Friday, September 9, 2011

Back on the Chain Gang.

I don't think there is any question that New York is a strange place, full of strange people and strange happenings. I also don't think there is any question that this city is full of surprises and magic. Sometimes the surprises will come swooping in when you least expect it and often times you endure the daily grind just patiently waiting, hoping and knowing that there is magic in this place waiting for you to discover it and be open to it.

Magic. Surprise. Patience.

I like all of those words very much.

I was sitting on the 'A' train a couple of nights ago, listening to my music and getting lost in my own thought bubbles, completely unaware of those around me. Then this man sat down next to me. He ripped me right out of my own thoughts and brought me back to Earth...and by Earth I mean the 'A' train (if that counts.) The first thing I noticed was his cologne and while it was rather strong and a bit overwhelming I really liked it (maybe because I really like men's cologne or I am simply used to people sitting next to me on public transit and smelling like dirty diapers and goat cheese... it's a coin toss, really.) After I got over how good he smelled the strangest thing happened...I suddenly felt so connected to this stranger. Like somehow he and I were friends. There was this level of comfort that you so rarely feel sitting by strangers on public transit in New York.

He and I were very different though. He was quite a large man, covered in tattoos of Buddah and flowers, wearing a news cap and a t-shirt and jeans. I was an average size girl, with a small tattoo of a mouse hole and a Shakespearean quote, wearing green tights, a multicolored dress and cowboy boots but I felt like I knew him and we were the same.

We were both headed downtown. We were both in the same train car. We shared the same bench. We were both traveling alone. And we were both living our lives in that 15 minutes...together.

I didn't want to know his name. I didn't want for us to be anything but passing strangers on the 'A' train, going to where we were going but anonymously together.

I was intoxicated by this encounter for a good while after.

The next day I was overcome by technological woes and the overwhelming angst that comes with being unemployed and confused in New York. I scheduled an appointment at the Mac Store to solve the tech woes, popped my computer in my bag and sat on the train into the city feeling so disconnected to everything around me. I felt so outside myself. A feeling of loneliness welled up inside of me until it let itself out in the most embarrassing way.

I full on ugly girl cried at the Genius Bar at the Mac Store. It was uncomfortable for the genius, for the other customers and myself. The guy helping me was rather confused as he had just informed me that my computer was fine and that all I needed was a new battery. And I insisted it wasn't the battery that was making me cry, it was this empty feeling inside of me that I just didn't know what to do with. (Note: I didn't tell him I felt empty inside. Full on crying at the store maxed out my crazy card for the day, so I just told him I was really tired...stop judging me.) After I emotionally assaulted him I put my computer back in my bag, went outside and composed myself. I took a deep breath, saw the movie theater across the street, went inside and did what any emotional unstable female would do; I bought a ticket to the sappiest, saddest movie in the building. I sat down by myself, prepared my tear ducts for another flood (but this time they'd be flooding for some fictional character's problems and not my own, whew) when a quiet woman came and sat next to me. She smiled at me and I at her. And then all the sudden there was that feeling again. Like we were friends who both had a rough day and needed to see Anne Hathaway be the sad girl for once. Towards the end of the movie I found myself weeping quietly (hard to believe, right?) and I heard my stranger friend sniffling as well.

There we were, two strangers who don't know anything about each other, sharing a movie and some tears together. We were connected in that moment.

We are all individuals. The world is seen as a different place by each and every set of eyes. We all make our journey through life as separate entities. But we all have these special little moments that act as little communal links in a chain to connect ourselves to one another. And we knowingly and often times unknowingly help each other reconnect and bridge a gap of separation. Sometimes the chain disconnects and we have to find different links to make it connect again and sometimes the only way to reconnect is through the unexpected...and in the unexpected encounters there lies magic and there lies surprise, if you are patient.

I know this to be true.

...I should change my blog name to 'sexless and LOVES metaphors.' Am I right or am I RIGHT?

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Coo Coo Cachoo

There is a hint coldness in the air. I like it. It means change, and generally I am a little apprehensive of change but after such a turbulent summer, I welcome change with arms wide open.

I feel like this blog is going to be about words that begin with 'ch.' Don't you hate when people announce what their blog is going to be about? But I just here we are.


A couple of weeks ago I was in dire need of a change. A change of scenery. A change of mentality. A change of pace. So I went to Chicago to visit my best friend. If you don't know already, Chicago is a pretty rad city full of rocking people and nice summer weather. I spent a week there. I recharged my batteries and I came back to New York with a skip in my step and a pocket full of new found motivation. Something changed. New York was no longer a place where I was confronted with ample amounts of 'no' but the place I chose to make my life, so by God I was ready to make it work.

Then after some maybes followed by even more no's...I found myself choosing to be dejected and beat down again.

It's only been two weeks since I returned. Quick turn around eh?

For some reason I keep finding myself choosing to give into no and letting myself become the a victim. Why do we do that? Why do we let the doors slam in our faces and then come up with a thousand reasons as to why it's our fault the doors keep slamming on us? Or is that just me?

I am not talented enough.

I am not pretty enough.

I am not what they are looking for.

I am a walking poster child for bad luck.

I am not a person, whom things work out for.

Recently I have made a choice to think those series of thoughts and I've allowed them to pollute my head and discourage me from living the life I have set out to lead.

The only explanation I can seem to find for these choice thoughts of mine (see what I did there?) is fear. Fear of failing. Fear of letting my dreams slip from my grasp. Fear of disappointing my family. Fear of the unknown.

Choosing fear is exhausting...not to mention depressing.

There was a hurricane this past weekend. The weather people said it was going to tear NYC to pieces, leaving us without power, without water for weeks. So out of fear of not being able to bathe, not being able to flush my toilet or brush my teeth or eat, I went to the store and stocked up, then stayed in the apartment for hours when finally me and two of my best friends decided to go outside and enjoy the hurricane, instead of letting it suck the life out of our weekend we ran right into the storm. We played in the empty streets with the rain falling hard. We had epic puddle wars (none of us contracted the plague, calm down) and we ran to a bridge and looked at this epic city glisten in the rain. That moment has secured a spot on one of my all time favorite New York moments. It was liberating and I laughed so hard my sides hurt and I was happy.

With that said, I need to keep reminding myself to choose to brave the storm. I need to remember that although the rain will fall hard and and the wind may be cold, that I will get used to it and although the puddles I step in may be deep, I can choose to splash around in them and laugh instead of struggle in them and drown. And most importantly I need to remember that I have amazing people all around me, braving the same storm and together, we can make the best of it.

Choosing to see the fearful as an opportunity to fill my life with unforgettable moments instead of reasons to fall down seems like a much better option, don't you think?

Thursday, August 4, 2011

The Battle of the Bulge

Okay so it's been a week and I am already updating. Also, it has only been a week and I completely forgot my password again. So when I was trying to decide if my memory lapse last week was because it had been a while since I logged in or if it was old age memory problems...well I assume you see where I am going with this...

Don't worry I didn't write it down this time and you can expect a similar opening to the next blog I'm sure.

Writers always say finding a start into your piece is the hardest part...not for me said the flea.

Cop out.

I was walking to the grocery store today and the weather was really pretty descent. Barely 80 degrees, sunny and just lovely. I was taking a moment on my walk to relish in the beauty of the day when I saw something that was a little off putting.

A girl jogging.

Now that's not to say that I find females who run off putting or that I am judging this girl's cardiovascular habits. I'm not. But well I have to be blunt...she was a hot mess.

Blood red. Hair stuck to her sweaty face. Armpit stains for days. Boobs poorly controlled. A heavy stride. And a look on her face that can only be described as utter and complete misery.

Okay, maybe I was judging her. But only because I saw myself within her, and it made me uncomfortable. (I bet she would use the same adjective for how I made her feel...semantics.)

Before you completely write me off as a judgemental bitch I have a perfectly sound explanation.

I used to weigh about 200lbs. I wore a size 16 and I ate my feelings. (I have alot of feelings) My weight was a HUGE issue for me growing up and it left me pretty distraught and depressed but I didn't do anything about it. I wasn't one of those people who were comfortable with who they were at any size. I wanted to change. I wanted to be healthy but no diet I went on or exercise regimen I went on could muster the kind of commitment I needed to change. So I just sat around and sulked and ate cookies, Swedish fish and watched The Biggest Loser. Nothing says weight loss more than sugary treats and watching other people run on treadmills.

Then I tried to convince myself I was happy with how I looked. That muffin tops were the new black. That when it comes to chins, less is not more. And that if you are funny, people are more forgiving of your love handles.

Fat Funny Girl, party of Colleen? Your table is now ready.

The well constructed mask I made for myself was bullet proof and insulated with biting wit and a charming smile. It even had rays of sunshine blasting off of that shit.

Little Miss Butterball of Light and Joy party of Fat Funny Girl Colleen? Your table is also ready.

I was pretty untouchable for a good long while. That mask was so damn good that it even convinced me that I was happy.

(Enter the little old lady that could: Terri Hayden)

Who is Terri Hayden? Well she is a 90 year old legend of a woman who teaches acting technique at my school, known for her brutal honesty and her inane psychic powers. Well loved and respected and dare I say feared.

The first time I worked for her went a little something like this:

(Colleen completes the acting exercise. Sits in a chair in front of Terri and her class and waits to begin the dialogue of what Terri just observed. A long pause about 30 seconds in length, or for some 15 years in length.)

Terri: Are you sad?
Colleen: No. Not at all.
(Terri stares at Colleen as if Colleen just said she was Mother Teresa)
Terri: Is anyone else in your family overweight like you?
(Colleen shit her pants and loses her breath)
Colleen: (mumbling) No, they are all in good shape.
Terri: Hello?
Colleen: (speaking more clearly and loudly) NO THEY ARE ALL THIN.
Terry: Do you have any brothers or sisters?
(Colleen stares blankly)
Colleen: Yes, one older sister.
Terri: She doesn't have weight problems like you?
(Colleen shits her pants again and holds back tears)
Colleen: No, she has a really fast metabolism. Wish I inherited that too.
Terri: I wish that too.

(End scene)

Needless to say, I went home and cried after convincing everyone in my class that I was fine and that what she said didn't bother me and then I called a friend and did what every other insecure mess would do in this situation, I talked shit about her and my gracious friend told me that she is crazy and that I don't have a weight problem. Ahhhh sweet comfort and delusions of grandoir.

And then for the next year of my training...every single time I got up to work she would only comment on my weight.

"You remind me of Judy Holiday. She had a weight problem too...and it eventually killed her."

"What do you eat?"

"You used to be a runner?!?!"

I eventually refused to get up in her class. There was only so much I could take and I am pretty sure for every comment she made I gained 5 lbs of shame.

Then finally the last time I worked for her in my first year of training she started into me again when a classmate raised his hand and stuck up for me (said classmate is now holds title of best friend. true story). He asked her why I have to change the way I look for her to think that I was an effective actor. She gazed at me in a very calming and loving way and a sweet smile crept over her face and then she so simply said:

"She's good. But she's not good to herself."

(Cue tears followed by a quintessential self discovery moment)

Terri had been working on me all year. Chipping away at my mask the only way she knew would work, which was tough love. She presented me with my biggest be called out on my crippling insecurity in front of my colleagues. She beat me down, so I could build myself back up (why yes, I just used that cliche.)

She changed my life. I lost lots of pounds since then and I am down 5 dress sizes. Jenny Craig has NOTHING on the 'tricky' and highly appreciated ways of Terri Hayden.

(In elementary school I had to go to the counselor to deal with my fear of people throwing up on me and everyday she had me draw pictures of people in different situations throwing up on me and then rip them up and throw them in the the trash. She CLEARLY should have just thrown up on me instead. Would have saved a lot of time...and paper.)

So tomorrow morning...I am getting up early. I am putting my running shoes on and I am going to be that girl I saw today. Red faced. Sweaty. Heavy stride. A look of misery...but boobs MUCH more controlled. I've feared running for too long now. Face them fears ya'll.

Hotmess O'Connor...running to a borough near you.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Floating Floaters.

I just spent 15 minutes trying to remember the password to this blog. I suppose that means that it's been awhile since last I logged in. That or my old age is taking it's toll on my memory. Perhaps both? Needless to say I remembered it and here we are. I meant to blog exactly one month ago because exactly one month ago was the one year anniversary Sexless in the Boroughs. But I forgot. So let me raise a glass to one year of being out of the old virgin closet and my half assed upkeep of the blog! Here's to you! Or me? Us? It doesn't matter, I'm not actually raising a glass, I'm just drinking Diet Dr. Pepper, in solitude, on a Friday night. Did I mention I am an old virgin?

Well I am...

Contain your shock.

Time flies though. Does it not? A year ago things were pretty different. I'm no longer a student and I no longer feel in control of my life. People have been calling this period of life my 'transition' phase, and I am here to tell you, I don't transition all.

This transition from student to 'real' person is kind of terrifying. Instead of easing myself into it, I've jumped right into the pool of the non-student world...except I forgot how to swim. And now that it's not everything I dreamed it would be I am desperately trying to swim to the ladder to pull myself back to safety...except I can't find the ladder. But the good news is, is that the people I love are throwing me floatation devices and kind thoughts and words, that are making it easier for me to tread water.

All that said, it's hard treading water when all you want to do is go back to the kiddy pool. Because you have to be a complete idiot to drown in a kiddy pool.

Are you tired of the pool metaphor yet?

But speaking of complete idiot...I accidentally dyed my hair black. I look jaded and angrier. It's really pleasant. Want to date me?

Before you say no let me explain...

If you know me, or if you've kept up with my past blog entries you will remember that I've chosen to be an actor, which qualifies me to be moderately to mildly and some days severely insane. For example, I've been out of school for two months and within those two months I've spent an ungodly amount of my time looking for a waitress job (a job that I would rather have my eyeballs spooned out of my head than do) and a multitude of auditions. I've auditioned to be an animated donut and some days I sit in line from 5am-3pm to not even be seen for an audition and I've been so poor that some days all I will eat is a can of soup, if that. And despite all of this, I'm still 100% sure it's all worth it and that it will all work out in a storybook kind of way.

Like I said...insane.

But I really do believe it will work out.

Why you say?

Well because if I needed a reason to give up, to throw in the proverbial towel, to wave my white flag and surrender the other day would have completely provided every reason to do so.

I was going out for an EPA audition. The way EPAs work is like this.

-If you are a member of the union you get a set time to audition. You show up. You audition.

-If you are a candidate for the union you show up early and get put on the candidate list and if they have room for you they see you. (which I am but when I got mugged my card was in the wallet that was stolen and the process of getting validated again has been stupid hard)

-If you are none of the above you show up and pray to god that there will be room for you after all the union members and all the candidates have been seen. (I fall into this category without my EMC card, DAMN YOU MUGGER!)

Got it? Yeah you're right it's the crappiest of crap shoots.


To ensure that I get high on the list I seat myself outside of the building where the auditions take place at 5am. Certain I would be the first in line you can imagine my surprise when I see an old man already camped outside of the building. Due to him being completely passed out asleep and pretty disheveled. I debated whether or not he was homeless but his 'Les Mis' tote settled the debate. So I sat next to him. He growled good morning to me. Pleasant. So there I am, sitting on the street with this strange old man and marveling at my life. The line starts to get longer as 8 am (when the actual building opens) approaches. Around 7 am Mr. Old McLesMislover starts making some pretty disturbing grunting noises. Just when I was about to ask him if he was having a heart attack, my nostrils became infected with a smell that could be deemed as... well I do I? He um...I'll just come out and say it. The man had to of pooped his pants. That or something unnatural happened within him. I just don't know. The point is I sat for an hour tolerating the smell this old man unleashed.

...if I am ever that old and in line on the streets of NYC and pooping my pants before my auditions, please shoot me. Please.

So the building opens and we are let in. Mr. Old McPooper then flashes his Equity card and is the first one seen that day (of course he is) and since he is Equity he can use the bathrooms in the building (maybe he forgot that?) but us non-equity folk must go to the McDonalds if we want to take the chance of leaving the auditions and missing our opportunity. So I wait...and wait...and wait until 3pm only to be sent home after being told all morning that I will more than likely be seen.

Hungry. Tired. Defeat.

Now, I've been on EPAs before but they didn't hurt as badly as this one. And I really think the fact that my old fecal friend got seen and I didn't is what hurt the most.

So naturally, after I went to McDonalds to pee, I went to Duane Reade and I bought a box of hair dye. Nothing gives you the sense of control over your life quite like a box of hair dye. I immediately went home coated my hair with the dye, washed it out and BAM! Black as the night. It was supposed to be dark brown. Black and brown...the theme of my day perhaps.

I straight up looked like a black widow with my black hair and red scalp. But I lack the conviction of a black widow and I did not go out and lure men into my web, have my way with them and then kill them...if only that cute British guy at the audition who asked for my phone number had called...has anyone seen my 'regret' list??

So right now is a time of paying my dues to the acting gods and learning how to transition into what is my ever so interesting life.

With that said, I will be modifying this blog a bit to chronicle my struggles and triumphs in all aspects of life and while being sexless is one aspect I need an outlet for my non-virgin related fiascoes. I promise I will try to keep the bodily functions of my fellow human stories to a minimum...mostly because I hope that it won't be a common theme in my day to day life. God willing.

I was thinking about changing the name of the blog to 'Eat, Cry, Mope' but I am going to think on it a little while longer, after all patience is a virtue...right? Totally.

Friday, May 13, 2011


My roommate calls me "Hobobait." I feel like this is generally a very well earned nickname, because I have a down right GIFT of being approached by men who could be deemed as a hobo. Just this week I've had at least 4 encounters with such gentleman.

There was the guy with who came up to me outside the subway stop at 49th and our conversation went a little something like this:

"Hey lady, give me a smile."

(Pleased that he didn't ask for money or a piece of 'that ass', I obliged.)

He then proceeded to show me his bank statements and an application for a loan that he needed so he could take 'the ladies' out and treat them real good. I quickly tried to find an exit out of this situation, because well, I just wasn't ready to show him my bank statements. I'm a lady after all.

Then there was the guy who yelled at me while I was trying to cross the street on 26th. I was just minding my business, drinking my morning coffee, listening to some pretentious indie music, when this man with maybe 3 teeth just starts yelling at me. I believe it was along the lines of:

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING WOMAN?? WHAT?!!? YOU TOO GOOD TO TALK TO ME?! Hope that coffee tastes real good!"

I was all together offended that he thought I was too good to talk to him (just because my taste in music is pretentious doesn't mean I am...right?) I was also angry that he referred to me as 'woman' (like I said before, I am a LADY) and that he made me feel guilty about my coffee. Coffee and I have had a beautiful co-dependent relationship. It's been there for me through thick and thin, my dependency on it makes me feel like I am truly an adult, it's my fuel, it's my fire, it's my one desire....How DARE he? And even though I just expressed my co-dependent relationship with coffee doesn't mean I enjoy co-dependency in men. Needless to say, me and hobo #2 would have NEVER worked out. After all, he was so concerned where I was going and we hadn't even had a first date. Overbearing people are so unattractive.

My next encounter was in bowels 1am...waiting for the bus alone. You're probably thinking I am stupid or that I was secretly hoping to be harassed that night and maybe I am and mayyyyybe I was, but that's neither here nor there. But this particular gentleman was actually pretty nice. He told me I had the face of an angel and although I'm sure that's what he says to all the ladies (the ladies like me, who when you compliment her and then ask her for a dollar she feels guilty in some way and will of course give you a dollar.) While he seemed nice, I didn't foresee a future for us. Not only because I feel like our relationship would really take a toll on my bank account but mostly because he was wearing workman's gloves and if I've been taught anything about future mates, it's not to trust a man who wears workman's gloves on a warm spring evening at 1am in the bowels of Harlem...Mama didn't raise no fool.

The final encounter of the week happened this morning while I was walking to the train. This man simply growled at me and then started making uncomfortable noises with his mouth. There was no chance for him...A man who can't use his words? I mean COME least be creative when you are objectifying someone.

I know what you're thinking. "It must be so hard for you, how do you manage?" And you know what, I manage. I do. Because I just know one day I'll meet the hobo of my dreams and we will read each others bank statements over coffee every morning in our very own cardboard box under the Triborough Bridge, while planning all the romantic dates we will go on with the millions of dollars the government will loan us and I won't care if he demands to know where I am going, as long as he accepts my pretentious taste in music. I will eventually be charmed by his vulgar animal grunts and mouth sex noises and yes I will pay him everyday for making me feel so beautiful. However I will not accept the workman's gloves but we will get past that. I am a woman after all, and if there's not at least one thing about him I feel like I can change then it will CLEARLY never work.

What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic...

Friday, April 1, 2011

Mousehole McRomance

When I was a little girl I was notorious for locking myself in my room and disappearing into my own little worlds. My dad used to make fun of me and the common joke around the house was:

"Where is Colleen?"

"Oh she is just in her own little mouse hole."

My mouse hole was pretty magical...(that's what she said.)

But really though, it was. In there I was able to be the sassiest Spice Girl I could be. I starred in thousands of gripping and tragic episodes of Rescue 911. Sometimes I was Celine Dion, sometimes I was Whitney, sometimes I was Annie Lennox and most times I was Meatloaf (circa Bat out of Hell).

This past week my thoughts have been consumed with something I forgot that I used to transform into in my mouse hole when I was a kid...

I would elaborately act out my wedding.

I know, I know...a little girl dreaming about her wedding? So original and unpredictable.

I completely forgot how often I did that when I was young. I assume it's my irrational desire to seem like an self sufficient cynic and hater of all things love, that suppressed the memory but I can't help but be charmed and a bit saddened about it in retrospect.

I would strip my "Little Mermaid" pillow case off of my pillow, carefully construct my bouquet of tissue roses, slip into my favorite red polka-dotted dress and grab my favorite teddy bear and stand in the mirror and let my imagination take hold.

My pillow case would suddenly become the most beautiful lace veil, my bouquet transformed into the most luscious and vibrant red roses, my polka-dotted dress turned into the white version of Belle's ball gown in Beauty and the Beast...and my teddy bear...oh what my teddy bear became was the most special of all. He became my very own prince and I loved him. I loved him passionately, I loved him innocently and I loved him joyously. I was my very own version of a Disney princess with my very own prince charming.

After the vows were made, the marriage sealed with a kiss on the cheek, I would put my pillow case back on, throw away the bouquet of tissues, keep the dress on (it was a really great dress), and put my bear back in his appropriate spot and I would wonder about the day I would actually be married. I just knew it was going to be the most remarkable day ever and I was so excited for it to come.

Weird how things change...

These days instead of pretending to be a future bride, I pretend like I am bad at love and that I simply don't want it. I'm just as elaborate in my pretending though, that has not changed.

For me, hiding behind a facade of the self sufficient cynic is safe, it's comfortable, it's the wall that has protected me from the unknown and the potential heartache.

For me, claiming to not believe that love or marriage is for me, claiming that I am just gonna go to a bar and have sex with the first stranger who approaches me just to prove that I don't care is easier than letting people know what I really believe and how I really want to share that physical connection with someone who I am enchanted by and that I always want to remember fondly.

So what I am trying to say is, all pretending aside, I am a hopeless romantic.


But I am. I believe in magic. I believe in soul mates. I believe that I could be special for someone. I believe I am going to love someone passionately, innocently and joyously. I believe in Prince Charming. I believe that one day soon I will be brave enough to let that little girl with the pillow case on head and tissue in hand come back into my life.

I believe that I'm gonna let my magic mouse hole shine...(yes, that's a vagina joke.)

Monday, March 21, 2011

Oh my actress, why do you act so blue?

I know what you're thinking...

"It's been 6 months since Colleen blogged. That can only mean one thing...Colleen is probably not an old virgin anymore."

You're right. I'm not. I'm an oldER virgin now. I've turned 24 within those 6 months after all.

Ahhh yess...A lot has happened since last we spoke though. I've lost a bunch of weight, I've nearly completed my acting training, had a couple Chekhovian breakdowns and I've become a vegan...sorta.

Change. And lots of it. Some for the good and most for the confusing.

I'm still chaste though...yippppeee.

My life has been overwhelmingly chaotic these past months. Non-stop. Intense. Stressful. Full of joy. Full of tears. Full of feeeeellliinnngsss. Sooo many actory, self indulgent feeeeellings. It's been nuts and now here I am on the brink of being thrust upon the "real world" where most people don't cry everyday or roll around on the floor painting imaginary walls with open vowel sounds...a shame really.

I moved my life up to NYC two years ago, to train as an actor...and in two months those two years will be complete and the time to truly be what I am and do what I love will rest solely on my shoulders.


I feel in my heart an exhilarating excitement for what I can do, what I can become and what I'm capable of as an artist and as a person but my head is full of doubts and mistrusts that I carry with me from the past. And just recently I've come to realize that my head and my heart never truly see eye to eye.

My heart is full of these beautiful ideals. The world through my hearts eyes is a world where anything is possible, where it's okay to be in love, where wanting and needing are not signs of weakness but signs of humanity, where creation and art in all it's forms are the only riches you need to survive. A place where love is always enough...where it's always requited and it never hurts. My heart's world is ideal. Infinitely and beautifully ideal.

My head is full of these unnerving realities. The world through my head's eyes is a world where anything is possible for the "lucky few", where being in love just hurts, where letting people know that I desire affection and I need to be loved makes me feel like I've failed in some way, where creation and art are a quick way to poverty and insanity. A place where love is rarely enough. My head's world is wayyyy too "Debbie Downer" for it's own good.

I've been trapped in my head's perspective for the past couple of months. But I write to you today my lovely readers, to tell you that I want to start changing gears and look with my heart a bit more. To trust my heart. To be a little bit reckless with it. To stop my fears and my clever tricks from sweeping my heart under the perverbial rug of safety and security that I cling to so dearly. To stop only taking risks in my acting but to start taking them in my life.

There is a new chapter about to open up and in it I will say I love you with no regrets or apprehensions, I will step on a ledge and not care, I will paint the sky with sunbeams instead of clouds, I will trust the resiliance of my heart and as cliche as it may sound...I will listen to it.

We all have fears, we all have shame, we all have a lack of trust, we all hurt, we all try to rationalize the irrational but what makes us special is what's in our heart and what we do with it. Right?

How ideal of me.