Are They Fighting the Same Beast?

Wherever the Wind Takes Me

"He made the moon to mark the seasons; the sun knows its time for setting." Psalm 104:19

Its cold. But not the bitter cold of the hallmark holidays are upon us cold. But the kind of cold that reminds you that they're near. And the cold that says time waits for no one.

But that's a new notion. Not one you are acutely aware of when caught up in back to school shopping trips and bags of stale candy corn. That frightful realization that time paces itself under a different set of rules and doesn't keep track of closet turnovers and the warm return of pumpkin spice lattes. The cold I feel now takes me back to a place of ache, that chilling and obvious feeling of anticipation. To be prepared for something.

But what?

Funny thing about living in a city where millions of round the worlders come to visit is that those of us waking and working don't go to the top of the Statue of liberty, take in the view from Empire State, or skate under 30 Rocks shadow. We are not spending our days accumulating SoHo shopping bags, our sunsets sippping on a Hudson tour or our evenings warming the orchestra seats of the the Lion King.

Giving God the Glory and the thanks to dramatic television, I view New York City with an intimate and unconventional lens.

This morning I lie on my back in the most secluded corner of sensational Central Park hidden from the eyes of 110th street and amongst the radiant warm colors of another year drawing nearer to end. Props has brought in a few fake trees they position around me. Their green waxy surface will be out of place in one week's time. The last time I was in the park, the forsythia lit up the walk.

The yellow crime scene tape flaps against the oaks. And electric scrambles up ladders strategically positioned out of the shot. The producer pulls on his collar as the timecards and budget rack up.

We're chasing the sun again. It passes over the island so much earlier these days. We never catch it.

A stiff breeze sends the clouds across the October sky and rustles the weeping Willow's limbs. And I wonder what else the wind will rush in.

Do you ever feel like time is running out?*

Qaddafi's did.

The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

"Making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is." Ephesians 5:16-17

A record 15 hours locked on the fourth floor of an abandoned psych ward amongst rubber helmet patients, checking for stains on moldy love seats in isolation rooms is disturbing enough.

But the fact that I am so depleted by nights end, I rob you of the pleasure of reading the full disclosure reminiscent of One Flew Over a Cuckoo's Nest and all its maniacal details is just a shame.

Memo for tomorrow...

I will write on set.

I will write on set.

I will write on set.

I will. I will.

Pass the Peace Pipe

"Great peace have those who love your law; nothing can make them stumble." Psalm 119:65

Maybe the multiple stabbings in my neighborhood won't make me stumble but could encourage me to flee home....>>

Is His strength your solace?

A (Back)ground Actor's Life For Me

A few of our friends telling it just like it is.
Behold, the glamorous life....

Sign of the Times

Sad but true...>>

Sticktoitivness

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us."Hebrews 12:1

Sick and Tired.

I'm not talking about the coughing, hacking, sneezing, hollow eyed mid week MTA commuters.

Sick and tired is how I describe my swollen face, blood shot eyes, stuffy head, and weak and sore limbs. Just hung up with my casting agent. For the next 16 days, NBC Universal will be shooting three episodes in pure chaos tandem. Translating into double overtime. Resulting in mental and physical exhaustion.

I lie on the table this seasonably cold and dismal rainy night, as a former EMT in Harlem during the crack epidemic sticks needles into every one of my closed gates and manipulates them until my muscles spasm and spread shock waves through my tense body.

It's my therapy.

And my therapist says my skin, body, and brain are whacked out for two reasons:

Exposure: (ie New York does not agree with me and I should get the hell out)

or

Expression:(ie New York does not agree with me and I should get the hell out)

He also mentions post traumatic stress syndrome as another theory....My wrists both pop from the pressure and I close my eyes and feel the soft raft underneath my body float gently on top of the salty Caribbean.

Where it all (husband met, best friend murdered, secrets kept, Wachovia sued, money stolen, home lost, security suffered) started.

As he pulled the sharp points from the tips of my ears, I coherently decided that here (where I ultimately fled) is where it will end.

"Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are." Chinese Proverb

What's with the holding on?