Lunacy Me, Now You Don't

Today I found squash in my bra. Then I found a grain of rice in my hair. And no, it was not because I passed out in my food again. I left work and drove away from the house containing an eighteen-month-old boy who is discovering what emotional spikes are, and as I reached in my shirt and picked out a piece of buttercup squash (yes, “cup”, not “nut”...less common, very delish)..once I picked out a piece of buttercup squash off my chest, I couldn’t help but recollect my own journey with anger and button pushing. My younger brothers can attest to the fact that I’ve always been easily, mm, let’s say “provoked”. Or, triggered, because this is, after all, a blog where we talk mental health. As far back as I can remember, I experienced sudden spikes of emotion. Teenagers are used to this, because at sixteen years old, a girl’s testosterone levels are at the highest they’ll ever be. Around that age? What a wild damn ride. And generally, we all experience these throughout our lives bec...

My first sip of coffee each morning is done looking through the window over the sink in the kitchen. It doesn’t matter which house, because most homes I’ve lived in, save for one, have had a window directly over or next to the kitchen sink. I did this while living in our rented farmhouse last year surrounded by fields and cows. There was a trailer park next door, where we got to know the most wonderful dog named Jericho, and his owner. One of the RV’s constantly called an ambulance, like every two weeks, but the workers seemed calm, as if it were a time-honored tradition (against their will). Another trailer housed two black labradors and an owner who warned other dogs not to get too close, even when crossing through your yard (property’s a construct anyway). The trailer behind that had a wooden fence that echoed the sounds of premature teenage fits from a 9-year-old boy, directed at his mother in regards to playing or retiring for the evening.  This morning tradition of taki...

Vacation is leaving something one previously occupied. The act of vacating is used as a refresher and a means to get away from work and responsibilities. Mental chores, on the other hand, cannot be left at the kennel or stored at the post office for two weeks time. You can’t run away from your mind, at least not for long. Our “things” come traipsing right along with us, with vacating merely allowing us to stand beyond spitting distance with heightened clarity to assess. What clarity have I found, you ask? Well, pretty clear skin, some clear ocean water, and a clear need for connection. #needy While traveling with my mom, I’ve been working on a math problem, long-form answer. Who are we as people separate from what we do? Work, relationships, hobbies. See, as an artist, I find this difficult to answer. As an actor, you’re often seen as who you play onstage, the way your voice sounds, and the shapes your body cuts when you dance. A romantic notion, but when you come home at nigh...

What a 12 hours it has been. Quick second--I need more coffee. There we go. Now, let’s see if I can blend this coffee mixture without it exploding over the kitchen for the second time. It’s been a hell of a 12 hours. The kind that you just want to laugh at because it’s ridiculousness wages a war on your senses and you can’t figure out which way is up and which way is down. I’ve always been a procrastinator. I’d say it’s a superpower of mine. I’d wait until midnight to start studying for that day’s math test and then throw a fit over the mad dash and pressure as if time was a new concept and I was the Universe’s guinea pig. I still wait until the last possible second to leave the house in order to get someplace on time, and have a talent at figuring out how to find just enough activities each morning that I don’t quite give myself enough time to get dressed and properly groomed. I’m usually eating while I drive, especially heading to evening performances. I’ve heard it ...