…The Downtown 1 Train To Rector St. NY, NY.

It’s strange when you find yourself reminded of your parents—in yourself.

This morning, I’m knocking on Lily’s door at 6:15 in the morning (mind you, I don’t have to be up for work for another 2 hours, but it’s been many years since that’s mattered) and I get her “grrri’m upppp” which I know means I’ll be back in 5 minutes banging on the door again… and then, when all else fails I’ll resort to some sort of annoying carrying her out of bed to the breakfast table. Now… I personally know she enjoys this, but she’s slipping into the teenage angst finally, and it may no longer be cute when daddy carries you down the stairs kicking and screaming that you don’t want to go to school.

I wonder if the other kids know this side of her. I’m sure she shows a cool calm face to her little student government friends… christ. Reminiscent of her mother. I don’t think she inherited that side from me… that stoic face she makes when she’s listening… like a pure, unimpeded ear, listening to your thoughts and worries. I was always the one who’s face could be read from miles away. It’s probably better this way. Kids should learn to keep some secrets.

I’m reminded of my mother, though, in waking up my daughter… it’s kind of surprising that I forgot how she used to wake me. I didn’t even wake to the banging on the door, it was the sound of the footsteps creaking the boards beneath the hallway carpet that kicked me conscious moments before she arrived. I remember sometimes answering her knock before it came… because it was such a harsh sound that, if I could somehow avoid it, my morning could, perhaps, be slightly better. More smooth. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”
“Okay… but if I have to come back in 5 minutes, I’m carrying you out of there by your toes.”
“Ughhhhhhhh.”

I don’t know yet how I feel about the comparison.

That’s all for now.

-e.-

...A Starbucks Near Columbia. NY, NY.

Gordon would call it the Liminal space. This place I'm in. The in-between feeling after the ending of one thing and the beginning of the next.

Or is it? I mean... I'm doing something with my life... working for FLI, doing good work for these kids, this community (or at least intending to... still need to work on some of my own flaws to better serve them, but working on it.)

But I'm coming upon this realization that maybe I know where I need to go after this job.

And it's not the road I thought I would take. It is... at both ends both practical and impractical, both mature and self serving... so how do I reconcile those forces?

I shouldn't muddle about... the point is that I think, for now at least, I'm deciding not to return to the stage in July. At the end of this stage of my life... this job... I think I'll be going for another. Entering the working world, getting my own place and setting down some roots--in Brooklyn, hopefully. I'll be taking the GRE's and applying for Grad Schools and studying... to be a playwright. To be a better, productive, adult playwright. Like Joel Drake Johnson, or Kat Walat, or any of the other great teachers that have molded my craft.

No matter where I go, though, the time has most certainly come for me to find my voice, speak/write the truth and see where it takes me.

I'm scared. Is that good? I hope.

That's all for now.

-e.-

...A Bar on St. Mark's Place. New York, NY.

I'm a little bit useless right now. Lily's in the other room crying because her hair coloring whatchamacallit from the store didn't work out like she wanted and now she's yelling that nobody is ever going to love her.

Ughhh... was I like this at 13? I mean... no, I wasn't a girl... I didn't have issues with dying my hair. There was that time in my twenties when I dyed it all black for a summer... that was stupid. I think that's when my hair started thinning, but I can't prove it.

Anyway... her mother's in there trying to console her... I've been demoted to the living room because I couldn't keep a straight face through the whole ordeal. Does that make me a bad father? I don't know... It makes me human, I guess. I've never been good at holding that sort of thing in... the smirk... when I was in college and those girls with pitch issues came up to sing... it showed all over my face.

My wife had the cable guys cancel the service again... because we found ourselves spending too much time in front of the TV and she didn't like it... so it's back to dueling New Yorker magazines and crosswords at bed time. Works for me though... I always liked that better, anyway.

Oh man... she so loud in there! I wish I could just tell her... well no, I can tell her just fine... but I wish I could make her understand that all this stupid drama goes away... it gets forgotten.

For now though... I guess I'll let it be the end of the world for one night. Her and her newfound, haha, pink and blue streaks will be better in the morning.

That's all for now.

-e.-