Hello, old friends

Between two incredibly long show runs, moving, and general life shenanigans, I have neglected this blog that means so much to me. I wondered if perhaps it had run it’s course. Not that my trans narrative will ever end, but perhaps this chapter of my writing had drawn to a close. Recently, a dear new friend discovered my blog and reminded me just how important this story is.

So now I’m graduated and gainfully employed twice over. In the moments between stage managing and theatre marketing I will make time to report, engage and inform. Promise.

At present, there is a violent storm raging in the beautiful city of Lexington, KY. My new wireless connectivity is enabling me to write as my childhood memories of not being allowed to use my desktop during storms is keeping my butt on the couch. Memories from a beautiful evening with a kindred spirit are sifting through my brain out from the weight of an unnerving voicemail I chose to play while driving home this morning. It seems fitting that a reminder of so much stress and turmoltuous history would surface on a day like this. It is a dark and stormy morning, after all.

But that’s what writing is for, no? Stormy mornings and busy minds. I have always chosen to write to process my emotions – to unearth the truth hidden beneath my waking mind. Words flow like the rain that washes over the eaves of my farmhouse green roof, splashing into being on contact with the ground, returning to the soil from which it sprang. Organic artistry.

I wax vague. The lasting pain of emotional abuse sits in my heart while new love and warmth encourages the healing process. I realize that I never fully reported the way my last relationship raveled and exploded to a finish. If you know me in real life, you mostly know the story, but I mention it here to say, as of recent inspection and testing, the cracked foundations are being repaired. The patience I have shown myself and the grace of others has drawn me back together but is by no means a finished process. There are, however, times like last night that hold such contrast to these twinges of regress which light the way. In the mean time, in between time, I have my words and the infinite sky above. To new tomorrows. Onwards and upwards.


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