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My daughter is very sick.  So, last night, instead of doing my very small chores and going to bed to get in a nap before she woke up again, I sat in front of my computer screen and fiddidled the night away.

When we awoke at 7am after a sleepless night, the sink was filled with crap, including every single frying pan.  The quinoa from the night before, of which I made extra to freeze, was still sitting in its pot on the stove top, now unsalvageable.  I swore and got pissed off as I tripped over the toys scattered across the floor, glaring at the crumbs all over the table, and then I realized it was my own damn fault.

So I’m grounded.

One week of no blogging, no blog-stalking, no message-boarding, no surfing.  Essential emails only.

See you in a week.

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No.  Not mine.

Yours.

You, people I have met with and worked with and then I discover you have become something even grander.

I find myself bursting with pride when I come across an old friend or, more frequently, a short-term colleague (given the nature of theater) who has accomplished something wonderful.

When I was just out of college, I worked on a short play with a young man who, at the time, was approaching his late 20s.  He had a two year old son and a dedicated wife.  His wife had agreed to let him quit his day job so he could pursue acting full time.  He had a year to make sure he could bring home some bacon.  This short play was his first gig.  A few years later, when I returned to that city, I attended an awards banquet, and there he was, up on stage, part of the evening’s honored entertainment.

Just this fall I discovered a girlfriend out in LA writing for Knight Rider.

If I were to sit down and watch TV, I stumble across a familiar face on a commercial or TV show at least every couple of months.

And I feel like my heart will burst I’m so proud of them.  There is, fantastically, no jealousy at all.  I don’t find myself watching them, or reading about them, and burning up with desire.  Going green with envy of what they’ve done.  I just am glad I “knew them when…”

And the inspiration for this post?  This chic over at Living Oprah. She was my director in Chicago.  She cast me in an all-improvised show when I had very little experience and she patiently and determinedly dragged the best out of me.  Learning to improvise for her was one of the best things I ever could have done as an actress.  She is a remarkable woman.  She has spent this entire year taking ALL of Oprah’s advice–and I mean ALL.  Tomorrow morning, bright and early, she’ll be on the Today Show with Matt Lauer.  So freaking cool.

Go read her blog.

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If you create a file, you should know the name of it.

If you create a sister file, you should also know the name of that file.

If you repeat these steps four or five times, you should know which file matches up with which file.

If I ask you to indicate which file matches with which, you should be able to easily complete this task.

You should not be replying by telling me if I only read through the text, or watched the file, I could match them myself.

I do not have time to do your job.

I barely have time to do my job.

I am surrounded by idiots and, according to this culture, I’m not allowed to tell them they’re being idiots without being sued.  Or fired.  Or maybe I’m just too chicken so I put up whiny posts on my blog instead.

Today is already sucking and it’s only 9:45am.

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Late at night, when I’m over-tired, under-fed and scratchy-eyed, I sit and stare at my computer screen.  As if, if I stare hard enough, it will become my room-mate.

A living, breathing, talking to me room-mate.

I lived alone for a mere six months of my life.  I loved it.  I loved the solitude.  But I missed the companionship.  I missed the impromptu afternoon snacks with my mom.  I missed my roomies banging on my door and demanding I go out.  I even missed other people’s dirty dishes in the sink.

Here I am, living alone again, sort of.  And, sometimes, it’s a little lonely, sort of.

Late at night, when I’m over-tired, under-fed and scratchy-eyed, I sit and stare at my computer screen.   As if, if I stare hard enough, I will come up with a better name to google.

Last night, I did.

There he was: photos, videos, bio.  My first college boyfriend.  One of my best friends.  We had a friendly parting, but a confused one, some ugly post-parting confrontations, but he will always be my first love, and he will always be loved by me.  He is a pianist, and a good one.  It is not hard, it turns out, to find him.

So, late last night, I sent him an email.  To say I’m sorry that I didn’t show at your concert after we had lunch and you invited me.  To say I check up on you by asking our mutual friends if you’re still alive and happy and fruitful.  To say, how the hell are you, first love of my life?

Surprisingly, he replied.  With only sentiments of thanks for our loving past.  No hard feelings.  No misplaced (or perhaps rightfully placed) anger.  Just thanks.

It was really nice.

For once, my late-night online search fetish did more than just drain me of life force.  It gave me something back.  Something real.

Maybe this late night habit that I’m finding hard to break isn’t such a waste of time after all.

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Culture Shock

It has been one week since my last directing gig ended.

I’ve spent all week staying up later than I should, wandering around my house feeling overwhelmed by the neglected to-do list therefore not doing any of it, drinking coffee too late in the day, badgering myself for my lack of drive.

And then, this evening, I went to the gym for the first time in months.  I’ve wanted to go, desperately, I just haven’t had the time.  So now I’m still full of post-exercise endorphins, my tummy growls in a good way, I feel tired in a good way, and it dawned on me that I can’t possibly expect myself to jump from one life to another instantly and feel okay.

I have culture-shock, in my own home.

It’s a relief, this realization.

It’s okay to slow down, accomplish the little tasks, and make little plans for a big future when I will accomplish big things.  For now, it’s okay to be okay only doing little things like taking naps, sorting my receipts, and mopping my floors.

It’s spring, it’s time to let the coals burn out and stop to watch the crocuses bloom.

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WTF?!

Today is the tenth.

On the fourth, I wrote this post about joining a new mom’s group.

So, that makes it exactly 6 days since I joined.

Tonight, I received an email telling me that if I didn’t get my ass to a meet & greet to meet the other moms, or tell them when exactly I could go to meet the other moms, I would be kicked out on the 15th.  Okay, they didn’t say “ass” but it was pretty much a form letter.  A form letter, from a mom’s group on meetup?

Can I repeat the title of my post?

WTF?!

Did I mention this is supposed to be a “Progressive” mom’s group?

Since when do open-minded, independent, and free-thinking people go all dictatorial in less than a week?  I haven’t even met them yet!

So I sent them an angry note.  Yes, angry.  Pleasantly phrased, but downright angry.

I have better things to do with my life than waste my time with people who don’t want me around.  I have a life, after all, I’m not a mom who can schedule a coffee break with four days notice.  I work, for christ’s sake.  I have better things to waste my time on, like ranting on a blog.

Oh, crap.  Tonight sucks.

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Coming Out

Okay, here’s the deal: I started this blog a little less than a year ago expecting to be anonymous.

As you may have noticed from the URL up there, I inadvertently signed up with wordpress using my name as the blog URL.  Stupid me.  But, I continued to blog as if I were anonymous, knowing full well that if you were just to get a tad creative you could absolutely figure out who I am.  I even gave you some hints in the “about me” section.

Within the past few months, I’ve realized that many of my readers actually know me.  I often like to inflate my ego by pretending I have thousands of readers who don’t know me but in reality, as far as I can tell, most of you do.

Furthermore, my mom is out of the country on sabbatical and therefore blogging as well, and has linked over to this blog, which means all of her colleagues (and, consequently, all of my cousins and aunts and uncles) now know about this blog too.

So I’ve decided to simplify life by outing myself.

  • Name: SerahRose
  • Age: 29
  • Occupation: actress, director, educator, writer
  • pet: Suzy Q the Cat
  • Daughter: Avi, short for Aviendha

And, in honor of this day, I will try my hardest to write using capitalization again.  It is, after all, significantly easier to read.

Let us all now breath a sigh of relief.

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