Normal in the City

I'm the type of person who never feels like she is doing enough. I feel positive about my first year in Chicago, but I still have a voice nudging me, "You're behind. Giddy-up." And then Stripes visits and asks what I have been writing, and I say, "Pfft. Not enough." But she presses what I did from August 2014 to August 2015, and I wrote two screenplays, three ten-minutes, a musical, and two-full-length plays. Plus a sketch show at SC. Yeah, when I list it, it sounds like a lot, but since only two of those things have been produced so far, it feels like close to nothing.

Yesterday I had a "regular" day. I was taking the bus home thinking I wish I had accomplished more, that I should really carve out some time on this holiday weekend to work, and I cycled back through my day.

6:30 - rise, drink water, brush teeth, wash face, stretch
7:00 - read the news, some spirituality articles, answer a couple emails
8:00 - set off for aerobic step and muscle sculpt class
10:00 - make yogurt parfaits and watch an episode of Portlandia
10:30 - grade English 101 papers
1:00 - have pb&j lunch
1:20 - off to school, listen to an improv podcast on commute
2:00 - teach English 101 (grammar quiz, essay feedback, facilitating discussions)
3:30 - meet with two students struggling for different reasons during office hours
4:15 - scarf some egg salad while watching clips of Mindy Kaling on talk shows
4:30 - scoot out to meet up with TQ for a skillet cookie
6:00 - a Q & A with Aidy Bryant at SC
7:00 - grab a cab to attend my coworker's interactive theatre piece about mushroom caps
9:15 - take a bus home, thinking about my day
10:00 - recap the day with Bisque, send some night emails
10:45 pass out, have a stress dream about auditions

This is a GOOD day, no matter how normal it feels to me. I have to remember that while I am rolling my eyes at someone yelling about mushrooms stroganoff in a a small theatre space, or while I'm clutching my coat tight around me as I walk into work muttering, "why do I live here," or while I nearly gag on my dinner because more students needed time to debrief than expected, I am living a v. cool existence. It would be the highlight of some people's week to do even one of these things! This is why I live in a snowglobe and slush through muck and feel the stress of possibility.

Surreal Life

There's this big poster that hangs by the box office at The Theatre. It's pictures of the greats with some cheesy line like, "If you had taken class in 1990, these would have been your classmates!" It's a ploy for the suburban audiences to sign up for a level A Saturday morning class, but it's something that circulates around The Program.

A-Ro and I have fresh-squeezed orange juice brunch at the French bakery around the corner before her class on a Sunday. We were in an ensemble this August, and we'll probably know each other forever. I saw her sketch show a couple weeks ago, and she mine. We discuss, we question, we dream, and at some point we say, "It could be you on those posters."

I had an almond croissant.

Last night the cohort had a performance at the long theatre on top of the building. It was actually a great show. They can tend to be stiff and accidentally competitive. Last night was fun. My gang took the stage by dancing in a train into the spotlight. We played diamond salespeople who had an affinity for coal and hormone-crazed teens. The entire Program went out together--a first.

We went to this particular bar that is cash only and is decorated with a lot of lewd paintings. Aidy Bryant was in Chicago a month ago and Instagrammed from that bar. I recognized it instantly. It's a staple of comedy students. That SNL40 bonanza was on as we all mixed and milled and dissected our shows. We couldn't hear it, but we saw those people. Sandler, Wiig, Fallon, on and on. Half of the people so far away in NYC had sat where we all sat in the same grubby ale house. It was too surreal, and we all felt it. We took a group picture that was so unwieldy, the rest of the patrons watched us. Someone started the bit of congratulating each other on the shot, so we all seriously shook hands and nodded as if someone had just won the Nobel Prize. One day that picture will mean something. We just don't know for who.

Hilarious bit by Pinker: accidentally drinking a candle.

Can 'Do

Been told so many times you're not supposed to wash your hair every day. Healthiest to wash every three or something. I could never get on that level. I know, I know, once you start doing it, your hair responds, and it doesn't get greasy by the end of the second day.

Anyway, since I got my hair chopped I started washing it every day because greasy long hair can be braided or ponyed but greasy crew cut just looks nasty. Also, how much can I be ruining my hair? There's an inch of it, ya know?

But yesterday after my long Lake Michigan walk I decided to forgo the shampoo and just let my head do its thang. My only plans for the rest of the day were to buy stickers at Michaels and probably try to time dinner so King of Queens would be on. Gosh, I'm so glad I just spent three years getting an MFA.* Whatevs, point being, I wasn't exactly going to the governor's ball, or even a monster's ball (whaddup Halle Berry) so who would care what my hair looked like.

I really missed that fully clean feeling. I missed it all day. And my face felt shinier? I was super stoked to get the utmost clean today. The thing is, I just really like washing my hair every day. So, like, maybe I'm just gonna do that for the rest of my life. It seems like I just should.

Current state of the quaff. Dizz and I saw Aidy Bryant last week. She ordered "root beer for the table."

And you know that when the truth is told

you can do what you want or you can just get old.

*The funny thing is I really am very glad I spent three years getting an MFA. It's chill, things will happen.