#21- YOU'RE NOWHERE...'TIL YOU ARE

I see people. Deeply. It gets me in trouble. I can sit in the subway and stare at a person while my face magically morphs into theirs. My sister hates it. I don't even realize I'm doing it. It's out of worship...not imitation.

When people talk to me I very often become too interested in what they're saying, or rather the look in their eyes, and want to dig deeper. Figure them out. Hook in. I'm not good at"light chit chat" . On the outside I look like a strong responsible woman. Maybe someones Mom. Maybe a wife...but maybe not. I brush my teeth and go to work and try to make my life flexible for sudden opportunities. What opportunities exactly I'm not quite sure. But sudden. Sudden opportunities.

I'm a VP, a founding partner, and an award winner. I have a family who loves me and a healthy dog and I get up at 7am every morning. I have a turtle. I teach, I act, I host, I produce. My resume is ridiculously long and intriguing and I don't have to be anywhere at any time unless I say so.

When I feel most alive I am zooming down the dark streets of the city, on my way to a late night performance. My $10 imitation Prada bag is packed with fake glasses or a long pink ballerina dress and my guitar is slung over my arm. My blood pumps for the unknown. The people of the night. The artists who tell the truth in the dark rooms of the lower east side. They don't speak of day jobs. They don't speak of families. They don't even ask. It's like being suspended in a moment in time where they city sleeps and you're suddenly given a few precious and secret hours to do what you're supposed to do.

Art. Truth. Raw and real work. Whatever it is. The kind that makes you walk a bit faster and fly down the subway stairs like you have wings.That's what I'm here for.

It's warm. The air of New York allowed me to glide though my day today like Spring. From one thing to another. Bouncing off the buildings like a great big bubble. I was able to enjoy a bit of this due to my commitment to action as I navigate through this period of backbreaking work.

I've created several careers for myself in the name of art. Yet how many of them ever stood out to me as a career as much as acting? None really I thought..until now. As I'm face to face with a TV show that is a combination of the four careers I have pursued the most- acting, comedy, teaching, and real estate. What a miracle really. I'm told it's my show and how active I am in terms of the way it comes out. Makes sense in a way. I mean who else has this combination of experience? Who else could do it if not me? Crazy people. That's who.

Somehow it all seems to fall into place. The many jobs. Just catching enough sleep is a blessing. So is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Amazing how you can sometimes suspend in air during the transitions we endure. Just barely hanging on. Not even. Just letting your fingers glide up the walls as you rise..praying for no bumps.

But there are bumps. Big bumps. I'm bad with bumps. I go along and there are so many more responsibilities, management of time, and keeping track of everyone's damn name and why I'm talking to them. It's overwhelming and comical and horrifying. I can see why the few friends of mine that have gained any celebrity have simply disappeared. For fear of appearing to be a blundering idiot. This is why people have personal assistants. To keep them from looking like fools. That's it. What a job.I know a couple of personal assistants and they are very good at what they do..but I'm onto them.

I tend to focus on the bumps more than the slippery slopes of easy town. My sister Becky points out to me all of the good things I have going at the moment and I laugh. Its like my resume. How can this all be real? But it is...and life is harder than ever. I hate people who say things like that. But I mean it.

I have had to cut down on social life completely. I need sleep and I don't need alcohol. I need water and moisturizer for this Irish skin of mine. I need coffee. I need to play with my dog every day. I need to stay organized as the papers pile up and each one is so darn important.

I spoke with a publicist the other day about all of my various endeavors. She told me I don't have time to publicize any of it. She's right. I need a publicist. Its not fancy. It's survival.

Pass the brie please, Madonna.

#20- BLESSED UNREST

Nine stories down the sidewalk squeals with a twenty something woman and some goofy guy she clearly has a crush on. I got an unexpected call last night from someone who wants another chance...or maybe the first official opportunity he has to take a chance with me. Funny. I just finished a song about him but was only able to write it once I thought that chance had passed. Maybe it was just waiting to spring up on me. Dunno. Something to noodle about.

A computer in the other room makes sounds resembling politicians in the bottom of a tin bucket and I am suddenly so aware of the undying sounds of this city. It never ends. I wrote here on my bed earlier to the familiar rapping of a jackhammer in the apartment upstairs. The steady confusion growing in my brain as I tried to prepare for the gazillionth class I've taught this past month. Why must they jackhammer a floor just so they can raise the rent to ten thousand a month which nobody in their right mind should be spending if they are lucky enough to have it...particularly now. When I say ten thousand I am not kidding. That's how much it will be and the sick woman who pleasures herself with the title "landlord" can put yet another notch on her bed post. Three lemons in a row. Again. Some corporation will pay it for the six months when some disillusioned family transfers here from Chicago. Then the family will run somewhere they can afford groceries.

I have a stack of books on Buddhism. Another stack on stand up comedy. Oddly they all go together in this unofficial Masters Degree I've concocted for myself. The ffinish line will hopefully leave my bills paid, my heart beating at a normal pace, and callouses as thick as leather boots. I can't seem to read any of these books at the pace I deem necessary not to fall off the rope I'm clinging to with every ounce of strength I have.

One night I took myself out of my rat race to Penny's Open Mic. It was a treat for me. I hadn't been there in two months and the emails began to trail off. Uh oh! I'd missed too many weeks and was slowly fading from their fabric...or so I thought. I arrived and was pleased to be there but had a different head set on. I'd committed to doing a piece I hadn't done in years. Short and hilarious. Just how I like it. Penny is a dream and puts me up in the fourth spot so I can leave early and sleep like the ol' lady I've become. So much of being there is simply about being there. I watch the performers deeply and watch the audience as well.

John Murdock's family was there. Incredible. I thought they were there for Thanksgiving. They were there to celebrate his two year anniversary of being sober. I met his sister for a brief moment. Beautiful blond, newly engaged. Clearly overly excited to see her brother perform. Very thrilled to see Penny...who is dating John. I could tell she thinks Penny is super cool. In a way a young newly engaged woman would feel about Miss Lower East Side. I saw so much in just a minute or two. Could they see me see them? I felt privileged. Penny and John. People I want to keep knowing.

After my set a woman came up to me while I waited to enter to bathroom. She said, "Great set. You know...this is fine...but you really outta make something of yourself". I looked at her. I was in the Twilight Zone. I wasn't sure what to say. I said, "I'm filming my own TV show Friday". She paused, "That's good....but you really outta make something of yourself". I turned around and entered the tiny bathroom which suddenly became my Nirvana.

Things are shifting. Money is staying in peoples pockets. People are moving in together to save themselves. I ate a meat pie for a buck fifty today. We are peeling back the onion skin to reveal the raw. We don't believe we could be headed for ruin, yet we could be...maybe...maybe revolution. Maybe a surprise. Maybe Obama is Santa Clause and all of this was a dream. My mother is 65 and I want her to be done with teaching. She's done her duty and it's time for her to write and have a house in Cape Cod.

I grasp onto the ideas of THE SECRET fully. Lets all do that. Even if you think it's bullshit. Lets tell the universe we are ready to receive abundance. All of it. Lets make something of ourselves.