, and the stage is yours; except, it never seems to yield its magical power of making everything go black when you’re trying to impress the director.

“Sing us a few bars, let us hear what you’ve got.” Did I hit that note with enough power? SHIT that was off tempo, keep singing, eyes up, legato legato staccato and stop.

“Soliloquy please, let’s see you act.” Shoulders back, let your actions be overwhelming, FUCK did I really just miss a whole line? No matter; keep acting, play it off, try not to cry, maybe they didn’t notice, end scene.

“Thank you, please wait outside for the group dance auditions.” They haven’t told you to go home yet, maybe there’s a chance, maybe they don’t hate you, thank the director, humility and confidence, such a fine balance. Outside the theatre again, warm up the muscles and go over the minutia of every mistake you just made, cold sweats, dance always scares you the most.

They call in the herd, and it’s like your feet are in control because you don’t remember getting back up onstage. Group choreography–thank god Mom was a dancer, you relax and realize it’s relatively easy jazz. Learn the movements, memorize the counts, feel the tempo in your feet. They break you into groups of four; shit, you’re front and center, why couldn’t you have been taller? Deep breath, over exaggerate every Fosse-inspired isolation, remember your face, keep smiling, look up! Miss a step, fall back into fear while keeping a smile on your lips. Sweating and exhausted, two more bars of “Rich Man’s Frug,” slow slow small movements and suddenly the music stops.

“Thank you, please be aware that we’ll post callbacks tomorrow.” Go home and collapse and don’t sleep a wink–did I get it? No–no way, my vibrato was sloppy, that missed line in my soliloquy, dropped my bowler’s hat in the group choreography. Convince yourself it’s over walking back to the theatre the next morning fueled by fear and caffeine, anticipating not to read your name on the call back sheet when HOLY FUCK, your name is first on the list and it’s a full-casting, no need for more auditions, you’re in and it all starts to hit you at once. Run down the hallway clicking your heels and calling your friends, full of joy and fear and elation. Outside, you have your last cigarette for the next eight months, the tears start to come, you thank the Gods of Theatre that you managed to pull this off. Go home and watch videos of the greats playing the part you’ve been graced with, try to sleep and fail. Fear has subsided and made way for excitement.

The rehearsals begin with introductions; however, you’re no longer you, you’re Mme. Thernardier, you’re Kate Monster, you’re a character who comes to life. First few days, group read-throughs, memorizing scripts, learning the stage and getting a feel for the cast, the crew, the show.

As time goes on, your life gets wholly consumed–you live and breathe and think and dream in sheet music and directions and all you can think of is choreography. Waltzing to the bus stop, vocal warm-ups at Safeway, the number of hours spent outside the theatre can be counted on one hand. Costume fittings–self doubt, nerves, where did those five pounds go? Have it re-fitted while learning to apply the heavy thick stage makeup, to curl your hair in a period appropriate way. Dress rehearsals, tension–why can’t she ever get her damn cue right, it throws us all off! Cast meetings and publicity stunts, sell tickets, hang flyers, surrealism in reality as the night draws near. Are we ready? Can we do this? We’ll find out, pull it together, let’s run that scene again…and again…and again…

…And before you know it, opening night–sold out show, full house, cold sweats, so much excitement. Warm up! Get dressed! you’re on in 5, 4, 3, SHIT, 2, curtain. Overture plays, take your place for cue, singing starts, waltz onto the stage. Blinding light, it’s so warm in this costume! The audience doesn’t exist and you are in 1800s London or downtown NYC or Elizibethean England, and it’s so natural and so right. The words flow off the tongue, the actions seem pre-programmed, the choreography carries you seamlessly and suddenly applause, intermission, run backstage to change and fix your makeup and shit no time for water, back to the wings, hear the buzz of the audience, the lights dim and the music swells again–give it your all, kill it, make them leave in tears and in awe. Backstage pacing, when’s my cue? You hear the bars and make the appearance and they’re laughing, they’re crying, they love you.

Finale–whole cast, everyone hitting a different note to make a perfect harmony, lights so bright you can’t see anything but white, can’t hear anything but the sound of the slow applause, a perfect eight bars until there’s nothing but darkness and a standing ovation. Run off stage, back on for encore, back offstage to laugh and scream and cry–we did it. Now to rinse and repeat every day, twice a day Sundays when the matinée runs, the next 2,4,6,8 weeks, months of your life to be spent in costume as someone else. To inspire giggles and sadness and amazement and awe in the people who leave the theatre after having watched you, as the hero to the kids who genuinely believe that you are Elpheba. This is your life, and it is all-consuming, overwhelming, amazing.

And then, one night, it’s the final showing, the light at the end of the tunnel; and at the same time, the darkest day of your life. You are exhausted, sick of the arias and the jokes you’ve always seen coming, tired of falling asleep with a full-face of stage makeup and a wig still on, of missing social engagements and smoking and drinking and spending more than two hours at a time at home in your bed. But then, suddenly, you’re in the final finale, and the tears come and they won’t stop, the flowers get thrown on stage, the applause is deafening even before the lights dim for the last time. The whole lot of you is trying to hold it together and failing, the emotions are too high, the thought that tomorrow you’ll be no-one again instead of Grizabella or Mrs. Lovette, or Aida. Shake it off, back onstage for encore, then tonight we’ll party!

The rest of the cast backstage getting their streetclothes on, as you stand on a darkened stage looking out at the sober melancholy that is left behind at the end of  it all. The magnitude hitting you slowly, did we really fill those seats, night after night, every night? Did they like it? Did I make an impression, even on just one of them? Tears and gratitude, and the realization of it all–you will never again be standing here in that costume, in front of those crowds, in this part of your life. Before you can tell a half hour has passed, the producer comes and gently takes you to join the others, thanks you for your hard work and hands you a glass of champagne; it’s time to celebrate and be proud, to finally sleep and smoke and eat and go to movies and live amongst the masses again.

Until the next audition, when it all starts again, and you once again metamorphose into someone you are not.

In life, as in theatre, there are beginnings and endings; and unfortunately, buth are inevitable. The defining factor in both is whether it’s going to be a sold-out show, or a total flop. All I know for sure in both regards is that I have given nothing but my all, and while I may look back and rhapsodize about the past, I have no regrets–there’s always another role that I can fill better than anyone else who might have fought me for the part.

It’s been five long years since I last got the chance to be a part of a show, but everything I learned that I thought I would never use again has come back to serve me well in my real life. And when it feels too far away, when I start to fear that maybe, just maybe I’ve lost that part of me, I close my eyes and listen, and I can still hear the swell of the orchestra, still feel the heat of the lights, and yes–I still remember every cue, every line to every song, every step to every dance.

I miss it. Viscerally.

“Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch…Again!/
Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch…Again!/
Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch…Again!/
Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch…Right!/
That connects with the/
Turn, turn, out, in, jump, step/
Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch/
Got it?/
Going on, and/
Turn, turn, touch, down, back, step/
Pivot, step, walk, walk, walk/
Right, let’s do the whole combination/
Facing away from the mirror from the top/
Ah-five, six, seven, eight!/”

(“I Hope I Get It” – A Chorus Line)

For now,

Nostalgic Wallace, out.

“de·liv·er·ance (/diˈlivərəns/); Noun: 1. The action of being rescued or set free”

“I left out from mama’s with my thumb in the wind/
The leaves on the ground/
Winter’s comin’ again/
Solid on the surface as I crumble within/
But legends are made out of vulnerable men/
So on the brink of death I still manage livin’ life/
Cuz so rarely in this world are these chances givin twice/
I indeed sold my soul without glancin’ at the price/
No instructions when I was handed this device/
But with what I did give I was more than generous/
Put others over self on several instances/
But I’m back on my feet without a hint of bitterness/
And one way or another I shall have deliverance/”
–Bubba Sparxx, “Deliverance”
_________________________________________________________________-

I’m having a solidly awesome day today; definitely feeling more up to par with my usual self than I have in the past few days. It’s funny how sometimes you feel like you’re somebody who you do not recognize; like you’ve somehow woken up as somebody you don’t recognize, don’t know, don’t want to be. That’s how I felt since the flashback on Friday night–I felt weak and broken and scared (not necessarily unknown emotions to me..I felt very much the same as I did the last few months dating Sunshine), I knew that it wasn’t Mia. I woke up this morning feeling re-charged, my feet hit the floor and I was back to being ME.It’s good to be back, readers. I apologize for any uncharacteristic posts while I was gone (haha).

The quote above is from one of my all-time favorite songs (It’s totally a throwback, and always takes me back to middle school; however, remains a mainstay on my playlists and I recommend a listen if you aren’t familiar. Good old 00’s whiteboy folky-rap.), and it’s been resonating with me pretty strongly today. I spent the majority of the day focusing on myself, on reveling in feeling good and alive. Boo made us a delicious brekky which I thoroughly enjoyed, ate it downstairs over a cup of coffee and an episode of What Not To Wear and girl chat and general feel-good girly time. It was a great start to the day (11:30 and awake?! FUCK YEAH), and we lounged around until 2:00, when I headed upstairs to finally finish putting my room together.

I suppose I had been procrastinating on the whole final touches to my room thing because I haven’t really felt at home anywhere until now in the past 5 years of my life. This is definitely my place; my room is definitely my space. I have gotten over my fears there, and I thoroughly enjoyed emptying my closet, folding and hanging everything I own, finding a spot for all of my accessories, and watching my room come together, exactly as I want to see it, with no fear of anything going missing, or of having to leave unexpectedly, or of putting down some roots for the first time in a damn while. It makes me so happy to see all of my things all settled in MY SPACE! This time, if I do have to pack my things before the 18 months in Oromocto is up, it’ll be by choice, not necessity. A novel, welcome concept in this woman’s life.

I finally got through the cleaning at 5:30pm, at which point I decided it was time for a workout. I definitely had to do some talking-up today; however, by the time I made it down to the pit at 6:00, I was feeling badass and ready to attack the task at hand. I put in a solid 45 minute legs and glutes hell circuit today, and when I emerged sweaty and sore and exhausted, I was elated for having finally killed a workout the way I enjoy doing so. I made us all a delicious dinner, then did the dishes after Sarge and Boo went to bed. It was a seriously nice way to watch the day begin to come to a close.

My poor Vega is sick right now, so he’s been having a bit of an off-day. Luckily for both of us, we managed to get Skype to play nice for a really well-needed hour long date. It makes my damn heart skip beats when I see him (and it makes me SO sad when I can’t be there to play nurse and make him feel better when he’s all sniffly and not himself), and it was so unbelievably awesome to just see his green eyes and his megawatt smile and hear his voice and revel in the comfort that the love of my life provides. I seriously can’t believe how lucky I am, how lucky WE are. This is going to be an amzing visit, and I am thoroughly looking forward to being able to revel in his presence. Everything about it is just tantalizing; I am going to be the happiest woman alive to be able to hug him and kiss him and fall asleep with my head on his chest and wake up in his arms. I still cant quite wrap my head around the fact that I have a lifetime of this to look forward to. I never thought I’d be excited about my future…and here I am. Here WE are. Mutual elation. Mutual awesome,

Deliverance, is certainly what I have found. I have been rescued by so many helping hands along the way; I have been set free from my past, by the headstrong curious bullheadedness that IS Mia, that has allowed me to persevere. I definitely didn’t get here on my own; and I’m lucky, lucky that so many along the way have helped me so much. That said, I think the true deliverance comes from realizing that I have become someone more than I knew I could be. A year ago, I was settling for abuse from so many sources that it makes my head spin. I thought it was normal because I thought it was all I deserved. Now? Everything in my life surmounts my expectations; and it’s the craziest paradigm shift, learning to accept the truth–that I am enough to deserve all of these things. I think that’s where the flashbacks come from sometimes; it’s almost like there’s a part of me that still believes that I deserve to be treated like a sack of shit, and that the life I am living can’t be mine. What gives me hope, what makes it possible to snap out of the darkness, is the realization that this isn’t just a dream.

My parents, The KFP, Sunshine.. they can all kiss my well-toned ass. I won at life. I don’t owe anybody ANYTHING anymore. And it’s a glorious feeling.

On that note, I’m going to go get comfy in my now-clean room, read some D.H. Lawrence (re-re-re-reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover, amazing novel), and think about my Vega.

Did I mention that I’m NINE MOTHERFUCKIN’ DAYS AWAY FROM SEEING HIM?!

yeah, pretty stoked.

For now,

Wallace, out.

Moving Forwards (or, “FUCK The Past, My Future Rocks”)

Another interesting day; however, my mood and my mental state are much more their usual state of calm, much less stormy and miserable.

Had a lovely Skype chat with my Vega before bed last night, and in turn, the sweetest of dreams. I have been slowly chipping away at this insomnia bullshit, and in return, managed to get my ass out of bed before 2:00pm. Not impressive to most; however, it beats rising at 7:00pm. I’ll get there–and no, I’m not willing to go to bed earlier in order to force myself to sleep and have miserable dreams. I’d much prefer to fall asleep when I’m tired and have a restful night’s sleep. Like I said; work in progress, and I’m making progress. I’m happy.

When I did wake my ass up, Boo had recieved a couple of parcels addressed to me. They were from my Mother. I was tempted to ship them right the fuck back, but curiosity killed the cat, so I grabbed some scissors and went to town. I was excited for like 30 seconds…then saw that she had sent me a whole shitload of clothes I purposefully left behind when I last left home–they were all from my heaviest days, and she’s seen me within the last 3 months. I was reeling; I was 30 seconds from relapsing again (then realized I hadn’t eaten yet, and I’m well past those days..), and then instantly depressed as fuck. Is that really how she sees me still? Did she send me that just to say she sent me something JUST to have guilt material? I got fucking disowned, and not even personally, she did it through an ultimatum to SARGE for fuck’s sake. I don’t expect anything. I’d rather nothing. And now THIS?! A few things are still useful–a purse, a dress that fits, the one new shirt that’s actually my size. The rest? Well. Part of mew wanted to burn it and the attached memories. The other part is elated that it all fits Boo, who is thrilled with the new additions to her wardrobe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Silver linings.

After the parcel fiasco, I hit the basement for 1.5 hours of HARDCORE leg and ab work (helloooo DOMS) to make up for yesterday’s unplanned rest day, and to kick today’s schedueled workout in the ass. 30 minutes of stretching and I felt much better. I came upstairs recharged, ate some num num home made chicken stock and some mucscle milk concoction Sarge whipped up for me, then took a glorious shower. Once I emerged all clean and warm, I got dressed and made the effort to put myself together, and I have to say, the minimal girlish effort put me in a great mood.

Came downstairs and realized I was starving. Whipped up a salad, then went to the store after I ate with Sarge and Boo in search of produce and hairspray. Acquired. Smiled my ass off, even though I’m broke now, and came home to do food prep. We have a week’s worth of veggies and fruit and healthy fats and I have no desire to do anything but put in good workouts, eat well, and enjoy the benefits that come with. Relapses are a part of recovery, my Vega reminded me of this last night. He’s right. A year ago I would have spent the 70$ on diet pills and celery. I am changing, my body is too. But it’s for the better. I need to fuel the machine if I want it to run well for the rest of forever.

This evening, I’ve spoiled myself with a cup of vanilla earl grey and 2 squares of Lindt extra fine 85% dark while enjoying some online shopping (totally found a birthday La Senza gift card I`d forgotten about) while letting my nails dry (they’re a really gorgeous candy apple red, China Glaze “Bend Over Backwards” with a Seche Vite topcoat for added shine), and I’m feeling pretty much back to Mia. I missed myself. It’s scary, feeling like you’re falling back down the rabbit hole. It’s a relief when you realize that you’ve already fallen and you’re safe in Wonderland. It’s strange here; but I like strange, and the more at peace you can come to be with the fact that life is just that, the better everything else seems.

On the brightest of notes, it’s official–MY VEGA WILL BE HERE IN A MERE 10 DAYS. WE CAN OFFICIALLY COUNTDOWN ON OUR FINGERS!!!!! WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO!!!!! He booked tickets today, and lands at 7:00 on the 15th. I don’t believe I have ever been quite this excited over anything, ever. I can’t fucking wait to leap into his arms at the YFC and finally, finally feel whole again. Him and I have been just furiously texting each other all day in regards to our mutual excitement and disbelief that we’re finally going to be together again. I love that man, heart and soul. Sometimes, it is completely overwhelming; and others, it feels so natural, so right, that I could swear we’ve been together our whole lives. Love is amazing. Being in love with someone who loves you back just as fucking much as you love them is INCREDIBLE. I am so unbelievably impatient right now, it is painful; however, seeing the countdown finally become something bearable (one week, one weekend, 4 days, VEGA!) is the most thrilling feeling. I really, really, really cannot wait to have him here. My man is the best man in the world. He and I are the luckiest people in the universe, being together and being reuinted so, so soon. My life makes so much sense with him. Our future together, completely limitless. Our present? Infinite. This, readers, is what fulfillment feels like.

I have changed leaps and bounds from who I used to be. It’s simply amazing. The girl I used to be was afraid of the future. She dreaded it. The woman I am now is ELATED to be alive; to be in love, to be loved by her family of friends and the love of her life. She’s no longer afraid. She’s excited.

The path I’m on is not one that everyone can take. That said, it is the road worth traveled upon, and it has made all of the difference. I can’t wait to live every minute, to be there through good times with my friends, to enjoy the love story I’m a main character in, to take chances and to fuck up royally and learn lessons and feel and celebrate and LIVE.

I just have to remember that I never want to be the girl that I was; that I don’t want to waste anymore time. I want to take Vega’s hand and run. We have our whole lives ahead of us. I’m leaving my past behind.

And mom?
I pity you. You and dad aren’t welcome down this road. It’s much, much too thrilling for the two of you, and I’m not a lifeguard anymore–you’d both suffer cardiac arrest…and believe me, I would not be recussitating either one of your sorry asses.

On that note, I’m going to enjoy my bedtime cup of peppermint tea, text my lovely love until he goes to sleep, and revel in the recharged battery of my soul. Beast mode has officially once again been activated.

For now,

Wallace, out.

P.S.

TEN MOTHERFUCKIN’ DAYS. 10. MORE. DAYS.
VEGA VEGA VEGA VEGA!!!!

“…and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… “

I’ve had a lovely, solitary, productive evening. I haven’t treated myself to this much Wallace time in far, far too long. Don’t get it twisted–I spend plenty of time alone; however, it’s a rarity for me to make a point of doing nice things for myself solely because I want to. I feel a bit like Ricky Fitts from “American Beauty” that way, sometimes (If you haven’t seen “American Beauty,” go do so right the fuck now. Alan Ball is a GENIUS, and it’s really the only movie in the world that possibly competes with “Pulp Fiction” for my number one. I’m a sucker for an amazing script and a solid cast). I too, grew up under the pretense of, “you need structure, you need discipline,” and to an absolute fault. Nowadays, I do things like tonight, where I’m still structured and disciplined (dishes and laundry both got done), but make time–TAKE time– to paint my nails, to watch shitty girly TV, to savor every last sip of my delicious black chai tea in the company of my damn self. I’m learning a balance. And it’s a nice change of pace (and my nails are now pink with a blue accent nail (fingers, China Glaze, Purple Panic (neon) and Frostbite), toes are green (China Glaze, Treehugger) with crazy sparkly silver big toes) and they make me damn smile). I’m making headway on this BHAG of mine; to make 2013 MY year, and I’m doing this wholeheartedly, ground up. I’m not saying that it’s all about how I look; rather, it’s about putting time into MYSELF (i.e. nails, workouts, good diet) to keep in mind for myself that yes, I am worth the effort. I’m getting there. I really am.

I’m still in a bit of a funky headspace; have been for the past few days, and everybody close to me has been feeling it, too. Sarge and Boo keep asking me what’s wrong, and I genuinely don’t know how to answer that question. Nothing’s wrong; in fact, everything is RIGHT right now, and it’s giving me a serious case of “what-the-fuck”s. I don’t remember the last time I felt like I could walk around without feeling like I was tip-toeing over eggshells, or the last time I enjoyed being at home, or felt safe, or loved, or genuinely as accepted as I do in my life right now. I am living in a great unknown! Call ground control! Call Major Tom! I might as well be sitting in a tin can, far above the world; this new paradigm I am trying to acclimatize to is completely different from any I have ever known. I’m certainly lost in my overwhelming gratitude for my situation, if that makes any sense at all.

I guess I’m the kind of person who moves forward the most when I give myself a chance to look back. I’ve been reminiscing hard lately, and I think that’s where the funky silent not-Mia-ness is coming from. I don’t feel anything about my past, by choice, on the whole; and I suppose this newfound peacefulness in my life is giving way to a state of mental clarity. That said, this clarity is unfairly obscured by memories and emotions I’ve denied for so long–besides the anger, the frustration, the pain, the sadness, the hatred–that were so fervent in my soul for so long that they were ALL I felt. At this moment in time, the reminiscing is in and of itself taking on a new purpose. I no longer pity myself (I never in my life regretted any of the things I’ve done or been through, but I used to allow for entirely too much self-pity, pathos if you will); rather, this feels very much like I am allowing myself to acknowledge and release.

Releasing is hard. It’s painful! I feel in some regard that I am grieving a series of losses. My childhood, which was wasted trying to please my parents, to fit into peer groups, to be somebody who I never was nor will be. My blood family, who never truly loved me for me, rather for some twisted sense of obligation. My ex-partners, who used and abused me with so much abandon as I doted and bled and tried my damndest to make a life that could never be with those people at my side..

I have wasted a lot of time in 22 years for being a person as productive as I am. I had allowed a lot of people to make me believe that I am not worthwhile, that I am not “the same” as everybody else, and when I started to see the amount of undue bullshit I’ve put myself through because of that, it made me truly, deeply disappointed in myself–and it gave me the necessary courage to uproot from the 403 and to take a chance in the 506.

My paradigm on my entire life has shifted, through the generosity of my best friend, the overwhelming support of my new roommate, the love of my leading man, and the strength I am learning to see in myself. I am SO much more than I ever knew, and it’s the craziest vindication, living the life I used to be so convinced I would never be “enough” to lead. I am not like everyone else, I am much, much more than the vast majority.

The quality of the people I am allowing into this new life is an entirely different calibre. There is no more abuse, no more belittlement, no more undue cruelty. I am no longer afraid to be at home. Rather, I am a part of a beautifully dysfunctional family–three twenty-somethings who have all struggled and bled and broken, and who accept it no more. It isn’t easy. We don’t have much, but we get by, and we get by in large part because we are comfortable enough–solid enough–to lean on each other, to build something better for each other, and with each other. Boo, Sarge–I love you two, and I love being at home with you guys. Thank-you is simply not enough of an expression of my gratitude for the home we’re building, but it’s all I’ve got. So, thank-you. From the bottom of my broken soul.

And then, there’s Vega. Honestly, I could (and sometimes do) focus on how many random little things brought us together; how many things say that we should not logically be the man and woman for each other, however–that’s just life. It’s beautiful and randoim and totally disorienting when it goes right, and our love story has thus far been the most mindfuck, brilliant, beautiful chain of events I’ve ever been a part of. I’m so unbelievably lucky and happy and fulfilled that he’s in my life–I’m sure you’re all sick of my saccharine musings, but it’s a first for me–a once in a lifetime love, and it’s once in my lifetime with this one, for sure. I’ve heard more than a few times now that I’m just being ridiculous; and my answer is that I’d be ridiculous to pass this man, this love, this life we are starting to build, up for anything else. I am not wasting anymore time, and I am certainly not about to be creating any more memories to grieve. I feel like with Vega, our lives are at the same time infinite and already not long enough–I want forever less a day with him; I never again want to know what it is to exist without my soulmate by my side. He’s the one, folks. He makes my life better in every single way just by existing, and I’m pretty fucking lucky that he feels the same way, too.

I used to feel like I was drowning in life. Now I feel like I am enjoying the rush after taking the plunge.

I’m not wasting another second; and I don’t consider any of my life a waste. Not even in reflection can I feel it a waste–it led me here, didn’t it?

Also. And most-so. JUST OVER TWO WEEKS AND I GET TO SEE MY VEGAAAAAA! Then, this girl is going to feel complete. My love, and my best friend, and my best-new-female friend. All physically here together in my HOME.

I’m pretty excited. I’m riding a pretty crazy bit of subtle melancholy missing my Vega; but, I am riding an equally crazy bit of pride–I’m finally proud of my life, myself, how far I’ve come. Now, my story can truly begin. I’m past the shitty part, the looking for a place to land. I’ve landed. Now, roots.

And, my dear Vega, in that regard, as much as I don’t even want to fathom you leaving when your pending visit does come to a close, all I can say is that I am elated that your paradigm shift is happening and coming to the point of closure, too. As selfish as I am, as much as I want you here with me forever NOW…I am the luckiest woman in the world, knowing that you want to devote the necessary time, energy, and strength to finalize those pending chapters in your story before you turn the page and start writing me into your book as a sidekick who is permanently with you–it means the world to me, our fresh start, our new life, truly beginning fresh and firmly together. Love you forever and a day, and I can’t wait to see where our adventures take us.

Thanks for listening, readers. I got a lot off my chest just there.

For now,

Wallace out.