There’s something about that small vertical line pulsing on a blank screen… silent and patient it waits for you to fill the page. In my case, it’s waited over a year… so much has happened, but I haven’t cared to share any of it. So, here it is – finally.
New York – where I spent two weeks last summer sweating like a woman in intense labour. I was yelled at by a rude truck driver, frowned at by a 6 year old and baffled by a guy who asked if I wanted to grab a drink and then didn’t even offer to buy mine, yet clearly expected to get laid. There were no escalators in the subway… I mean, I judge Toronto all the time for having the ones that go downwards – HOW LAZY ARE YOU?? But imagine a world where you have to haul suitcases UP several flights of stairs… which I did! Ones that were so steep, I may as well have been required to wear a safety harness (It was Italy all over again… refer to Hiatus blog). How are so many Americans obese? Between all the sweating and steep-stair-climbing I must have made up for all the cheese, grease and fat I inflicted on my intestines. The best part was being woken up by my Brooklyn neighbours either blaring music or yelling to one another from across their front steps between the hours of 3am-7am. You would think this would upset me for obvious reasons. However, it just so happened these folks insisted on partying to the best of old school R&B and Hip-hop, which made me want to do anything but sleep. I also happened to love their accent, so although I could barely make out their conversations, I found myself intently listening in, again, instead of catching my Z’s. The point is, they kept me up!
The Big Apple kicked my ass and I loved every miserable moment. I was living. I was figuring out the world on my own.
In the acting program I took while in New York, Tom Todoroff (our instructor) constantly repeated, “Fight for what you want.” So I went home and did the complete opposite…
I got a new job. I began commuting to the most obscure and non-trendy neighborhood that ever was, where I spent nine hours (because apparently taking a break for lunch is over-rated), six days a week selling floor tile. The job was fine… but it’s where creative people go to die (unless you happened to be a designer waltzing in and out, which I was not).
I guess you could say I was ever so slightly depressed after New York… and even before I left for that smelly, yet lovable little island. I felt stuck. And even my attempt at being free-spirited by quitting nine jobs the previous year hadn’t removed the metaphorical sensation of being covered in a thin layer of molasses. However, for those two weeks, I came to life.
So there I was… back in my safety net. A net I had hardly strayed from and that I was now caught in, barely allowing me to move. Not forwards or backwards. I was suffocating. And meanwhile, my life was going on whether I chose to live it in hot pursuit of everything I loved or whether I continued sitting at that desk. So, I got outta there.
Now, I have two part-times and enough time to fight for what I want. I’m much happier… and slowly coming back to life.
You’ll be hearing a lot more from me. I hope you’ll stay tuned.