Sitting here at the Caribou. It is 8:30 and the influx of men has been increasing since the turn of the hour. I’m sitting here listening to Mindless Self Indulgence. I feel like I might have a panic attack soon. I dunno. Maybe it’s the tea. Or the wool sweater. Took yesterday and today off from the gym since I felt sort of sick. Doing well with eating more protein lately. It’s a hard thing to do. But Sunday I made into SuperMeat Sunday and I baked three chicken breasts, made a turkey meatloaf, cooked a turkey in the crockpot, made Jello. And set aside cottage cheese for consumption and laid out all of my vitamins and supplements for the week.
I scheduled the cookie party and sent out the evite. I have to add all of the coaching people to it now. I think it might turn into a thunderous party – it really depends. Brigitte and I were both surprised how there are only four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year. I think I waited too long to have the party and it is a little late. When I leave the house everything seems much more accomplishable, I think. I feel better that I’ve been eating better. Who knew? I have my master calendar of teleclasses together – at least for the Dreamweaver, Excel and HTML classes – and probably the web site planning one as well.
My audition went better than I thought it would. Some nervous sweating and blushing at the beginning when I was doing face forward – profile left – profile right – face forward – body pan – body profile left – body profile right… but by the time I was onto the second script I was much less nervous. I think part of what I need to focus on next time is taking up time. Just allowing myself to be the center of the camera’s attention for those scant five minutes. That is always what cracks me up is the stress I have over these auditions and they are really nothing – five minutes max.
Musa Belle died today. Rest your soul, you dear sweet woman. I’ll never forget the first we met them and she was so affectionate to us – her step-grandkids. And when she told us about the day she confronted Flora (grandma) at the soda fountain in the back of the Walgreens and marched up to her and stared her in the face and said, ‘I just wanted to see the woman who is messing around with my husband.’ And how after dad sent a letter – fifty years after the fact – and she called dad and said for him to be patient, that his dad would call him eventually – but to hold on – she was trying to get him to call him. She could have torn the letter up and he never would have met dad. Spitfire was the word I always associated with her. She was tiny – but you just knew she could kick your ass. After she found out about her husband’s infidelity (and subsequent and impending fatherhood – with another woman) she torn up the local police precinct in search of her husband. I imagine her rage and anger at being wronged and how it drove a spike in any trust their marriage could have – it tested them throughout the years. And when presented, fifty years later, with the possibility of connecting with that event again – the possibility of so much pain – she opened up and gave us her love.
I had a dream last night that I was in an acting class an we were all sitting around in a circle and just sort of hanging on eachother – I had my head on the shoulder of Brad Kruer from high school and Madonna was our teacher – the current Madonna, skeletonized and copping an Elevated Speech dialect. We were watching a video some of the guys in high school had made that was titled ‘Faggoty-Ass’ and was ripping on fairies. I’m trying to remember the other details int he story but I can’t. There wasn’t really any action – more of just an image. I wonder what this all means.