I wrote this two weeks ago

Sometimes I think the world is too much. Too wrong, too broken, too full of things I can’t fix but can’t forget.

This January has been rough for people. It is cold and it is dark. My friends, a lot of them, are sad. My brother is sad. My step-father is sad. If I spend too much time thinking I get sad too.

I read something and I carry it with me for days and often weeks. So sometimes I won’t read the news. I won’t check my messages. I won’t call my family. I won’t call my friends. I won’t return e-mails. I’ll show up for work and I’ll go to rehearsal, but mostly I’ll spend a lot of time in bed - a trick for surviving I learned once upon a time.

Things are just slightly too much so I’ve spent a lot of time napping and I’m behind: on e-mails, phone calls, travel plans, taxes, friends, sleep. I feel a little more alone than I’d like and I feel a lot more alone than I am.

Life is easier when it is warmer, when the weather isn’t trying to kill you. When your toes don’t feel like marbles rolling around in your boots and you are not worried about how you have totally lost them forever. Life is kinder when Mother Nature herself is not reminding you how powerful she is, and how you are just the jam on that toddler’s hands and not only can be easily wiped away but probably should else the kid will get a rash, or maybe get some on that nice white couch.

This place, Minneapolis, is the wrong place and the right place for me. Far from family but close to friends. In winter it is a struggle to live here. It is warm somewhere but I am not making dances there, and Theresa and Tara are not there. So here we are.