If I were a drinker...

...I might pick this weekend to drink.

It's just been a long, intense, emotional week, and I dealt with it by spending WAY too much time in my head, to my own detriment and possibly to the temporary detriment of several friendships (sorry, everyone). There's not really any one particular thing going on. It's lots of things.

It's "Mockingbird" closing, which hurts so much that I haven't even really had the courage to face it. I was not ready for that show to end. And while I trust that I will have plenty of other meaningful experiences with other wonderful people, "Mockingbird" came at such an important time and I built so many incredible friendships and the story is so important...it's just hard to let go of.

It's this paper I'm supposed to be working on for my Narrative Journalism class, that I can't find my way into, that's so big and sprawling and all the quotes and research are all so overwhelming. And my interview with the one source that would have been the perfect "way in" fell through.

It's being divorced, and navigating all of the new territory I find myself in. The loneliness and freedom and uncertainty and unfamiliarity of it all.

It's missing my sister so much that my chest physically aches.

It's auditions for "The Heart of Robin Hood" coming up in a week, and being so busy and overwhelmed by other things that I didn't finalize an audition song until YESTERDAY, so now I'm trying to cram a lot of preparation into seven days.

It's feeling like my testimony is being rearranged a little bit right now. Which is, ultimately, a good thing, but it's not exactly comfortable.

It's not being able to find an ENTIRE 50,000-WORD DRAFT of one of my old NaNoWriMo novels, which is actually still so overwhelming that I haven't fully pursued looking for it.

It's trying to balance my introverted need for alone time and my lonely need for companionship, which I haven't had to do to this extent since I was twenty-two or so, when I was a slightly different person under very different circumstances.

It's re-evaluating what I really want. In friendships. In Church. In life. In relationships. In how I spend my time. I feel like I have a solid core of understanding about who I am, and about the big abstract things I want. I want to be kind and learn a lot and experience things fully and make other people's lives better and create meaningful art. But it's figuring out the concrete, every day ways to do those things that's taking some re-evaluation.

It's doing one improv show and feeling like my contributions to it were small and pretty mediocre, and then doing another improv show that was so so solid.


But it hasn't JUST been challenging things. There have been great things this last week, too.

Getting really positive feedback on one of my workshop pieces for my MFA.

My 3-year-old nephew gleefully screaming my name and running to hug me when I showed up to babysit, and the hilarious speed with which my 10-month-old nephew crawls.

Sitting and talking with girls from the "Mockingbird" cast while we played with five adorable tiny puppies.

Having some pretty awesome validation for my work as an actress.

Buying a bunch of new bras that I'm OBSESSED with.

Eating popsicles and watching a documentary with a friend on a Tuesday night.

Finishing a painting and having it turn out even better than I had envisioned.

Spending time with the cast and crew of "Mockingbird" on a Sunday afternoon, eating food and talking and laughing.

Good conversations (even though some have also been scary conversations) with friends, with family, with my therapist, with my God.

Dinner with an old friend and his significant other, eating amazing Thai food and laughing and talking and reminiscing.


See? Beautiful and challenging things. It's just I've got a lot spinning around my mind-grapes nowadays, and it can be overwhelming experiencing all of this while simultaneously working 20 hours a week, taking MFA classes, and also doing all the little stupid things that need to be done, like filling the gas tank and doing the dishes and fixing the bathroom faucet and folding the laundry and restringing the guitar and finishing that graphic design project and refilling a prescription and getting groceries and watering the plants and sewing the sleeves on those blouses and eating and sleeping and basic hygiene.


I'm real grateful for a 3-day weekend, y'all. I don't have any solid plans, and I keep thinking about possible impromptu road trips that I probably can't afford to go on. But boy, are my feet itchin' to go on a road trip. I started this blog by saying that if I were a drinker, I'd drink this weekend. But I think it would just be another form of "running away." There have been lots of times in my life when I've "run away," but I've always come back. It's just a momentary escape. A moment to re-align my mirrors, get my head on straight, take a breath. I'd stop running away if it stopped working.

When I left work on Friday, my boss asked me what my weekend plans were. I said, "I might go on a road trip." When he asked where, I said, "I haven't decided yet." And I'm still deciding. Deciding whether I even need or want to run away, and if I do, what form it will take. But whether I hop in the car and keep driving or sit at home and paint, I'm really glad I have a long weekend to do so.

art via David Wallace

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If I were a drinker...

It's been quite a year

Obligatory annual family newsletter post. Click to zoom in if necessary. I love you all.

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It's been quite a year

A resignation

Liz Chapman
123 Address Place
Salt Lake City, UT 11111

Sunday, November 6, 2016

National Novel Writing Month
123 The Internet Blvd.
The Internet, The World 00000

Dear Sir or Madam:

This letter is to regretfully inform you that I have chosen to tender my resignation from this year's NaNoWriMo. Please know that it is very likely that I will participate in future years, and that your organization still has my full and enthusiastic support.

I am very grateful for the inspiration and guidance you have given me in past years. I first participated in NaNoWriMo in 2012, with a manuscript I did not complete that year, but which has since been finished, and which never would have existed without your group. I have completed a novel every November since then, and now have three full novel manuscripts. Through my participation in NaNoWriMo, I have learned discipline, how to overcome writer's block, the value of writing continually in order to improve, and have gained enormous confidence in my ability to create work. I am eternally grateful to your organization for all of the things you have given me.

In order that you may have a deeper understanding of my resignation, allow me to present my reasons:

I am currently pursuing my MFA in Creative Writing from an online university program. This semester, I am taking a class in ekphrastic poetry and a playwrighting class. Both of these courses demand that I complete weekly writing assignments, and in a few weeks, I will begin work on a full-length play manuscript. To add a 50,000-word novel to my to-do list gives me a sense of diluting my creativity...it forces me to focus on breadth instead of depth. I am not able to give any of my writing projects my full attention, especially with other demands like working as an actress and keeping a day job. Normally, I would reject "I'm spread too thin" as an excuse. I feel you must make writing a priority in order to be good at it. But with my MFA program, it's ALREADY a priority. It doesn't make sense to add a secondary writing priority. Doing so makes me less able to do meaningful work in either place.

This MFA program forces me to write regularly, which is one of the great strengths of NaNoWriMo. If that need is being met through homework assignments, I don't have as strong of a need to participate in writing a novel during November.

For me, NaNoWriMo is also a yearly reminder of the value of just creating, and that I am capable of writing, despite frustration or fatigue. But after 3 years, it's a lesson I feel I carry with me more permanently. I have less of a need for that reminder this year, though I'm sure the time will come when I need it again.

I have been worried that my resignation will be a disappointment to friends who have watched me on my yearly NaNoWriMo journey. I even set up a support group on Facebook for those who are participating this year. I regret stepping away from my novel, and worry about what it will mean for those friends who I began with. But ultimately, I knew this resignation was the best choice for me. I will still be available to offer moral support to my fellow WriMos, and I look forward to finishing my novel in the future. This resignation was not a decision made out of fatigue or frustration with my story or a lack of confidence. It was a thoughtful decision based on what my long-term and short-term goals are, and whether or not NaNoWriMo this year was helping me meet those goals.

Thank you for everything you do. You have inspired and continue to inspire generations of writers. I look forward to working with you again in the future.

Sincerely,

Liz Chapman

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A resignation

A Letter to the Upcoming Generation, inspired by a recently completed MFA class called "The Rock Star Poets and Writers"

Dear teenagers of 2016:

If I were truly an authentic, this letter would be handwritten, in a red spiral notebook, Kurt Cobain style. I’d write it in crayon, like Jack White did his receipts when he worked cutting fabric and stapling around the corners of sofas. Or on hotel stationary like I was Bob Dylan and it was 1961 and I was playing shows in Greenwich Village.

But I'm lazy and this is a blog, so typed it is.

In true “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul” style, here’s my advice for you upcoming poets and rock stars.

1. Find inspiration everywhere.
Read Shakespeare, and Rimbaud, and Dylan Thomas, and Jack Kerouac. Listen to Iron Maiden, and Pete Seeger, and David Bowie, and Prince. Let all of their words and melodies tumble around inside of you. Let yourself re-tell their stories. Try on their style. Write a poem in the cosmic style of Walt Whitman. Try writing a beat poem and perform it like Allen Ginsberg. Turn on Nirvana, and scribble your thoughts as it plays in the background. It’s like visiting a thrift store…everything has already been used, but you can try things on for size, make alterations, create new combinations. Some things will fit you better than others. But you might discover that something unexpected looks amazing on you. Something that, on the hanger, doesn’t seem to be your “thing.” But it could be that you ROCK those billowy sleeves. Just try things on. Impersonate those who have come before you. You’ll find your own style eventually.
Pete Seeger wrote a song based on verses from Ecclesiastes. Simon and Garfunkel wrote a song based on the poem “Richard Cory” by Edward Arlington Robinson. But you could take more indirect inspiration as well. Lana Del Rey drew inspiration from Walt Whitman’s “I Sing the Body Electric,” and wrote a song playing with some similar themes and images. Paul Westerberg’s song “Crackle and Drag” is inspired by Sylvia Plath’s poem “Edge.” You could “translate” a poem by just adding music, or draw your inspiration from one or two lines.

2. Your poetic voice can support the status quo, question it, or be a part of the human machine that destroys it.
Your words can be Woody Guthrie’s guitar…the “machine that kills fascists.” Don’t feel like you have to stifle your rage. Write about black lives in America. Write about college rape culture. Write about abortion, and Wall Street corruption, and redlining, and the public school system, and the shitty way the United States treats Native Americans. Poetry is not limited to noiseless patient spiders and suicide. Let your anger flow from your spine into your pen. Scratch deep into the paper. Shout about the way things are until they change.
Sisters of Mercy wrote “Dominion/Mother Russia” about the Cold War. Siouxie Soux adapted Abel Meeropol’s “Strange Fruit,” a harsh look at the treatment of black Americans in the South. Plenty of these artists also wrote about love and breakups and the usual pop topics. And that’s fine. But you don’t have to limit yourself to those topics.

3. Don’t let stereotypes destroy your creativity.
You don’t have to be Hemingway, piling up empty bottles. You don’t have to open your heart or legs to violent passion like Rimbaud. You don’t have to make a permanent stop in the woods on a snowy evening like Cobain or Plath or Sexton. Beware the harsh light of fame. Despite the viciousness of the artistic life, fame is far more destructive. You set the terms. Guard the terms of your fame fiercely.
I think Kurt Cobain both wanted and didn’t want fame. I think he wanted to be known and loved, but didn’t want to be the symbol of his generation. (Same with Bob Dylan.) It can be easy to get caught up in those tensions, but you don’t have to. Just follow your voice, even if it leads you away from the spotlight. Your work is more important than your fame.

4. On a practical note, be intentional about stanza length in your work.
Many poets insert line breaks where they “feel” them in the content, where there’s a natural pause. (And by “many poets,” I mean me, specifically. I’ve been writing poetry consistently since 1998, and this is the first time I’ve considered that even in free form poetry, line breaks make a difference.) This has an effect both visually and rhythmically, one that you may not intend. There is something powerful in being consistent in stanza length. At the very least, be intentional. If there is no pattern to stanza length, make sure you have a good reason for it. Is the work supposed to be disjointed and chaotic? Or tidy and clean? Don’t let line breaks distract from the message and meaning of your poem. Stanza length is another tool in your poetry writing kit…it’s like clothing. You’re saying something about yourself, whether you intend to or not. If you ignore your clothing, you’re sending the message that you don’t care. Same with stanza length.

5. Cut the extraneous stuff.
Listen. I know. These are darlings and it’s hard to kill them. This is the lesson that I have to relearn over and over and over again. Maybe you’re used to prose poetry, or maybe you just make pets of pretty, docile words. As an exercise, try this: Write a poem, then let it sit for 24 – 48 hours. Don’t even look at it. Don’t re-read it, don’t leave it out where it can be glanced at. Then go back and cut it by a third. Ask yourself: “If an editor demanded a word count limit that’s less than what I have, what would I keep?” Trim until the poem is tidy. Condense meaning until it’s compact and hard and dense. Say what you need to, and then get out of there.

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A Letter to the Upcoming Generation, inspired by a recently completed MFA class called "The Rock Star Poets and Writers"

I don't know about some, but I'm feeling 31.

Hey, I'm 31.

It hasn't exactly been a great year when it comes to reaching my birthday goals. It's been a good year for progress in general...just not quite in the ways I had planned. Here's the breakdown.

As of Friday, September 9, 2016:

1 complete
2 modified
2 partially complete
5 incomplete

1. Create and distribute a zine!
Remember zines? I've been digging the idea of mixed media lately, and as a child of the 80s/90s, this seems like something I should do.
INCOMPLETE. 
I did the brainstorming. I did the research. I did the planning. I just didn't quite get to the execution of this project. 

2. Non-paper Poetry Project (at least ten poems)
A month ago or so, I was sitting in a restaurant with a few friends, and a poem came to mind, so I scribbled it onto a napkin. The imperfection of it appealed to me...the unfinished nature of it, and how it captured both the poem and the setting in which I wrote it. So here's my idea: write at least 10 poems on anything but regular paper--napkins, cardboard, trash, cloth, etc. Then take a picture of it and at the end, put all the pictures together in a collection.
PARTIALLY COMPLETE!
Poems complete: 5
This was a fun project. I'll do a separate blog post with the results.

3. Reduce BMI (body mass index) from 23.2 to 19.7 (goal weight = 115…down 20 pounds from current weight of 135)
My current BMI is totally in the healthy range. So is my goal BMI. So why bother with this goal? My reasoning is this: I spend a lot more time on camera nowadays, and it really does add ten pounds. Also, most of the work out goals I've had are things like "complete this many things." And after I complete them, I stop working out. I think it will help me to have an end goal...to make my goal "results-based." PLUS, this goal combines both exercise and diet.
MODIFIED. I made decent progress on this one: 

Oct 2: 23.1% BMI/135 lbs
Oct 10: 22.7% BMI/132.8 lbs
Oct 15: 22.5% BMI/131.2 lbs
Oct 31: 22% BMI/128 lbs
Nov 12: 21.7% BMI/126.8 lbs
Apr 12: 21.1% BMI/123 lbs

My FitBit was life-changing. And I learned that I CAN do things like diet and exercise and get a certain result. But at a certain point, the goal weight just became...less important to me. I'm still interested in living a healthier lifestyle, and the things I learned during this time were really valuable. My biggest lesson was that I CAN change my lifestyle. But I decided not to follow through all the way down to 115 lbs. Partly because I got mad about the fact that I felt like I HAD to in order to get jobs, and partly because I didn't want to have to buy new clothes. 

4. Run a 10-minute mile, 3 separate times
I know I just talked about these kinds of goals, but look, this is sort of PART of the above goal. And I want to do it. I know a 10-minute mile seems absurdly slow. But I'm absurdly slow.
PARTIALLY COMPLETE. 
The last recorded time I have is from Nov 12 - 14:57. And I really started to love running. (Between my FitBit and the Zombies Run 5K app, running became REALLY fun.) And I think I'd still like to reach this goal someday. I just didn't make it this year. 

5. Go without soda for 1 month

Bleeeeggghhh. I hear this is really good for you. I just really like the carbonation. I don't even drink soda very often...maybe once or twice a week? Still. Maybe worth giving up.
DONE! Month of October. 
As of October 10th, I'm still going strong. 
October 15th, half-way there! The cravings are still strong, but I'm still on the wagon.
November 1st: BOOM! MADE IT! (Now time to celebrate with some soda!)

6. Go on 5 new hikes
Every time I go hiking, I think to myself, "I've got to do this more often." And now that I live in a place where I'm surrounded by HUNDREDS of hiking opportunities, I'm going to hike more often.
PARTIALLY COMPLETE.  
1. Living Room Trail, November 3 - Hella windy and steep. Amazing views, but too close to the city. I could still hear and see construction work going on. Oh well.  
2. Thayne Canyon, August 21 - Lovely! Steep going, but gorgeous.  
I've still got lots of time to keep exploring, and that's just what I'm going to do. (I MUST go to the Timpanogos Cave!)

7. Nude modeling
I never got to this goal for my 29th year, but I'm still interested in it. I want to be a model for a figure-drawing class.
INCOMPLETE. 
One day. Someday. 

8. Get paid to write at least one thing (published online, in a magazine, etc)
I have no idea how this is done. But I want to figure it out and do it.
INCOMPLETE. 
I'll be honest...I didn't really try. 

9. Complete temple work for 3 family names (baptisms, confirmations, initiatories, endowments, sealings)
Hooray for the spirit of Elijah!

INCOMPLETE. 
I have no excuse. 

10. Go stargazing
I do this all the time, just in the sense that I look up every time I'm outside at night. But I want to actually go out to someplace with little light pollution with the express purpose of looking at the stars.
MODIFIED. 
I didn't go star gazing. But I DID go up into the mountains to watch the lunar eclipse, and did some star-gazing while I was up there. 

Notably, while I didn't reach a lot of the goals on my list, I DID do a lot of important, awesome things that WEREN'T on my list. I started grad school. I got a speaking role in a film for Lifetime, which made me SAG-Eligible. I played a romantic lead in a comedy at a major Utah theatre. I joined an improv troupe. I landed a speaking role in an HBO mini-series directed by Stephen Soderbergh. I watched the entire series of the X-Files, while personally making over a dozen cross-stitched gifts. I completed another year of NaNoWriMo, bringing my list of novel manuscripts up to three. I got a new job...two new jobs, actually. I made new friends and new connections. I redecorated our living room with a teeny tiny budget. I braved LASIK surgery (which is one of the best decisions I've ever made). I deepened my relationships with important people in my life.

Because it's been such an unexpected, unusual year, my instinct is to change the way I do these birthday goals. I didn't accomplish a lot of the goals on my list simply because I was busy pursuing others. But those other goals aren't as easy to track in the same, tidy ways...things like "make progress in my career" can sometimes depend on the decisions of other people, and those don't make good specific goals, although they make great general goals. I'm wondering, too, if maybe I should change how I number things. The "9 Things While 29" format was cute, but it's becoming a little impractical. Maybe I'll just do three things each birthday year.

I'm still debating. My new birthday goals are on hold until I make a decision.

I've also got some thoughts about growing older in general, but I think I'll save those for another entry as well. Here's to another year on earth. It was a crazy one, but I'm grateful for it.

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I don't know about some, but I'm feeling 31.

I'm Tired of Marvin Asking Me What's Going On

My grandparents recently sent me an email (WITH AN EMOJI!!!) telling me they've been hoping for a blog update soon. It was the final motivation I needed to dash one off really quickly. Things have been busy in the House of Chapman. Here's what's going on.

Getting a job! 
I work 20 hours a week as a receptionist for a graphic design company called Royter Snow! I applied on Monday morning, interviewed Tuesday morning, and started work on Wednesday morning. It's really fun! My organizational heart is happy with the tasks I do, and I have plenty of down-time where I'm allowed to work on homework. The guys who run the business are friendly and laid-back, and the building is awesome. (When I mentioned my acting work during my interview, the business owners said I'm welcome to take off for an interview or day of filming if that ever comes up. PERFECT JOB.)
(Incidentally, if you're looking for an office space in Salt Lake City, Royter Snow has two suites available for rent. Only $420 per month. Check out the KSL ad here.) 
And working with designers means my office space is pretty. Here is a picture of the view from the break room.

Cabaret!
OMG WE OPEN ON FRIDAY. I feel super good about the show, and a little nervous about layering ALL the tech in over just four days. But it's happening whether I'm nervous or not. We did a "sitzprobe" with our small orchestra today and I grinned my way through most of "Wilkommen." It sounds SO GOOD. So full and lively and gritty and awesome! If you'd like to see me in vintage tap pants, you can get tickets here. Aaaaaand you'll get two for one*--Jacob is also in it! Surprise! A cast member had to drop out, and the production team was desperate to find someone to replace him, and I put Jacob's name/face forward, and now he's Ernst Ludwig. And he's spectacular. Obviously. Everyone is. Here is a picture of Anne-Louise Brings, who plays Sally Bowles, in rehearsal with the orchestra at a local studio.

Liz gets an MFA!
Still plugging away at my Masters. There are days when I feel so certain that it's the right thing to do, and other days when I question my decision. But deep down, I know that this degree will open doors for me that were previously closed, both because of the degree itself, and because of the writing skills I'm learning. This semester I'm taking two classes: The Craft of Fiction, and "The Rock Stars and the Poets." The last class is as fun and interesting as it sounds. Here is a picture of my homework for this week.

Acting! 
I've had a bit of a dry spell when it comes to casting, and for a while there, it was really rough. As much as I intellectually KNOW that rejection is a big part of this industry, it can still get to you. During July, I had 8 auditions and didn't get cast at all. I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but that's twice a week. When you're getting a "no" twice a week, it starts to feel like it must be something personal or something. It threw me into a little funk for a minute, there, and I'm still sort of re-arranging my psyche to help me better deal with rejection in the future. In the meantime, I keep auditioning! The dry spell can't last forever. I do not have a picture to accompany this item on the list.

The Internet! 
I love the internet. So to conclude, here is a favorite thing from the internet lately. In response to a prompt to name the creatures on this old-timey map, someone came up with these species names:

D - Pigdoggle
E - Snuffcumberworm
F - Schnozpoddler
G - Seahorse
H - Piggly Frontwave

(Snuffcumberworm and Schnozpoddler are my favorites.)

*Beedle-dee-dee-dee-DEE.
SaveSave

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I'm Tired of Marvin Asking Me What's Going On

Thwarted Plans

Here's why yesterday was a bummer.

The first part of the day was just one of those dumb days when little things just keep going wrong. The store doesn't have the one thing you're looking for, you can't load the podcast you want to listen to, and you hit every single possible red light. One of those days.

But then, that night, I finally got around to opening my financial aid letter.

Wait. Lemme back up.

So, I'm getting my MFA in Writing right now, through an online program. I started in January, and made this plan: Take 9 credits per term in order to graduate by summer 2017. During this time, I work a few times a month for the U of U as a simulation patient, and pursue acting, all while working on my degree for a few hours per day. I'm eligible for enough financial aid to cover the cost of tuition and have a little left over to supplement my income, so that I can focus on acting and school.

Great plan, right?

So, I got my financial aid letter for the next school year, and apparently I am eligible for $12,000 LESS than what I was expecting. Starting in July.

Plan THWARTED. All kinds of thwarted.

Suddenly, I found myself in this terrible conundrum. Here were my options:

1. Keep taking 9 credits per semester, but get an additional job to make enough money to pay the bills. This would necessitate giving up acting for the year, because I don't have enough time to work as an actor, take 9 credits, AND work an additional hourly job.

2. Drop out of school altogether, get an additional job, and continue acting work.

3. Reduce my credit load to 6 credits per semester, meaning I'll graduate LATER, but which gives me enough financial aid to continue my current plan of working as an actor and my several other jobs.

After freaking out for about half an hour, I finally chose Option #3. My acting career is really important to me, and I didn't want to give it up. I also didn't want to drop out of school. I'm disappointed about taking longer to finish my degree, but ultimately, it's the option that allows me to pursue both my current goals and my future goals. It's the one that makes the most sense. But it's still a bummer. Because time. And because money.

It means that my budget is a little tighter than I had planned, so I REALLY need to get more paid acting work if I want to do anything except pay rent and utilities. Things like the orthodontist and new character shoes just have to stay on the wish list until and unless I get a paid gig.

Luckily, there are lots of those to be found around here.

(But, Liz? Doesn't Jacob have a job? He can support you both, can't he? Yes. He does have a job, and he could, theoretically, support us. But a few years ago, we decided to split our finances. Our shared monthly bills are split evenly, and anything else we do with our own earned money is up to us. This is the best solution for our marriage. I don't claim to believe that it's best for everyone, but it's DEFINITELY best for us. We do help each other out in emergencies. But I'd really like to hold up my end of the deal and pay for my share of things. Someday, our circumstances may change, and we may shift the way we do things. But for now, this is how it works, and I want to do my part.)

The final chapter to this mini-drama is a happy one, though. I posted that above-pictured Facebook status in the wee small hours of the morning last night (time makes sense?), feeling a little lost and trying to embrace my vulnerability. And I woke up this morning to this ENORMOUS outpouring of love and support, far more than I was asking or hoping for. I had private messages and memes galore to lift my heart, and lifted it was. I was humbled by the kindness that so many showed me. I feel incredibly blessed to be surrounded by so many large-hearted people. It makes disappointments far easier to bear. Thank you.

So here's to a longer MFA career with less money, with loving friends and family by my side! Onward.

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Thwarted Plans

Walmart stake out

I had a homework assignment last week to go to a public place and write what I was observing all around me in an unusual form. Inspired by my beloved X-Files, I did a stake out.

Note--At 9:38 pm, I was approached by a police officer and asked to move out of the handicapped parking spot. My explanation that I was doing a homework assignment did not impress him.

Observation Log
Saturday night, June 4, 2016
Orem, Utah Walmart
Stakeout location: a handicapped parking spot just north of the market entrance (where I am illegally parked).

9:03 pm
I am Dana Scully, sitting on watch duty, badge hidden, red hair framing my face. I’m looking for stories. I’m an emotional voyeur, watching the faces of the people walking in and out of the Walmart, waiting to see if their faces will tell their secrets. Trying to remain somewhat inconspicuous, laptop notwithstanding. Carts roll with a metallic rumble across the pavement, the white noise of the I-15 in the deep background. In the summery dusk, potted flowers wilt in front of the store entrance. It’s warm, in the upper 70s. My allergy pill is wearing off.

9:06 pm
Older couple. 50s or 60s. Both wearing striped shirts. His is white, hers is pink. A silver car rolls by, windows down, classical pop piano blaring. A guy in his twenties walks past my cracked window; he’s too thin, angular jaw and long brown hair. He’s got a goatee and he’s talking with concern to someone on a cell phone, one hand in his pocket.

9:09 pm
Students from Utah Valley University push each other around in one of the carts—the kind that has the plastic seats for kids. They’re laughing hysterically, and in my 30-year-old wisdom, I think fondly of the days when I could be obnoxious in public without feeling obnoxious. Sirens suddenly ring out from Sandhill Road behind me. A fire truck and two ambulances. Their alarms change in pitch as they get closer, closer, then farther, farther.

9:11 pm
Inside the lobby, vending machines stand side by side with two redbox kiosks and a “treasure shoppe,” one of those rigged arcade games where you use the claw to try and get a stuffed animal. Two kids—I imagine them siblings—stand side by side to try their luck. I wait to see if they’ll win, but of course they don’t. Growing up, I always begged for quarters whenever I saw one, and my parents never let me try. My mom finally gave in at a Denny’s when I was 11 or so, and with one swift, smooth movement, I gripped a white puppy and let it fall into the slot. My mom was astonished, but I don’t know why. I always knew I could do it.

9:14 pm
This is the second person I’ve seen walk out of the Walmart with a limp. I feel like an a**hole for taking a handicapped parking spot.

9:15 pm
Two boys in their late teens stand next to the potted plants. They chat, with false shows of bravado. One’s got mismatching socks. They take turns pulling out their phones and scrolling through. Displays of masculinity so absurd, they’ll crack into a thousand pieces if you bump up against them too hard.

9:17 pm
I hear a wolf whistle…once…twice. It’s not aimed at me, but I’m enraged by it anyway. I could give whoever whistled the benefit of the doubt (maybe they’re just signaling a friend), but these teenage boys by the potted plants have got me all caught up in toxic gender constructs.

9:19 pm
A flashing yellow light signals a line of carts being returned by machine to the overhang. I wish they’d had that machine when I worked at Walmart, walking through the parking lot with an itchy yellow vest, Idaho sun high above me. Age 19, working full-time with two other roommates. We’d get snowcones on our way home every day, then sit in the warm living room, discussing episodes of House.

9:21 pm
Spotted! Returned Mormon missionary! Modest khaki shorts, navy blue t-shirt with a compass on it, the words “Arise” written across it. Hair tidy and militarily short. Glasses. He’s carrying two bags, and I feel certain that if the doors weren’t automatic, he’d hold them open for you.

9:23 pm
In the few minutes I’ve looked down to type, I missed it—the moment that shifts between dusk and twilight. I wait to catch it every summer evening, but it always happens in the moment I blink, or look at my book, or get distracted.

9:24 pm
Orem, Utah is mostly white. Lower middle-class and blue-collar folks frequent the Walmart the most. People speak in that regional accent peculiar to the Rocky Mountains. (“Mou-ins.”) I hear an occasional phrase in Spanish, a sentence or two in Arabic that makes me glance up. Two brothers, each pushing a shopping cart, in what sounds to me like heated debate, but it could be the media informing my interpretations.

9:27 pm
A middle-aged woman in her Sunday best strolls by, holding an unopened game of Monopoly. I begin to make up a story about her. Her college-aged children are in town, and she ran out at the last minute to pick up a game to play, to keep everyone awake and together at the kitchen table. Or maybe she’s teaching Sunday School tomorrow, and she’ll use the fake money as an object lesson. Or maybe she’s found some craft on Pinterest, and she’ll spray paint each of the pieces and glue them to a frame.

9:37 pm
My allergies are getting the better of me. I’ll wander into the store myself now, make my way to the pharmacy. One package of Allegra D. One of the white, lower-class Mormons in Orem, Utah.

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Walmart stake out

The Finish Line

I just sprinted through 3 days worth of work and homework and to-do list items in one day.

Late last night, I suddenly realized that my schedule was alarmingly full for Friday and Saturday, and wouldn't really give me much time to do all the things I needed to do. So I had two options: don't do any of it, or do it all today. I chose the latter.

I've been "on the go" since about 8:30 this morning. It's nearing midnight. Logically, I know I should go to bed like, RIGHT NOW, but I needed to take a moment and detox. Then I can take all the survival stress of today, fold it up, put it away, and leave it until it's absolutely necessary. (Or dismiss it entirely, really.) For me, stress is sort of residual...unless I consciously tell myself "It's all taken care of," I'll have this sort of background hum of stress for the next few days/weeks/months after a mini-crisis like today's.

But dammit if I didn't write a short screenplay, critique five flash nonfiction essays, respond to two poetry critiques, clean the house, buy groceries, take care of my nephew, do laundry, work 3 hours, write four notes to friends, plan a Sunday school lesson, make rice krispy treats, pick up a prescription refill, and balance my budget. TODAY.

I'm exhausted.

But now it means that I can give my full attention to working at the U of U tomorrow and doing a performance of Jane Eyre, and then doing TWO performances of Jane Eyre on Saturday, followed by an sibling-in-law family reunion.

Listen, I'm not sharing this because I recommend it as a lifestyle. It was kind of awful. Every time I got near my bed, it was like being sucked into a vortex...I just wanted to lay down and just...lay down. I'm sharing it because I have a compulsive need to write about my experiences, and to assure you that if you are feeling overwhelmed, you most likely CAN do all those things on your list.

I mean, it's probably fine if you don't, too. I've taken that path plenty of times. The world hasn't stopped turning every time I don't get things done.

Anyway. If you feel like validating me for accomplishing hella things today, that's cool. I'm going to bed, though, so I probably won't read it for a while.

photo via Seattle Municipal Archives, "Footrace 1925" 

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The Finish Line

Forward. Stop. Reverse. Forward, forward, forward.

Yesterday was like an emotional game of Simon Says. "Simon Says make long-term plans!" "Change your long-term plans!" "Wait, Simon didn't say!"

Here's where yesterday started:

In the front seat of my van, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the 35-minute commute to my new job. In order to communicate the insanity of yesterday, I should also mention what's not pictured: me going on roughly 3 hours of sleep, attempting to deal with debilitating allergies/a possible sinus infection, and some residual back pain from a displaced rib.

But I was choosing to be positive.

Yesterday was my first day as a Special Ed Paraeducator at Dan Peterson School in American Fork. I accepted the job about a week ago--I subbed for several weeks before being offered a position as a classroom aide. The day went fairly smoothly--I filled out paperwork and spent the day in a class where I had subbed before, feeding, changing, repositioning, and working with secondary and post-secondary students.

Then in the afternoon, I got online to start my MFA homework. And learned that I was actually able to take an additional class, which would allow me to graduate an entire semester earlier than I had planned. And that I had enough financial aid to live off AND take that extra class.

I had known about the financial aid, but not about the class. And the class was the straw that broke the camel's back--it clarified for me something I already knew in my gut, but was too afraid to admit.

It just didn't make sense for me to be working almost 30 hours a week at a job I didn't necessarily need, when I could be spending that time advancing my MFA. Especially when I was already spending 20-40 hours per week working on a show. Especially when I already had a job at University of Utah, which would force me to get a sub for two or three days per month if I was working at Dan Peterson. Keeping the job at Dan Peterson meant spreading myself so thin, trying to walk towards so many mountains at once. It made the most sense to quit the job at Dan Peterson.

But what a sh*tty thing to do--quit a job on the first day. And it was an awesome job. A beautiful job. I loved the kids. I still do. Those sweet students. Working at Dan Peterson felt, for all the world, like Alianza--a group of smart and caring people doing some amazing things in the world of education. I felt welcomed and at home, and it was so rewarding to do that work, even in the moments when it was difficult.

I spent an hour or two agonizing over my decision, thinking, talking with Jacob, praying. Quitting the job at Dan Peterson made the most sense, emotionally, financially, professionally, mentally, and spiritually. But I hated to put the school in such a terrible position--without an aide, AGAIN, for who knows how long until they could hire someone else. My ego was afraid of what everyone would think--that I was flaky or unprofessional or weak-spirited or selfish or any number of things. What would the principal think? The teachers? The other aides? And my heart didn't want to leave those students, or that place of belonging.

But I had to move toward that MFA mountain.

So I called the principal and left a message, apologizing and inarticulately tendering my resignation. She called me back shortly afterwards, expressing understanding but saying she was sorry to see me go. I originally thought about trying to stay for a few extra days this week, just to keep them from needing to find a sub, but my MFA classes began already. And it's tech week. If ever I needed the time to devote to school, it's this week. So that was it. My first day at work was also my last.

After that horrible phone call with the principal (horrible only because it was so difficult), I did my homework, tried to eat some dinner, then went to tech rehearsal for Jane Eyre, where I stayed until almost midnight. (And where I also gave an abbreviated explanation of my situation to several kind people who asked how my new job was going.) And then I drove home--listening to the BBC for the 45-minute commute and eating Reeses Pieces to stay awake.

Here's where yesterday ended:

In the dark, around 1 in the morning, barely awake, physically and emotionally exhausted, sitting in the front seat of my van, trying to muster the energy to get into the house and go to bed.

I stayed in bed for as long as I possibly could this morning.

Then I drove to Dan Peterson School again, this time to fill out resignation paperwork. The staff was kind and understanding, and said they would welcome me back when I was able to work again. I thanked them for everything, then left the office. Halfway down the hallway, I glanced over my shoulder at the classrooms where I would have been working. J's class, with her sweet students, where I subbed for weeks and felt so much love and belonging. T's and K's class, where I would have been spending my days, with those students who were smart and funny and rebellious. I took a step towards those rooms at the end of the hall, wanting with my whole heart to just say goodbye, to say thank you. But I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.

A small part of me was afraid of what the teachers and aides would think--I didn't want to face their possible judgement, both for leaving and for visiting their classrooms to say goodbye. But ultimately, I didn't do it because I knew that it's very likely that I will never see those students again. I have never been good at goodbyes. I hate them, because a goodbye is never as fulfilling as knowing you'll see someone all the time. I can never say enough, or say what I mean. And in the case of some of these students, they might not have heard or understood me anyway. And it would have been selfish of me, to interrupt their school day and their routine just to attempt to satisfy my need to...I don't know, have a grand gesture of closure.

It's possible that I'll work for Dan Peterson School again someday. But I don't know when, and I don't know which students will still be there. Some of them may move. Some may graduate. And the harsh truth is that some of them may die. Dan Peterson School is a place for students with both mental disabilities, and physical disabilities. Some of them are considered "medically fragile." Some of them have DNRs. The staff regularly deal with seizures and falls. So I knew that if and when I return to the school, it won't be to this same situation, to these same students.

So I walked out to my van and drove to the library to do my homework, crying the entire time.

I know, ultimately, that this was the right decision. Working at Dan Peterson School was the right thing at the wrong time. I would have been just as heartbroken to give up additional schooling. This was a difficult choice between two very good things. I'm sad to have to give up one of them.

But I'm also so blessed. I get to do other things that I love--I get to act, onstage, and even be paid for it. I get to write and study and read and learn. I get to choose my own schedule in some ways, as I pursue my degree. I've got an incredible husband--this amazing companion, this best friend that will listen to me cry and let me talk through things when I'm in crisis. I get to spend my evenings in a theatre, surrounded by brave and kind and talented people, telling stories. And I'm healthy and well-fed and I have a working car and clothes and enough cash to make ends meet. I clung to all of these truths with so much gratitude all day yesterday, and I'm filled with them today.

So here's to grad school, to theatre, and to everything else I'm lucky enough to have.

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Forward. Stop. Reverse. Forward, forward, forward.