I've been staying at Jenni's place for the last few days since Lois and Milton are out of town. Essie went with them while Lou stayed at the house to take care of Reggie. It's been one of the best weeks of my life.
My family has always prided itself on how much stuff we have and how much money we make, and I always felt a little out of place inside that kind of world. Lou is going to be a lawyer because he likes the paycheck; the fact that he has done really well in law school is just an after thought. Essie wants to go into business for pretty much the same reason, and I am 20 years old and still am unsure about what I want to do with my life.
That's why I left college. I'm not going to spend 28 k a year just to sit around wondering. I refuse to go into debt while I try to figure my life out. College isn't for everyone. I know this, and I used to feel like a failure for it even though I knew that the decision to leave college, the decision I made, was the right one. I felt like everyone was dissapointed in me and that I was never going to gain their praise again.
Living with Lyndia and Jenni has shown me that all I need is a place to sleep and some embroidery floss to make bracelets. It's not about the house, it's about the people living in it. It's not about the size of your car, it's about how well you drive it. It's not even about how you get your laundry done, as long as your kids are clean.
I have gone to sleep every night this week knowing that everything is going to be okay, knowing that when I wake up in the morning I'm going to see ten girls faces looking at me, and even if they aren't all smiling they're still going to be there. They were not dissapointed in me. They loved that I was their counselor, just like they loved that Semona, Lindsey, Emma and Amanda were their counselors too. Working at willoway has shown me that yes, I do want to work with kids, and yes, bus rides can even be fun.

All I want to do is teach theater and fall in love in Michigan, which seems to be impossible.

The only place I have ever felt like I was home is on the stage; all I want to do is get back to that place, but I think it may just kill me. The work kills you, the competition kills you, the backstabbing kills you. I know it's not practical to want to be an actress. I'm trying to be an adult about this, but I love the theater like I love my life. More than I love my life. I was born to act; I dream about plays. I can envision them in my head when I read them, hear them, talk about them.

Who wouldn't love the stage? The feeling of your body shaking with adrenaline as you audition, having confidence in yourself. Competing silently with everyone else in the room to be the best, and knowing that your nailed it. Then waiting around to get the call that you made it, showing up nervous but comfortable at the first rehearsal and going through all of the motions of getting to know everyone.

Being in a play is like being in a relationship. You are nervous on the first date, but by the second one your comfortable enough to let your guard down, but not comfortable enough to show up in your sweats. Maybe you see the end of the relationship before you start, but you figure you might as well be a part of something, because it might just change your life and hell you have nothing better to do anyway. A few weeks in you fight, you cry, you drink, you fool around until you get a routine down. You introduce it to your friends and then your family, and their approve or disapprove, depending on their religious and political affiliation. The more liberal you are the more willing you are to see something that is deemed "edgy" by the masses. Then the end comes and you are confident that you made it. That you are better now that it's over. You cry and get drunk with your friends. You give back all of the clothes, take off all of the makeup and wonder if you will ever be this happy again. You mourn your loss for a few weeks or months depending on how attached you were, and then you decide to start putting yourself out there again.

Then everything starts all over. And you fall in love over and over again. It makes you strong and powerful and healthy. So you're a little weird and your gay friend greatly outnumber your straight ones. But that's what makes you special. That's what makes you, you.

That's why I do what I do. That's why I'm going to teach theater to kids, because even in my darkest hour I had something to cling to. I had the words of Shakespeare, the music of Larson, and the vision of Robbins. I clung to my MRP shirts and yes, I still have my first script ever, because it's what makes me feel like a person. I'm going to take the saddest, loneliest most beautiful kids and show them that their lives have meaning and possibilities and that they are worth all of the effort that they put into living. That breathing on stage is better than any drug or any drink they will ever have. That love is the movement that drives me and that theater is love.

I don't even know if I'm making any sense. I'm just ranting now.