Time out!

My computer is fired. I packed up the ole laptop earlier, excited to go to my new favorite place to sit and write for a good part of the day (it's easier without the distractions intrinsic in my habitat). I stopped for lunch at La Med and then sheepishly walked into Lululemon to treat myself to some new exercise clothes. Perhaps not the most intelligent thing to do while jobless and living off of savings and borrowed money, but I have started exercising every day and need some workout clothes that don't have the frailty and appearance of something you might see on your favorite San Francisco bum. I've never been one to spend much on clothes so you can imagine how little I opt to spend on exercise garb. Well, not today... today I am the proud owner of two brand spankin' new Lululemon items (and, by the way, I might hit you up for a small loan later this week). I mean good GOD. How do they get away with those prices? (She asks, stroking her new shirt and nestling her face into the impossibly soft waistband of her new pants - like a child, newly reunited with her blanky after mom so rudely washed it... but I digress.) After breaking the bank with Lulu I headed to the aforementioned new favorite place.

I have been a long time fan of a particular coffee shop in San Francisco, and I found out many months ago that they were opening one in Berkeley. I rejoiced. Shortly thereafter I stopped drinking coffee and forgot all about it... until Sunday. It was a lazy morning, and I was laying in bed thinking that I might treat myself to a decaf (lots of treats this week, apparently), but the only place I wanted to go was Philz in The Mission. I was getting ready to make the trip when I remembered the new Berkeley location. I was so excited I skipped down the street and broke out into an impromptu song that went something like this, "Philz Philz Philz Philz Philz Philz Phiiiiiiiiiiilz." Well, it's difficult to convey melody over the computer but, trust me, it was brilliant. I ordered my decaf swiss water something-or-other and headed up to use the restroom, and when I reached the landing I could hardly contain my excitement. This was going to be my new writing place. The walls are alternately red, yellow and khaki with art hanging everywhere, there's an upright piano in the corner of what looks like it could be a stage (if they cleared off the tables currently residing there), three couches, a couple comfy chairs and a bunch of small dark wooden tables with mismatched chairs. Over in one corner is a long communal table with high-backed, regal-looking chairs complete with velour seats. I love it.

So when I left my house earlier today with my laptop in tow, I planned on an afternoon at Philz to commence my new writing tradition. I found a spot at the communal table, took out my computer and rescued it from hibernation. First on the agenda was my next blog entry. I had already written a substantial portion of it so it wouldn't take long, but as I opened my computer the Philz free wifi function kicked in, and my computer went and lost what I'd written. It's supposed to back it up every few seconds (which it is successfully doing right now) and I'm not sure what went wrong, but what I do know is that I have to start over. Fired, I say. Or... maybe just a time out. And now, back to the topic at hand...

After rehearsal, I stayed seated as people hustled and bustled around me. Someone had brought fresh-picked tomatoes from her garden, there was birthday cake for one of the writers, and a general sense of mingling was in the air -the energy in the room was electric but I couldn't bring myself to match it. I guess you could say I was sulking; I really felt like I'd just given the worst first impression ever. A couple people came over and, having seen me in Singin' in the Rain, started singin' my praises. I thanked them for their kind words, but instead of being positive and grateful that they'd seen me in something other than tonight's sub-par performance, in my head I was thinking, "Well I certainly didn't live up to your expectations then, did I?" I am quite sure I was being unnecessarily hard on myself but that's where my head was, at that moment in time. I was suddenly motivated to get out of my seat when I saw that the tomato ration was dwindling. I wanted to get in on that action. I plucked a wax baggie off the table and dropped a handful of light orangish tomatoes into it. (I snacked on them for a few days to come and they were scrumptious - totally made it worth getting off my sulky ass.) The room emptied out and the production meeting started so Andy and I sat on the sidelines talking quietly amongst ourselves. About 10 or fifteen minutes later I saw, in my periphery, the production meeting starting to disperse. My stomach turned upside-down, my breathing became shallow and my blood pressure shot up to the moon. I wasn't doing anything wrong - it's not like I was about to tell a big lie to get out of a nasty situation or anything of that nature - but my body was responding as if I was coming face to face with Certain Death.

The meeting ended and the director turned his attention to me. I took a deep breath and with a slight nervous shake in my voice (perceptible only to me, I'm sure) I explained the situation - what I'd been dealing with and going through with my throat and my voice and my health. I tried to be thorough but concise and, as part of the explanation I said, "I held back tonight," to which he responded, "I could tell." Like I said, terrible first impression. The monologue continued and I concluded with, "I don't know if there's a way to do the show and take care of my voice, but-"

"No," he replied, "there's not, it's not worth it. The most important thing for you to do right now is take care of yourself. There will be other shows." In that moment I felt as if every cell in my body let out a giant sigh of relief. Andy chimed in and reminded me that he'd recruited me to audition because he liked my work, but it had been over a year since he'd seen me in a show. "Don't worry, you're not going anywhere!" Andy said. I was trying to hang on to the project because I wanted to do it, but also because I was worried about the consequences of dropping out. I was reassured that my absence for this show did not mean eternal absence - my future with the company was not in jeopardy - and suddenly there was nothing to decide, it was clear what I had to do. I thanked the director for being so blunt and decisive about it, and I joked about trying to hang on to the show by a thread. They both commented on how much easier it was to see the answer when you weren't in the middle of it. I agreed. I still felt bad for not being able to do the show, but I left feeling like the right decision was made - especially since "holding back" isn't really in my vocabulary and, knowing me, attempts at saving my voice while doing a show like that would have been futile. I was simply going to have to take a time out... from everything. I quit the show and I quit my day job. The only thing left to do is heal.