Are you there, God? It's me, Fiona.

I remember, when I was doing the callbacks for "Hairspray" how happy I was, yet it was this half-longing kind of thing. I knew I was almost there, but I wasn't quite, and something was missing, my Link, in a sense. And now I've found him.
But does that mean a happy ending? I am now watching a youtube video of "I Know It's Today" from "Shrek, the Musical". Yet another song about finding "the one" or the "one that will appear". These musical fantasies are really far fetched. I mean, that's what you would think.
I found a wonderful man. But is that all there is? I think it's one amazing part of life, but the idea that the perfect man for you will make your entire life complete is a story, a fairytale, a fable. I'm not saying that Pierre hasn't made me a better woman and I am not madly in love with him. But I think you also have to have self-satisfaction. I mean, in the sense, that you have to live for yourself and your dreams, as well as you and your partner's dreams. I'm starting to understand the dreams that he and I have together. But, what I thought was so clear, my own dreams, are really a murky mess.
I wanted to be on stage, and to sing in front of the whole world, but when it got down to it, I just couldn't handle, couldn't do that kind of life, and I had to be realistic. Running around NYC on a wing and a prayer, hoping that maybe, out of hundreds of thousands of girls with more talent and training than I have, I might get a lead in a broadway show was a joke. It was a joke. I wasn't ready emotionally, mentally or physically for that kind of responsibility. I could barely handle a dramatic lead in college. It's funny, how dreams change and shift when you get older. It's not that I've given up, or sold out, or any of those cliches I used to think. It's that I know myself more. Even if I had lost however many pounds it would've taken, I still didn't have the dancing ability or the really high belt it would've taken to get that part. I just wasn't good enough. And admitting that is really hard. At least it's really hard for me. I spent my youth thinking that all I was, was someone who had talent. I didn't value me, for me, at all. I didn't think that as a person I was worthy of anything, whether it be happiness or success. I internalized my anger and took it out on my body that was already suffering because I was so heavy. That was not fair of me to do.
I wondered why people would look at me funny, and it was not only because I was heavy, but it was because I so obviously didn't like myself. And I've seen it in others and it's a hard thing to watch, someone who doesn't like his or herself.
I don't know if I like myself now, but at least I know myself more. I know where my weaknesses and strengths lie. Am I ever going to be on Broadway? No. Am I ever going to audition for a show again? Sure, why not? There's no harm in trying. Will I ever be Tracy Turnblad? No, I'm too old and inexperienced for that now. But I never really wanted to be Tracy anyway. I wanted to be famous, and that was just a vehicle for becoming famous. I always wanted to be, what I am now, in a sense. A girl with a warm, loving heart, who has a wonderful family, a husband, wonderful friends, and is an academic, working towards a career to be proud of. So, through all of the beating myself up about, why I didn't do this or that, or audition for this, or lose that weight, I sit here as a I am. I'm a short, chubby, Jewish girl from New Jersey. I don't have any regrets. I have enjoyed all of this.
Do I need to change some things about my life? I sure do. Do I need to change who I am? I don't think so.

Classification/DeClassification/

I love how we build up walls and we knock down buildings, and we all think we're so damn smart. My professor of this class, is very thorough, but she throws out judgments of situations like she's God, and I don't know how I would take her as an administrator if I were a parent. It's not a death wish if your kid has a disability. It is actually good, because your kid can get help.. But people don't realize it, and they are so afraid of difference.
It's as small as the fact that I'm wearing blue nail polish- this girl must be a freak
to acceptance in the oddest ways
engagement ring and wedding ring on- oh you're married
so you won't end up as a cat lady all alone
whew
relief
people are so funny
i never, looked at other women's fingers to see if they were married or not, and never equated it with status or who the person was
now people look at me and think they know me because i'm married
just like people think they know someone because he or she has a certain disability
sometimes you wonder if people will think of you differently because of a nail polish color or a dress size, but i almost feel liberated in a sense, now that i'm married, if i want to let my freak flag fly (satc ref) I do, becausse i don't have any man to impress or woman to judge me,
i have a husband who loves me, an don the whole a good life
and a lot to be grateful for
so i don't know what my classification would be but i think
on the whole
things are ok
and that's the best diagnosis i think i could get

Room To Write Response 1 - I Don't Remember

There is a wonderful book that is a guide for writers called, Room To Write, by Bonni Goldberg. I'm going to use it as a springboard to get myself back writing again. So, here is the first prompt I will try to tackle, let's see how this goes.

"Begin with the phrase, 'I don't remember' and fill up a page. If you draw a blank at any point repeat the phrase in writing, until something else forms in your consciousness. Notice what non-memories emerge: are they the same themes you often write about? If no0t, further explore one of the new ones"

"Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door"-Emily Dickinson

I don't remember what my Papa's voice sounds like. I remember snapshots taken by my parents and put into old brown photo albums that live on the shelf in my mother's living room. I remember the feel of his hands, almost like worn-in sandpaper, with a comfortable strength about them. I remember that he was gentle. Or is that what everyone told me? I can't remember his voice, or his thick, German accent that my Grandma, at ninety-something, still has. It bothers me that I can't remember his voice, because I'd like to hear it right now. I'm getting married in seven days and I'm scared. I don't know what the future will bring, and I wish I had some wisdom from the past to help me put things in perspective. I remember Nanny's voice, and Natalie's, but not his. And I really wish I did, because I think he would have a lot of good insight and wise words for me, and in general. I would want to ask him questions. What was it like losing your profession? How did you meet Grandma? What made you fall in love with her? What was my father like as a little boy? Did you love my mother as much as she loved you? Joanne has such vivid memories and stories about Max. How does she keep them alive? How does one keep memories from fading? Is it a series of repeated excercises, done daily, like Pilates, or stomach crunches? Is it a matter of rehashing the past so often that it sits in your stomach like a rock that can't be moved? I don't remember what my Papa's voice sounds like, and it makes me angry. I don't remember what my Papa's voice sounds like, and it makes me resentful. Why do people die as single units? To leave someone else alone? Why can't we go in pairs, peacefully, in our sleep? I know that the world is not neat and tidy like that. I know it can't be wrapped up with a bow and placed in a box. But, for once, I wish there was some certainty in my life.