my bed is unmade. the laundry is piled high in the corner. i've had more to drink in the last few weeks than i have in the last few years (keep in mind, that's not saying much, i'm not really a drinker. but still.). i raced through all of season two of downton abbey because pbs is only meant to have it online for like ten days more--most of that racing was done in the wee hours of the morning after long nights and longer days. i had my tarot cards read nearly a week ago and i keep thinking about it, which, as it turns out, was the one thing i was warned against--over-thinking (me, an over-thinker? nah). i cracked my iPhone two days ago, was nearly attacked on the subway (wrong place, wrong time. not to worry that'll be a story i'll give more detail when time allows), was half-jokingly proposed marriage to (i half-jokingly accepted), and when forced to answer, listed utah as my happy place (a park city ski vacation is just around the corner. but is there snow out there?).
i didn't know i'd fall so desperately in love with being busy--didn't know i wouldn't mind having no time to myself in the morning, no time to leisurely enjoy my latte or read a book or sit down and put pen to paper. didn't know i wouldn't mind forfeiting certain things in exchange for others. didn't know i wouldn't mind leaving the house in the morning only to return eighteen hours later--too much of that spent on the subway. always too much on the subway. it's a whole different thing when you're busy with things that mean just a bit more.
i have friends who are doing exceptional things. tv shows and broadway productions and major motion pictures. friends who are getting engaged, married, having children. and so it may not seem like much, a tiny little play in a scrappy downtown theatre space. but after four years of not acting, well, it may not be a lot. but it's something.