Hey...I remember this.

It's blogging! It's writing about things that other people may or may not read!

Honestly, I just found myself moved by other people's writing, so I jumped on board. I am riding the coattails of those more motivated than myself.

Not that I haven't been motivated to write, but lately it's taken the form of writing about superheroes and friendships in a superhero-y world. My good friend Sara Sevigny and I have written a play for the Factory Theater's next season - and it was accepted. So I am, all at once, thrilled and terrified. This manifests itself in furious rewrites and questioning everything we've written thus far. And it was accepted two weeks ago. It doesn't go up until Summer 2010. Perhaps we should calm down a bit...nah. We'll have a reading just to hear it out loud next week. Of course, we've already churned out another draft - just so we can hear better stuff.

Meanwhile, I'm involved in another project that is actually asking for - nay, demanding - creativity from me on levels I'm unfamiliar with. I'm super crazy excited about it. I'll be singing Jon Langford tunes. Lots of them. I'll be wielding fans of some sort to let people know that I am A. a tumbleweed and B. on fire. In my last rehearsal, I was handed two makeshift fans on sticks and told to go play with them for a while. In the empty space I had as my own, I found the ceilings too low. I was then lead into an ENORMOUS EMPTY AUDITORIUM. And, just for kicks, given a big mirror so I could see what I was doing.

"Come on up when you're done."

Uh. Ok.

There was a time when I was small that my parents were busy and something had to be done with me. Perhaps it was my mom checking out my preschool, perhaps it was the two seconds when we went to temple - I'm not sure. I just remember the feeling of being in a wide open space with carpeting to cushion myself and whatever ridiculousness I was going to try. Chances were, there was some other child whose parents couldn't get a sitter, and we made friends for an hour. Did somersaults. Raced. Spun around. Did whatever we wanted because this space was huge and not home.

That's what that rehearsal felt like. I wanted to be able to do so much more than I could - no handed cartwheels (I'll settle for one-handed, which I am determined to learn) or no-handed rolls. Something awesome and beautiful so I could manipulate these fans in a way that exceeded expectations. Though...truly...there were no expectations. I went upstairs, sweaty and spent, watched what the others had been working on and then showed them a few things I figured out. That was rehearsal.

Next week, we sing.

Meanwhile, I'm writing.

During all of this, I'm going home to the man I love. We're coming home to our home together - we haven't shared a home in three years. It feels so good to be back, I get very happily teary and emotional just thinking about what it took to get here.

Someone in my office told me I had been beaming lately. She's right.