And Life Goes On.

I'm in rehearsals for Standing O Productions' Mr. Marmalade; a disturbing play about a young girl and her imaginary friend. I just got cast, officially, in their next production as well, Tracers, in which I play a drill sergeant and a hippie medic. The same actor doubles in the roles which is why I wanted to do it, it'll be a challenging show.
The job search goes on. I have applied for several jobs online, and a few in the area. I am officially unemployed now and anxious to see what will happen next. I could end up in a school, telecommuting from home, bartending again, or selling cookware locally. I'm not sure if teaching is what I want to do for the rest of my life?
(What does that even mean?)
I'm not sure what I want to do with the rest of our time here in Maryland. We still plan on moving back to Chicago, so anything I find now will probably be temporary. In the meantime, we'll live life and do what we can.

W O W!

So let me get this straight. The man sold the majority of the stocks to a competitor and now years later the businesses merge and he's shown the door? He started this company, built it from the ground up with his own blood, sweat and tears and now they hand him a severance check and tell him to hit the road? He screwed so many people over the years, stepped on so many toes, and stabbed so many backs but now it seems he may have gotten his comeuppance?

Too bad for him - BUT it makes me smile. I'm sorry that the man got a raw deal, and has lost the company he fought so hard for but at the same time I personally didn't like him too much. i watched him belittle, and disrespect too many of his employees to actually feel pity for the man.

A Surprise.

Sara and I had made plans to stay in the city Saturday night. We were going to visit an Italian Festival up in Baltimore, meet up with some friends, and go see a band play in Fells Point. We had planned ahead and our very nice friends invited us to crash at their house in the city. So we pack our bags in anticipation of the trip.

Our luggage, it should be mentioned, belonged to my mother and recently were given to us by my father. They're Vera Bradley! Apparently, that's a big deal. They're not to my tastes but they were a gift.

Sara discovers in a pocket of one of the bags a silver chain necklace. It was still in its package. She also found a pair of my mother's bifocal sunglasses. We soon realized that the last time this luggage had been used my parents, and maybe my Aunt & Uncle, visited Mexico for a cruise. The chain was a souvenir my mother had purchased on her last vacation.

My dad chuckled when I told him of the necklace. "Yeah, " he says, "We bought that as a thank you gift for the dog-sitter. Your mother had been looking for that necklace for months. It was driving her crazy." Sara and I laughed, too.

Knowing my mom I can imagine her scrambling through the house, and berating herself for her own forgetfulness, or as she liked to call it her 'chemo brain'. It made me smile to recall one of my mother's funny little habits - of misplacing things. I couldn't help but hearing her laughter in my head as I imagined myself teasing her again for her senility. She would laugh, tell me to leave her alone and then, more than likely, blow a raspberry in my direction.

My Dreams As Of Late

The anxiety from being unemployed at the end of the month, and having no medical insurance seeps into my unconsciousness every now and then.
The last book I read was called Neverwhere and was about a subterranean culture beneath the streets of London and that definitely flavored my dreams for a few nights.
Yesterday while Sara was having her procedure done I started reading Miracle In The Andes: 72 Days on the Mountain and My Long Trek Home. Sure enough last night I dreamt I was in a plane crash in the mountains, luckily, without Ethan Hawke.
The funniest thing about my dreams lately is that my Mom is still so prevalent. Half the time it isn't until I awaken that I realize I was even dreaming about her in the first place. Then I feel disappointed that I didn't pay more attention to her while I was in the dream. Other times I try to focus on her presence in the dreams and then suddenly, my reality interferes and she can only smile at me lovingly, but is unable to speak. I become obsessed with talking to her but she can't and then I realize it's because she's passed away. Then the dream dissolves into something else or my eyes open briefly to stare at my ceiling as I try to hold on to the fading dream.

Wondering

I haven't felt much like writing lately. It happens.

This time's different, however. This time it isn't because nothing exciting has happened - plenty of things have happened this Summer. This time it isn't because I'm feeling ambivalent about life - lately I've been having pretty strong feelings about a variety of topics. It isn't because I haven't had the time - Facebook, and certain porn sites could attest to the amount of time I've spent online lately. This time is different.

When I started this blog I had 2 reasons. 1 was to write a blog, just write when I wanted to write and not worry about where it was going or what it meant. The 2nd reason, as I've stated before, was to communicate with family and friends on a semi-regular basis. I could update my blog and they could check in whenever convenient and read about what I was doing. It worked.

My best friend might comment on a funny observation I had made in my blog. My older brother might ask me about a comment I made in a post. My wife may come home, sign in and read about what her man had been doing all day when he should've been cleaning the house. My mother could and would religiously check up on her middle son and his exploits.

And that's why I haven't been writing, I think. Since my mother passed away I haven't really felt like blogging. I was tempted to write a few thoughts on death, Cancer, her Memorial Service, I even contemplated putting posting my eulogy from that service. I didn't do any of that. Not because I think it's cheesy. Not because I think it would cheapen the memories. No, but maybe because it didn't seem worth it if she couldn't read this anymore. She was my most avid reader. Mom supported most any creative project I could come up with.

When she was in the hospital this last time - before it got ugly, before the ICU - I went in to visit her 1 day. She'd been in for a couple days, the doctors were trying to find a way to help her with her breathing, and she was getting a little cabin fever. I brought her a copy of a short story that I had written for a contest recently. It wasn't anything special. I hadn't written it specifically to cheer her up, or to send a message to her or anything. She would often read my writings. Some she liked. Some she didn't like as much. Some she loved, and some she may have not gotten at all. If I handed her a stack of papers she would make time to read them. I don't know if she ever got a chance to read my last story. She went into ICU sometime the following night. She may not have had time, been able to focus, or even cared to read a silly story while laying in that bed. I'm sure she had other pressing matters, but part of me would like to believe that she had a chance to flip through the pages, that she read through the story and may have even chuckled at the ending. I'll never know if she read that story.

She'll never read any of my writings again, and that makes me sad beyond words. That is why I haven't been writing. My Mom would want me to continue. She would want me to keep updating my family, keep posting on my blog, and keep up with all of my creative projects. She would want me to write. So I will.