The show consisted of short stories told through dramatization, and song, intertwined with scenes of me writing at my desk, finding the words.
Flash forward a year, and I am here, at my desk still finding the words. The enduring display of life imitating art and vice versa -it’s what makes my life worth living - this mirroring.
In a year’s time, I have been to Alaska and back, fallen in love, out of love, into depression, started a podcast, rescued a dog, climbed my way out of depression, and gone back to school to earn my Masters in Teaching.
As 2020 has thickened the plot, throwing this virus in our path, I won’t be performing for a live audience again, not for a while.
I’ll shelf my actor self, she can look down on me crying, like a melo-dramatic elf.
I’ll allow my memoir to come to me in real time here on the blog, not as an old woman dying in bed, rattling off old tales to the youngins.Though I hope to still be writing to my death.
I will be writing to my life.
To my life
that I’m still creating day by day.
To my life that feels contained by school
but untamed by a pandemic-ridden society.
To my life
where I hope to help another;
a student, a colleague, a friend
cherish there's a little more
beside my words.