on the sleepless hours

you should get to preview dreams
like a teaser in your mind
before the darkness sets in

i lay awake
mind racing
desperately trying to grasp onto a strand of thought
amongst the millions of beams shining behind closed eyes

the words ebb and flow
the restless shore of consciousness
jumbled and tumbled and cast away

these are the sleepless hours
the hours of pure abandon and selfless truth
we blink
we wish
we wait for night's quilt to wrap us up in her arms
and softly purr a lullaby
as we slip into oblivion

on now

I'm learning to be here. to slow down and notice. just the little things. its all i can do right now. but its something. the curve of a chaise lounge, the steam whisping from a fresh cup of coffee. the feel of a cool autumn breeze through my hair. i need to live the now. i stress and worry and obsess about the future, the past, the could be, the have beens, but i forget to live now. and now is okay.

now i am sitting in a cozy little coffee shop with the mock theatre lights that remind me of home and my new boots that make me feel like a pirate. there is eyeliner around my eyes and a good novel sitting next to me. i am alone and i am okay. and that is good.

i have now been working for two weeks at the JCC children's center as a daycare teacher. it's nothing that i studied nor am  qualified in, but i am there. and they want me there. the other teachers, the adorable two-year-olds, their loving parents. they all want me there. i have knowledge to contribute - experience to share. and sure, there are a lot of poopy diapers to change, but i get paid to sit on a carpet with a child in my lap and tell fairytales. i can make silly voices and goof around and sing and dance and color and play. and its okay. its good.

the thought of returning to the theatre still scares me more than anything. and i dont know if its because i truly was so hurt by it, or because i've been so convinced that it was awful for me that now i dread it. but i miss it. i know i do. theatre was my home. my religion. my breath. and now its gone and i dont know what to do. but every time i get close again, even just seeing a friend's show, i feel so hurt and betrayed and full of failure that i completely shut down. block it out. like a virus i am slowly building up antibodies against. but theatre is not the enemy. it cannot be the enemy. it was me. it was such a huge part of who i was, who i am but i dont know how to understand it anymore. i know it has to come back to me, that it will make sense again. i just dont know how much time i need to be away from it before i am strong enough to try again. i try to put on a tough front - drink black coffee, fight with swords, wear black combat boots - but the truth is i am soft and weak. and i cannot bear to be irrelevant.

i still crave the creativity - the passion i used to feel. without it its as though i'm walking around as a shell of my self. a hollow pie crust without the savory filling. i want so badly to be good, whatever that means. i want to be a fine artist. i want to be recognized, even if only by a few peers, as a unique artist. i want to bring something to the world. something that was not there before. i want to matter.

but for now, one day at a time. let the soft autumn winds blow.