Falling Flat on my Face.

On Friday I went to an audition for a classical theater her in NY. I've done this monologue over and over and lived it and loved it and kicked butt with it. I got in there on Friday with my blue Anthropology dress and new 4 inch heels ready to kick some ass.
There was a lot of yelling, some genuine moments but mostly just a lot of sucking.
Then I get to the end where I'm announcing the Queen's death.
"...oh lords,
When I have said, cry "Woe!"--the Queen, the Queen,
the sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance for't
not dropped down yet."
--dead. stone cold. me. I was dead. emotionless. shut down. an actor's nightmare.

I said, (and I still can't believe I said this)
"Can I do this again?"
the guy looked at me skeptically like "Not really, I don't really want to spend more time on you." But he generously gave me the benefit of the doubt and let me go again.

So I started from the beginning again (the monologue is not my shortest). Except instead of calling the king a fool I was calling myself a bluthering idiot. In Shakespeare's words, of course.

It was somewhat better (if merely that I was more angry at myself) but not astoundingly so.

And I hit the line.

"...the Queen, the Queen..."

and I shut down. no emotions. stone cold heart. Inside my emotions were raging against me,
"Let me outta here!!!" they screamed. but no. My body was on lockdown completely denying everything in my head.

My arms were awkwardly raised at that moment and I saw my teal band and I stopped. And my eyes, dryest of dry, turned and my mouth opened and I said the last lines with no emotion. Nothing. Completely void of expression or anything worth hiring for your classical theater. And I think I fubbed the last couple of words too.

The guy stared at me like I was a freak. Why had I wasted his time with that? the lady smiled at me, genuinely a nice person, like Paula Abdul on American Idol and said "Thank you." I shamefully walked out of the room, humiliated, embarrassed and humbled. By far my worst audition ever.

I bolted home just in case they came out of the room and threw me out of the equity lounge...how dare I even set foot in the same area as professional actors? I considered changing my name so they never find me or remember me and maybe dying my hair so they don't recognize me if I happen to audition for either of them again--or perhaps I could just hide in my apartment for the rest of my life. Or move to Singapore. All of these options were appealing.

But, three days later, I wake up and I'm thinking about what happened in that room. I deliberately ignored the sages from my school who say never use anything traumatic unless its 7 years in the past. And I went in there, knowing my queen was Maura. She always was.

4 months and 2 days does not 7 years make. I'd mutiny against me too if I were my body. wait. I am my body. or have I separated myself from that part of me too? Become a talking head.

Drugs and alcohol never sounded so good. Some sort of escape. Sleeping for 100 years until the pain goes away maybe? but what happens when you wake up or you come down off the high? The pain is still waiting for you because it refuses to be ignored or passed over.

My best friend from Texas told me today that the world needed me (awake I assume).

Sheena told me, "I wish I knew the magical way to keep it together when the grief suffocates you. All I remember is that I had to go through it bleeding along the way."

I didn't call my church friends. I didn't want to hear the pat answers. I have them memorized anyway. I don't want to pray with anyone. Pray for me on your own time. Not with me. And don't ask me to pray for healing. I don't believe in miracles. I do believe in miracles because I believe in God. I just don't believe in miracles.
I don't make sense either.

The world needs me? Bullshit. I have nothing to offer. And that's the truth.

The truth is
I didn't leave school when Maura was sick. I stayed in NY.
the truth is
I went to Hawaii instead of going home.
the truth is
I didn't spend the last year of my little sister's life with her.
I spent it selfishly pursuing my own life.
the truth is
I never donated blood because I don't like needles
the truth is
I never shaved my head because I didn't want to be ugly without hair
the truth is
the last big, meaningful conversation we had I apologized for not being there and she started to cry and said not to say things like that. So I didn't.

and I never got absolution I guess?

and now

and I can't turn back time

and I can't change that conversation

and I can't tell her how much I love her over and over and over again

and I can't hold her

I can't give her my blood.

or my hair

and I can't forgive myself.

and I don't deserve any of this.

and I don't want any of this.

I want her. i want Maura.

I told Peter the story of when my mom pinched me and Maura at church during the Christmas service in 2007. It was before the diagnosis, and the needles and MD Anderson. We were making fun of the guy singing in front of us, "Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrist the Lord" in operatic voice with lots of rolled "r's" and we were poking fun of my mom for dramatically whispering the words under her breath as the priest guy read from Isaiah the verse declaring Christ's name on his birth ("Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God...etc) and my mom pinched us to stop talking and laughing during church. And that only made it worse. we laughed so hard. So hard.

I remember giving her a bath/shower thingy in the hospital a week before...she was so bloated. She was so weak. She couldn't stand. She had to hold on to me. And I got to wash her. And I loved every minute of it. Getting to be with her for something so intimate.

Maura, I miss you so much today. Its such a sunshiny day but here I am, after work this morning, where I should be going to that Shakespeare audition (in the same room as the last disaster--oh the irony) but instead I'm holed up in my apt, sitting here in the dark with the curtains drawn and all the lights off, naked but for a towel wishing I was with you.

I should want to go to Heaven to be with Jesus but I don't. I'm only excited about Heaven because that is where you live. and I want to be with you again. and hold you and tell you I love you. And I'm sorry. And I love you. And I never want to be apart from you again. That's Heaven to me.

So God. If you get it. help me.

Red.

I got my nails painted red. My feet and my hands. Deep red. Blood red.

It looks like my hands and toes are bleeding.

Bleeding hands to match a bleeding heart.

Kinda like the sky today and how it won't stop crying. Like me today and how I can't stop crying.

I cry everyday. And when the day comes that I realize I didn't cry--I'l probably start crying. and get a French Manicure.

In other news, to keep from crying in front of the poor Chinese man doing my nails I got him to teach me mandarin. I can now say "Hello" "goodbye" "good job" "sorry" "thank you" and "You're welcome" in Mandarin. Watch out China.