Forewarned is forearmed: This post contains whining, laziness, and general apathy. Those who may be prone to judgment, Mary Sunshine-style aphorisms, or empty positivity, please go away and look at kittens. Otherwise, ride at your own risk.

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Insert sound effect: low whistle through teeth

Yikes. The warning signs of "drift":

-Thinking "This situation can't go on," but then it does go on.
-Complaining a lot about a situation without working to find ways to make it better.
-Hoping some catastrophe or upheaval will arise to blow up a situation, e.g., fantasizing that you'll break your leg or be transferred to another city.
-Feeling that other people or processes are moving events forward, and you're being passively carried along
-Getting the urge to do or have something because the people around you are doing it or want it.

Gretchen Rubin writes, "Drift is the decision you make by not deciding, or by making a decision that unleashes consequences for which you don't take responsibility."

Oh, the truth hoits! But I could have told you that I've spent the last four years or so adrift. I've pretty much been in "Oh, let's just see what happens" mode, and a lot of stuff has happened, but I didn't necessarily enjoy all of it. I've been riding the current, and sometimes I passed sun-dappled clearings and ogled the pretty fawns drinking at the stream's edge, but lately I feel like I'm in the swampy part of the stream. It stinks, there are lots of blood-sucking bugs, I'm covered in green slime, and the current is all but non-existent. I want out, but I'm not that strong a swimmer and I didn't bring my water wings.

Every time I go to Target in Brooklyn, I pass the Long Island Railroad. Every time I see the train I want to get on it, leave the city, the job, everything behind. I don't care where the train is going, as long as it's taking me away. I know this isn't healthy. I know these thoughts of MTA breaking down or a freak snowstorm or a broken limb keeping me from going to work are not healthy (I'll admit it: when I twisted my ankle really badly this spring, I was so happy to have an excuse not to go to work the next day). I know I need to take steps to make changes. It just takes so much energy, and all I want to do when I get home from work is lay in my bed, mess around on the internet for a while, and fall asleep. The last thing I want to do is work on a resume or find a new monologue or go to yoga or cook or even do more than stuff a few almonds in my mouth and pass out.

Believe me. I read things that are supposed to help with this apathy, i.e. The Happiness Project, but that's about as far as I get, the reading part. I get all fired up, make resolutions, maybe even clean. Then tomorrow comes, and it's just another day of going to work and staring at spreadsheets and eating cold food and riding the subway and climbing the stairs and catching up with other people's lives via their blogs. I exist in Camazotz. (I'll let you Google that one.)

What to do, what to do. I could rise up with passion and anger and say, "No! I will not let my life drift off into nothingness! I will make decisions! [fist pound into palm] And I will act on those decisions! [fist pound] And I will succeed! [fist pound]" But what will probably happen is I will attempt to wait it out until I'm forced to make a decision, because that's what I do.

Pass the almonds.

A roach (a BIG one) was crawling on my desk this morning. Jerk. THERE'S NO FOOD THERE. LEAVE ME ALONE.

It's time to stop talking about silicone caulk and act. I will purchase some tonight and attack the cracks tomorrow.

I'm at the yoga studio at the moment. There's chill music, no one else is here, and the internet is not blocked. Suh-weet. I'm attempting to enjoy this time and not think too much about roaches I can't see or control. (It's not working so well.)

I feel icky. It's rainy and cold. I have to find another job.

Stupid roaches.
Stupid rain.
Stupid economy.

"Stand over there and look scared."

"Stand over there and look scared."
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Last night.

- catering gig: Clinton's Global Initiative

- sighted: Big Willy himself. Came through the hallway where the caterers were working, took a minute to come say 'hi' and shake the hands of some of the staff. Skinnier than I remember him.

- sighted: Rev. Jesse Jackson. Rolled up to the bar as I was clearing glassware and plates. More handsome in person than on tv.

- not sighted: Mohammed Ali and Madeleine Albright. Might have seen Albright. Wouldn't recognize her if I did.

- spilled: two glasses of red wine. One glass landed on the floor, spraying glass shards and wine all over some woman, who proceeded to give me death glares. Other one didn't break, but sent red wine down my side. Thank goodness for black clothing.

- strained: every muscle in my lower back. Look, folks. If you're at a catered affair, and there's someone moving through a very crowded room with a tray full of heavy items who says, "Excuse me," please move, and not just half an inch away. It's heavy, and her back is probably burning and unless you want the whole tray on your foot, MOVE. (And if it does fall, don't look at her like she's a clumsy oaf. Have you been carrying a heavy tray back and forth for two hours?)

- consumed: cold leftovers at the end of a very long night.

Consensus: some catering gigs are easy, others make you want to drop your tray full of red wine glasses on some haughty chick and walk away forever.

Gifts from Paradise

Gifts from Paradise
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I'm having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad morning. The kind of morning where every object in your house seems to want to get in your way so you can trip over it or bark your shin or stub your toe. The kind of morning where you trip lightly on the rug and slosh coffee into your messenger bag. The kind of morning where you discover that you'd been calling a "Mr." a "Ms." and realize that there's no WAY you're gonna get that job now. The kind of morning where it's not hot but wildly humid so your knees and ankles decide they don't want to work properly. The kind of morning where you discover that the refrigerator door has been open a significant crack since 8:30am and everything inside is pretty warm which means the refrigerator was sucking twice the amount of electricity it normally would just to keep everything at "warm". The kind of morning where your eyes seem blurry looking through your glasses, so you put your contacts in and your eyes are still blurry because your contacts are way past their expiration date but you don't have any more pairs in the cabinet. The kind of morning where it all just sucks.

I want to go back to bed.

No photo today

Yesterday's post was deleted due to whining.  Whining: mine.  And sometimes, I get tired of the whining, so I just delete.  Delete, delete, delete.

I write three stream-of-consciousness pages every morning.  I try to write three stream-of-consciousness pages every morning.  Some morning I fail because I don't wake up early enough and I have to be somewhere.  But most days I write them.  The intent of these pages is not to share them.  They are for the artist and the artist alone.  However, I will share that for the last, oh, two months, I've probably mentioned my need for a job change almost every day.  Ms. Julia Cameron says that anything you find yourself consistently griping about in your pages means it's time to change whatever that thing is.  And she's right.

So yesterday, I turned in my notice at my part-time job.  I didn't want to talk about it before I actually did it.  Now that I've done it, I can.  I enjoyed working there, for the most part, but I've come to realize that I need full-time employment.  I can tolerate most non-career related positions if my financial needs are being met.  They weren't at this job.  That's the long and short of it.  New York is expensive, and I have bills to pay.

I've also realized in the last few weeks that I am highly employable, and not just at McDonald's.  So, full-time job, here I come!

I Love Color

I Love Color
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I am blessed that I have a job, and am not going into debt or starving and living on the street.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
(If I keep typing it, do you think I'll eventually believe it?)
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
(I don't think it's working.)
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
I am blessed that I have a job.
(Now it just doesn't even make sense anymore.)

Don't shop there. It's bad for your heart.

Ikea sucks.  

That is all.

Booo to going back to New York.

Going back to New York today. Can't say I'm excited. I love my parents' house. I love my parents, of course, and they're expert homemakers, so their house is comfortable and spacious and lovely and no one ever wants to leave. Seriously: when they have parties, people hang out until late at night. They're reluctant to leave, and I know exactly how they feel. This home is better than any hotel I've ever stayed in, even the amazing Westin in Madrid. [whine] I don't wanna leave! [/whine]

Ok. Putting on my Big Girl Pants.

Oh! And I can add another celebrity (although if you don't know who she is maybe she doesn't qualify) to my list: Rachel Dratch came into the restaurant for dinner on Thursday. She looks pretty much like she does on Saturday Night Live, but prettier because she's not pulling faces.

Hired Help

Hired Help
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Catering job last night. I'm wiped. I think that's less from the actual work and more from the large amounts of refined sugars I ingested yesterday. *guiltguiltguilt* (Yes, I ate three cupcakes. Three. They were free. And they were near my office, and I ate them. Don't judge me!)

Cater waitering has its benefit. Singular. The pay is great. Ok, I'll add that most of the people, 99%, who work are really fun, nice people. (I ran into some coworkers that I wanted to strangle last night, but I think they'll be the exception rather than the rule.)

As I stood behind my ice cream cart, wearing a benign smile, waiting for people to come up and ask me for ice cream, I looked around the room. Big Real Estate Firm with Male Cow Logo had an afterparty for the people who participated in a charity race. A thought drifted across my mind and then hung like a fog: "What if I went to school with one of these people?" I wanted to withdraw my head inside of the collar of my over-starched shirt. What would I do if I ran into a college classmate? They're working for Big Real Estate Firm with Male Cow Logo and I'm...a cater waiter. *dreaddreaddread*

I didn't see anyone I knew, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I'm better than that job. I know that makes me sound like a snob of the highest order. I know that honest work is good work. But I have a degree from a school that would be an Ivy if it were older. I'm intelligent, capable, a quick study and a great leader. What am I doing wearing an ill-fitting penguin suit (in which I get mistaken for a man; good times!) and serving other people food?

"Ah," you say, wisely tilting your head, "but you're an artist, and artists must sacrifice." Yeah, I suppose so. I would argue that art is a necessity and not a luxury item to be paid for only when every other duck is in its properly assigned row, but that's neither here nor there in this argument. I know this is what I've chosen to do. I know that this is my life. That doesn't make it an easier pill to swallow.

But I swallow nonetheless, trying not to choke on my pride, plaster on my vacant, non-threatening smile, and serve ice cream. Because a girl's gotta eat.

Ugh.

Hot. Hot hot sticky hot. Hoooooooooooottttttt. ttt.

It's hot in Minnesota these days. It's been hot for a while. A friend brought to my attention the fact that we haven't had that many pleasant, 75 and dry days in the Twin Cities this summer, and I realized that he was right. What are these long stretches of sunny weather without rain? That would be great if we lived in California and it was supposed to be all droughty all the time, but we don't. There are people who grow things here and they'd like some rain, please. As would I, because rain after it's hot usually means cool and dry follows. And hot means, for me, no playing outside. I don't enjoy being a sweaty mess when I have somewhere else to be. Going home immediately to take a shower? Great. Having to sit in a theatre in close proximity to other folks for at least an hour? Not cool. Literally.

I'm in a coffee shop and I think I'm not punk enough to be here. I came directly from an audition where I had to look "funky hot," so I'm all dolled up, makeup and all. Everyone else? Dressed down and a little frayed around the edges. Oh well.

I've been away from the house quite a bit and haven't had a lot of down time this week and last, so I'm glad to be sitting in a coffee shop and only intermittently working.

Blah. Hot in here. Gotta move on.

I loathe trying to think of titles

Polyester Bride by Liz Phair is playing on the stereo at the coffee shop in which I currently sit. Someone told me that the song reminded them of me and that I should listen to it. So I downloaded it, and I found I liked it. I'd listen to it over and over. After college my computer died I lost every single bit of my digital college experience. Hearing Polyester Bride just reminded me how much I used to like that song, and how much it sucked when I lost everything.

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So my folks are going to Hawaii to visit my sister on her 20th (;)) birthday. I hadn't intended to go with them because I had signed up for teaching summer classes. But with the enticement of going to the Big Island and realizing that I hadn't yet signed a contract and the appearance of another class to take the original class's place, I decided to try to go. Now I feel like I'm just causing a big headache for everyone because I changed my mind so late. Why couldn't I have realized this sooner? Boo to me.

More bullet points!

I have been busy. I know I say that all the time, but this time I mean it. So because I went to bed at 2:30 and woke up at 7:00, you get the bullet point list. Bullet Point List of Doom!

I have:

• started a dance residency with Kenwood School. Yay! Fun!


• been understudying "The Left Hand Singing" at Park Square to go in for Christiana May 2nd through the 4th; you should come see it


• started writing my blog posts on my hard drive so I don't have to worry about losing them


• been throwing the dog's schedule all out of whack because my schedule is all out of whack


• been eating fat and sugar almost exclusively


• NOT been going to the gym


• been getting to use my newfound Japanese skills, specifically shooting a commercial for Cub Foods


• woken up before 7:00 am nearly every morning for the last week and a half; I get to sleep in on...Tuesday. I think.


• started working on another screenplay


• needed desperately to clean my room


• looked at my room and thought, "I'm not cleaning this now"


• wanted to run away to Duluth for a weekend


• realized that I love writing more than most things I'm doing these days


• randomly text messaged some folks; sorry! I was bored


• had no idea what bullet point to use to end this magnificent work of art, this blog post, and left off with some lame sentence that desperately tries to be sort of funny but really isn't

This white stuff coming from the sky? God's way of telling us to take a day off.

Look. I've lived in Minnesnowta most of my life. I understand that it is cold here. I understand that it snows a lot; well, a lot more than other parts of the country (we haven't had the crazy amounts of snow I remember from my schoolkid days). We get snow, and we have experience dealing with snow.

Which is exactly why I think Minnesota needs to chill out when it comes to days like these.



They made the Metro area students (Minneapolis and St. Paul and surrounding suburbs) go to school, knowing full well that we would have near blizzard conditions by the time these kids get out of school, and run the risk that buses would get stuck in the snow with children on them somewhere on their route, making parents worry and think very hard about lawsuits.

Just chill out, Minnesota. We've barely had any preventative weather conditions in the last three years. It's not as though students have been missing school for that reason. If they miss a day or two, the world is not going to end. And what are they really missing, anyway? Test preparation? (Thank you very much, No Child Left Behind.) Please. Just let them stay home.

And let their parents stay home with them. I know adults dread snow days because it means that they have to interact with their children for 24 hours. But let's weigh the pros and cons here. You can try to keep everything proceeding as normal and take the chance that people aren't going to make it in to work anyway, that people are going to come into work ornery and frazzled because it took them three hours to get there and their hands were clenched on the steering wheel the entire time, or that someone will have a serious accident and die. You can let everyone stay home and relax, possibly getting cabin fever but otherwise safe. You'd lose a productive day, but SO WHAT.

I have my own selfish reasons for wanting school to be cancelled, being that I don't want to go to work today, but I never claimed not to.

Blogger made me do it.

You probably won't notice anything different, but Blogger made me move my blogs to their new service, which requires me to create a Google account. It's relatively painless, but I'm getting older and more rigid in my ways. Flickr is trying to do the same thing to me. I only have until the 15th of March with that one.

But enough complaining about technology. It's snowing again. They're expecting 10 to 12 inches on top of the 10 or so that we got last weekend. I don't know how I feel about this. I'm glad we're getting some much needed precipitation, but man. I don't want to shovel anymore. Sunday afternoon was bad enough, what with the 50 minute aerobic and strength training workout. Amazingly enough, I wasn't sore.

I'm a ramblin' woman tonight. My brain is probably rebelling from coherent thought because it knows that I should be searching for images and music for my residency tomorrow. And I just found the album that I must have. I don't want to buy it on iTunes, though. They'll keep me from moving it around on various computers and other media platforms. That's annoying. Stupid iTunes, all convenient and stuff, then ruining it by tightly controlling usage.

Alright. I think I'm going to see if I can find the songs I like for free. Naughty me.

Sleep tight, munchkins.