he (chekhov) insisted it (the cherry orchard) was a comedy.

{myself as anya with our lovely varya in chautauqua theatre co's production of the cherry orchard directed by ethan mcsweeny}

i went to look it up the other day.

the scene from the cherry orchard that i can't stop thinking about.

and there it was. page 382 of the plays of anton chekhov (the paul schmidt translation).

it's about ten lines long. takes up half the page.

it looks like nothing, this scene.

and yet, that was the scene that brought me to the wings each night. that was the scene i couldn't bear to miss.

the proposal. or rather the not proposal.

you see lopakhin goes in to propose to varya (who knows he's coming in to propose to her) and yet, it just, doesn't. happen.

but it's so full. the scene is so pregnant with the space around the words. with possibility. promise.

and so i would watch each night. from offstage. knowing how it would end. and yet hoping that maybe this time--maybe this time it might go just a little bit differently. that if varya turns around just a little bit sooner or if the final line comes just a little bit later--that it could all end... better.

i remember saying to the lovely gentleman who played our lopakhin (and who i was just ever so slightly, oh you know, just a little bit, in love with) just this once, actually do it. just this once propose, and let's see what happens.

and yet he didn't. he couldn't. and the emptiness that immediately follows the unimaginable fullness of those ten-or-so lines broke my heart night. after. night.

i've been doing this recently. standing in the wings of my own memories. watching the scenes replay. attempting to find the one variation that might just change it all. and thinking that if i can just get the actor playing yasha to call out for lopakhin a little bit later (or whatever my equivalent of that is) perhaps...

but chekhov was a genius. he knew what he was doing. and so i'm gonna choose now, in this moment, to trust that.

post-secret follow up

I thought the end of Ned would be like getting hit by a dump truck, in the best possible way.

It would be a moment--one, single moment--that would knock me on my ass (or damn near kill me {as long as we're going with the dump truck metaphor}) and literally change my life forever. That was the best-case-scenario--that was what I prayed for. 

I'm starting to think it's not going to be anything like that. I'm starting to think it's happening now. And will take a very, very long time. A life, if you will. But it will not be my life--it will simply be one part of it. The end of Ned is a gradual coming to--an ascent into consciousness, the compilation of countless near-obvious realizations.

And I'm starting to think that this whole Ned thing...well, maybe there's a reason it's happened--happening.

For those of you who've read The Time Traveler's Wife, do you remember the scene where (bear with me I've loaned the book out so I have to paraphrase) Clare at twenty has just begun dating Henry. And they're at some club and she wanders off to go to the bathroom and runs into Henry of the future (the Henry she's known all her life--the Henry she grew up with) and she says to him, I miss you, I wish you were the one who was here right now--I don't know this other person. And in return he says, but who you are--this time you spend with the twenty-eight year old Henry is what makes me who I am today--the man you do love so much. I need you Clare. Do you remember this part? I'm absolutely butchering the poetry of it all but I'm just trying to make a point. 

Well, for better of for worse Ned is shaping me. He has made me who I am today. And he is creating the woman my Henry will one day fall in love with. Yes, there was a time when Ned made me unbelievably selfish, unbelievably unreliable and unbelievably unkind. But that time has passed. And for the first time in my life I'm beginning to think that I am, actually, quite strong. 

Now, let's be clear, I am not romanticizing Ned. Ned is bad. Very, very bad. I wouldn't wish Ned on anyone. Ned robbed me of whole years of my life--countless would-be memories. But I am making the choice to be thankful for how I am now responding to 

So, remember this post? Well, my post-secret really was what was written on the card, but there was more--I promised you more and I never delivered on it.

Well, okay, here goes:

About a month ago I decided to stop acting. Not for a long. Just a year. Maybe two. I was having a near impossible time reconciling Ned with the audition process. And I knew as long as Ned is an ever present force in the room with me, I'll never be able to give it a proper go. And I want to give acting a proper go. But I need acting to be my decision. I need to come to it when I am ready--not simply because it's the next step on some pre-prescribed path.

I think I scared my parents. I think they're afraid I won't go back. What I tried to explain to them is I will. That in my gut I believe this is actually the best decision I can make for the future.

And so now I have a year to fail brilliantly and make impossible mistakes. And all I want to do is travel. I have nothing tying me down, so what better time is there?

So I'm looking into teaching English abroad and while I've surreptitiously gathered information from a few of you (thanks girls!), if anyone else cares to weigh in on the subject...well, by all means.

Phew, now that I've gotten all of that out of my system, maybe words will come a bit easier now.

 

quote found at this little blog

which i've just discovered and

am falling in love with

25 before 25

Inspired by the amazing Carolyn over at My Thirty Before 30 Journey, I decided to make my own list. I said I needed a change? Well, it's in my hands to make it happen. My half birthday is April 4, so I have a year and a half to begin these--to make them a priority. I've lost sight of how much fun goals can be (I say this now, we'll see how I feel three months, six months, a year from now {though I have a feeling I'm going to love these--how hard some of them are--how much of a challenge they'll present})

1. take a trip abroad

2. read 25 new books

3. fall in love with running

4. give up soda and coffee (and yes, that mean's saying goodbye to starbucks)

5. figure out how to get some swimming into my life

6. host a dinner party

7. finally start a book club (stop talking about it and just do it)

8. get a job that i truly love (even if it's only temporary)

9. see the elephants walk through manhattan

10. see the yankees play in the new stadium

11. explore and document different nyc neighborhoods

12. write a little. every day. stretch those creative muscles.

13. choose 15 of shakespeare's great female monologues. disect them. figure them out.

14. speak a little poetry--a little shakespeare out loud every day

15. improve my spanish speaking skills

16. stop buying tabloid magazines

17. unleash my inner fashion mavin

18. lower my cholesterol

19. figure out what my happy weight is

20. eat at least five fruits and veggies each day

21. treat my body with the respect it deserves 

22. get my finances in order

23. become a real--working--professional actor

24. say goodbye to ned. for good.

25. fall in love

What would you put on your list? Do you all have any suggestions?

i hate when people use their headshot as their profile pic for facebook. hate it.

But because you all gave me insight into what top I should wear, I thought I'd show you the end result. And since it's not on facebook, I'm not one of those people that I dislike so much, right?

Oh and the top that won out? Well, I got it for $7 the day of at H&M. Go figure.

I like this photo because I think it looks just like me and it captures my energy (well my energy devoid of all my neurosis). 

What do you think? I'm a lucky girl to know Joseph Moran (he took the photos), no?

The quest for the perfect top to wear in my headshot. OR...an outlet in which to place all my neurotic, unfortunate, uncomfortable, ridiculous thought

s. Thougts, that is. The title of this post got so long that google blogger wouldn't let me finish it. I like that. Maybe all my post titles should be that long. A little act of rebellion on my blog's part.

Okay, so I've been going a little batty. When I first signed with my agent (or rather, just before) he ooohed and ahhhed over my headshots taken by the oh-so-lovely-and-talented Joseph Moran (did you see the New York Magazine cover with Caroline Kennedy {it was a month or so back just after she pulled out of the race}? He did that). 

The following picture is one that Joseph took in January of 2008. For some reason it's the only one I have on my computer. He had fashion photoshopped it--meaning it was high gloss, high glamour--not what one would use for a headshot, and sent it to me just for fun. I then put it through the poladroid program. {Just for fun.} And wha-la...

It is highly, highly edited, but you get the idea. Last go round I had about three tops to choose from--basic Ann Taylor knits. One in a reddish color, one in blue, and then just a simple, basic black t-shirt. Turns out I photograph really well in black. Agents don't really like this. They like color. The like pop--they like you to look as "commercial" as possible (please don't ask me what that means, I'm still figuring it out for myself).  

This is all to say that many moons ago my agent asked me to get new headshots. Not so serious. More fun. A little lighter, he said. And no helmet hair. 

Ouch.

I've been putting it off. Standing in limbo. 

No more. Action is being taken. I'm getting my headshots done again. Tomorrow. By Joseph, because I love him and would trust him to do anything with that camera of his. 

So, about a week and a half ago I began the search for the perfect top. I worried. I fretted. All other cares fell at the feet of this grand pillar of importance. East, West, North, South...I searched high and low and came up with these...

{purple top from Anthropologie}

{a pinkish/orange top from the Gap. simple. i love that}

{a mermaid green BCBG dress. i fell desperately in love with the color}

{a very fancy maroon dress from Theory}

{and finally, a navy top from Urban Outfitters that I wouldn't ever wear in real life but might just photograph beautifully. or hideously...we'll see...}

I did my best with the tops. But then of course there is the issue of my adult onset rosacea which is marring my once near perfect skin. I've used my metrogel. I've stuck to the course of antibiotics. It disappeared there for a time. But it's come back. I know, I know it can be photoshopped out. I know. But it's about how you feel...you know?

It's silly to worry about a photo. It's just a photo. I think what I'm really worried about is that in the time between when I first got my headshots taken and now...what have I really accomplished? What do I have to show for myself? The camera can't capture the changes that have taken place inside me. But perhaps Joseph can...

Here's to hoping! Happy Monday.

I love the kindness of strangers.

Jessica thought this quote might have some meaning for me. So she sent it my way care of Naomi over at Rockstar Diaries. 

All your life you are told the things you cannot do. 

All your life they will say you are not good enough or strong enough or talented enough; they will say you're the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or achieve this.

 THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no, until all the no's become meaningless. 

All your life they will tell you  no, quite firmly and very quickly. 

AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES.

I love that: until the no's become meaningless.

And then, the other day, I got a really unbelievable email from a young woman who spoke of the importance of faith. Faith in one's self. And of course faith in a higher power. And there I was reading it when I had (what Oprah would call) an ah-ha moment. Of course. Faith in a higher power I'm working on. But faith in one's self? How many times has someone said that to me? How many times have I seen that stitched into a decorative pillow? And each time I glossed over it going, yeah, yeah, yeah--duh. But here it was once more. And it hit me. My faith in myself has faltered. I put far too much stock in the opinion of others. And faith in one's self takes work (if it doesn't than you're a far better person than I--though I'd venture a guess that you work at it without even realizing that's what you're doing). 

The yes must begin in me. 

This is the year the nation said Yes, we can. It's about time I started saying Yes, I can. 

Was that too cheesy for your taste? Well...sometimes I like a little bit of cheese.

To go back or not?

I don't have anything nice to say about the college I went to. That's not to say I never will. But right now? This close to graduation and leaving? I don't. Not one nice thing, so please don't ask me to. 

Alot of this falls on me. The thing about having an eating disorder is you lose yourself in it. So slowly that you don't even realize it's happening. And then you start to get better and you come back to yourself. And it's only in the return that you realize you disappeared in the first place. 

I went through school as someone other than myself. However, I was left with enough sense (enough of myself) to ask for help. And that's where they failed me. Helpless were they in helping me. 

There are those out there that will say it was not the school's job. And perhaps they're right. But for a school who sends young artists out into a profession where distorted body images are placed on a pedestal--they should have information or professionals who can guide students and arm them with the ammunition of knowledge. That at least. 

The school referred me to a nutritionist who photocopied an article from Self magazine and sent me on my way. 

The four years of the drama division culminate in an epic work under the direction of a particular director. For our year we performed the second part of John Barton's translations of the Greeks known as: The Greeks, Part II: The Murders. The work consisted of the play Hecuba, Agamemnon, and Electra. I played Hecuba in the first play and then folded in as chorus in the following pieces. Despite my differences with the director I'm extremely proud of the work I did in Hecuba. Despite loathing every day of rehearsal, despite loathing the process, despite a director who seemed to have no confidence in me, I remained true to myself and allowed myself to be pushed in new and different directions.

Ned has never really been present with me on stage. It's the one place he can't touch. He's never been able to penetrate a character's surface and so I've been safe. 

However, each night as we entered Agamemnon and then Electra, Ned came along for the ride. Having no real character and no clue as to what story we we're telling (and that was not from lack of trying to figure it out on my end), Ned superceded all else. 

Dressed in skin-tight, striped pants and a fish skirt worn as a top, I wanted nothing more than to disappear. Perhaps to die. 

And that feeling that I had every night, for the short run of the play, was enough to make me never set foot on another stage so long as I live. 

The costume designer told me the director asked her to make me look nothing like myself. 

Doesn't sound that bad. We all want to transform. That's what the stage is for. But I knew--I knew the director thought he had me all figured out and he was going to topple my own image of myself. 

But my image of myself at that time, wasn't really my own--it was Ned's. If I had any sense of my own image, it was so precariously placed that the director's careless push sent me spinning. 

He thought he knew exactly who I was. Truth be told, he hadn't a clue, or care enough to find out. 

In two weeks time the third installment (The Greeks Part III) will go up.

I've seen the first. Acted in the second. And yet I'm afraid to go back. 

I haven't gone to school since I've graduated. I'm terrified. 

And yet I feel I must go and face my demons head on. I know it's not healthy to harbor all this anger. I know I have friends who will read this and disagree with every word I've written. 

But perhaps the only reason I am still angry is because I haven't embraced it fully. 

So if I return for the one night and allow myself to feel exactly how I feel...what will happen?

Dr. Bob will tell me I should go. So maybe I will. Time will tell. 

I am afraid. Full stop. (Or...the post with lots of ellipses...)

Last year, when I first dared open my eyes to that beast known as the transition into the real word, I confidently said I would be in it for the long haul. I hadn't trained for a sprint, I was going full out--metaphorical marathon runner, I am! 

When I say "in it" by "it" I mean the business of acting. Yes, I am an actor. I am loathe to admit this because...well, let's face it...everyone's an actor. And many "actors" are...well, you know...selfish and self-serving and delusional. Not to say that I'm not all these things, in fact, I'm quite sure I am. But I'd like to think that somehow I'm...different (delusional indeed). What I mean is... I don't want to be defined by the profession, or the business. Acting is something I do and I happen to be quite good at it, but I dunno...it's hard. Hard to reconcile the art of it with the grit of the business. And I'm not quite sure I'm ready for the grit of it. 

I had coffee with my friend Stephen a few nights ago and I said...Stephen, I'm afraid that deep down I don't really want to be an actor. And do you know what he said to me? He said, No Meg, you're afraid. Full stop. End of story. Fear is fear and it will latch on to any story you're willing to feed it. Fear is in you and you're making up stories to justify it's existence. 

Ohhhhhhh....huh. So that's what I've been doing. And upsy-daisy goes my world. 

So I'm gonna keep truckin'. Training for that marathon. Stretching my muscles before that internal gun goes off and I leap off the edge of what's known.

So here's to racing along a route we've never before traveled.... ever been to Arches National park in Utah? One of its main draws is "the delicate arch." The path there is not easy. Long, difficult footing, monstrously hot if you travel there in the summer, and seemingly never-ending. But just when you think you'll never get there, just as you're about to give up all together, you turn a corner and there it is. And in that moment you literally swallow you're own heartbeat. I hope the path I'm embarking on is like that. Just like that. 

P.S. Image stolen from www.utah.com

Musings, ramblings...Or what you will.

It's a perfect Saturday morning in the city. Quiet. Cool. Slightly overcast. My laundry is tucked away in one of the many washing machines two doors down and a hint of breeze is slipping in through the top of my window. 

When I was little I played make-believe more than most children do. I carried out the humble manifestations of my dreams and idyllic ideas long after most girls had become boy-obsessed. When I was tiny I played wedding make-believe. And god bless my mother as she was always in search of the perfect underslip that would easily turn into the perfect wedding dress (I guess I envisioned separates?). I played house, most especially whenever my father brought home flowers, for they brought out any domestic goddess tendencies that now lay dormant. I had my own little Fischer Price kitchen in the pantry and I would piddle away the time answering the yellow telephone and taking things in and out of the stove. God, I still remember the curve of the plastic and glamor of it all. The first two jobs I ever aspired to were those of cheerleader and flight attendant. Think about it, a young girl's first two job choices: flight attendant, chearleader...yes, clearly feminism was alive and well. Not to worry, in time I dreamt of becoming a pediatrician or the first female President of the United States. But when I really think about it, from a very young age, I wanted nothing more than to live in Manhattan, all by my lonesome, and live the life of  a sophisticated, hard-working, single gal. I didn't dream about marriage or even men. I dreamt about the life I could build by myself, so that when I did meet the man of my dreams I would be ready for him.

At school, for four years, all I ever heard was, if you can get through this, you can get through anything--that our schedule would be harder than anything we'd ever come up against. Well, let me tell you...no one, absolutely no one, prepared me for this. Working a myriad of jobs (while constantly seeking to expand the circle of employment), auditioning, taking class to make you a better artist because really you're working to become a better person, keeping up with friends and family, and oh yeah...trying to keep my head above the rip-roaring currents that constantly threaten--that's hard. It's so hard. Remember, a while back when I said that I wish it could be just a little bit easier? I still hope for that, but now I'm not just hoping--I'm working towards it, on a daily basis. It's so hard...and right now, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I was so taken by CJane's post where she wrote that Christian spoke of literally feeling the prayers working on him. The idea of that humbles me in every possible way--the idea that prayer is not a thought, but an actual action, an energy that moves through the world healing. Well, I'm starting to believe that prayers coupled with the million daily miracles that keep life moving forward can actually change us--heal us, alter our physical make-up. My day requires alot of travel time. Busses, subways, foot traffic. And well, I can feel those hour long subway rides working on me. Those cross town bus trips shaping something new and different. The very ebb and flow of the city is moving over and through me, carving a new outlook, eroding doubts, dislodging fear. Something much greater than me is healing me, making me whole again. Two days ago, walking in Brooklyn before class, I realized that right now, at this very moment, I am living the life I envisioned for myself as a child. I am beholden to no one but myself. I am working as hard as I can, but as of yet, my life is completely anonymous. My life is my own. The other day, when I claimed those words as my new working mantra, I had not a clue as to how truly fitting and potent they could be, because there is a freedom in that anonymity like nothing I've ever before experienced. And yet, even that statement my life is my own, is somehow false. My life belongs to something much greater, much larger than me. I don't know where my religion stands right now (I'm working on it) but I do know that a higher power is working on me. So my life in many ways, is not my own at all. And I'm so glad it's this hard. Because I'm not alone. And I know that five years from now, I'm going to look back on this period as pure, unadulterated bliss. And in those five years as success gradually takes on new forms and different names, each period will be just as miraculous as the last. Now that I am aware of the joy inherent to any present moment, it will just keep coming, so that each new period of my life will be just as important and joyous as the last. Different in form, but similar in spirit. 

And thank God for that.

So...

...on Monday I start taking a class with this guy...

...and I'm really scared. And really excited. But more scared. As of now.

I'll be an actor yet.

Couldn't it be just a little bit easier?

You know how I've been yearning for that good cry? How I could feel it just below the surface? How I tried to induce it by ridiculous means (aka the One Tree Hill episode about death this past week)? It came today. In the middle of the street. Surrounded by people. As my feet awkwardly clomped against the sidewalk to prevent the formation of blisters. The tears began their steady and solemn march down the terrain of my face and I was helpless to stop them. There in the midst of a gorgeous "autumn is so close to full bloom that I can feel it"  kind of day, I quietly lost it. I didn't sob, wail, or beat my breast, but rather stood there silently, tears streaming, mascara running as the people of New York milled and seethed around me. And it was then that the softest, little voice said "see, you do wanna be an actor." It was so quiet I almost missed it. A few weeks from now I'll probably wonder if I heard it at all. But it was there, carving out my future persistently and passionately in its oh so unassuming way. 

What brought it on you ask? Well, I had this audition. And I was hoping it might go well to balance out the audition the day before where I left thinking the director was the only person with more doubt about my ability than myself. Not to mention, as I sat in yesterday's waiting room I felt like a beached whale. Now, I've made great strides in the acceptance of my body. In fact I kinda like it. It's normal and beautiful. In the real world. In the acting world, sometimes I still feel like...well I already said it, no point in repeating the image. And by the way please someone shoot me if I spend five whole minutes in front of a mirror adjusting every possible strand of my gleaming, panteine pro-v, wouldn't you just kill for these locks because I did hair while everyone else looks on. Do it in private. But in public? By the way, it was fine, my audition today. But it was far from good. I have a strength on stage that is deceiving. Because in person, lets face it, I'm a bit of a flake. I'm kooky and bumbly (not really a word but if Shakespeare made them up, so can I) and all of the place. And the parts I'm sent out for (which are actually perfect for me) are not really any of these things--they're in there but overshadowed by a poise that I'm all together lacking in any kind of audition situation. And thus I'm left standing there saying "confidence, oh confidence why have you forsaken me?" So today I realized, its gonna take me a year. A whole year before I can expect to get any callbacks, any jobs, any real positive feedback. A year to translate what I know I can do on the stage to what I know I have to do in an audition room. And that's okay. It's my path. I've always been a late bloomer and this is just par for the course. I have so much to look forward to. Because today was the day that I decided (or maybe realized) oh yeah, see that...I do want to be an actor. 

But is it okay to say this? I wish it could be just a little bit easier. Not much. Just a little.

Rob took me to the park and let me lean on him, literally and metaphorically. He's the Harry to my Sally and proof that with hard work, determination, and a little thing called talent good things can and do happen. He started rehearsal yesterday for his first role as a leading man on Broadway. At Lincoln Center. And lets be honest, anybody who's anybody got their start at Lincoln Center (cough, cough, Billy Crudup). 

The face of the America's next great leading man. I guess the theatre really is in trouble.

So Long Summer.

Dear Summer, 

       

I will miss you. I will miss you ever so much.

You began with a little thing known as graduation, for which my entire family (well, a large number of them) trekked to NYC to experience. And to those who came, most especially my parents, I must apologize. I was not excited. At all. Yes, I wanted to be done with school, but the actual pomp and circumstance associated with it--no thank you, not now. Juilliard met me half-way. If graduations are usually like four course meals at a five-star restaurants, Juilliard skips the meal altogether and just serves the shot of espresso that usually comes at the end.  So, here I offer up my promise that I will make this up to my family in the years that come. With parties and shindigs and events that far outweigh what any graduation could offer. 

I take after my father. I can't take a straight picture to save my life. Goofy face? Check.

Then summer you obliged me by letting me return home to Texas (home, Texas, one sentence? wow, I never thought I'd publicly put those two things together--ever) where I applied for jobs that had nothing to do with theatre and spent the evenings sprawled in a large leather chair enjoying books and reruns. I ended up at a lovely little retail shop where I made next to nothing, but learned more than you might think possible...

1. a big rock on the left hand does not entitle you to be a bitch

2. showing up on time is so easy to do and will so endear you to the people you work for

3. gossip is wasted energy

4. its possible to like almost anyone if you give them a chance and let go of your own ego

5. when raising children don't begin with the question: how do I make my child a good person? this will become overwhelming and you'll end up getting nowhere...instead you must teach them the simple things like look someone in the eye, say please and thank you, clean up after yourself, offer up words of kindness, no one exists simply to serve you (oh, and you're not your child's friend, you're their parent)

6. doing simple little things in life will take you such a long way

7. when taking in criticism, the person offering it isn't interested in your excuses, they just just want to know you've heard what they've said

And before heading back to Manhattan I took a lovely, little vacation (my first true one in a year and half) to Chautauqua. The previous two years I had been there as a "theatre student" (as Jonathan would say) and had met some of the most amazing people a girl could ever hope to know. Well, this go round I was there as a tourist and I loved it. I ate more food than I knew what to do with because Karen, my adopt-a-mom, cooks like Monet painted, or Neruda wrote. I read (after all this was the summer of my never-ending-book) and I slept and I went swimming and I made new friends. 

Summer, I must thank you for this most especially. New friends. Lovely friends. People whose path I had no right to cross and others I knew, but got to fall in love with in ways I never dreamed possible. Friends who have armed me with a new and deep knowledge, who serve as springboards for ideas, and instigators for trouble. Friends who make me laugh and laugh and laugh. Who give me reason to smile and giggle and want make secrets just so I can whisper them in their ears. Friends who I thought I would never see again because our friendship had run its course, only to realize I need them now more than ever. 

Whitney--I'm so glad you walked in to Francesca's and we got to reconnect. I feel really, really lucky to know you.

Ariana--seeing you this summer reminded me of this: you are my family and the keeper of my secrets. And I love you in so many ways. And we're gonna be okay. We're gonna find jobs and create lives others will only dream of.

Nicole--where were you the first 22 years of my life? Now that I found you, I'm never letting you go.

Jonathan--I'm so glad we got to spend time together, and you finally go to see that human side of me. I look forward to countless mint chocolate chip adventures in the future. 

Naomi--I admired you from afar for four years and now am so excited to get to play with you in the city. I actually have to admit, I'm still intimidated (even now) by how beautiful, intelligent, and self-possessed (not to mention talented) you are. You're blog opened up this glorious world to me and for that I'll forever be indebted. 

 

Vic--you were my friend through the worst of it and now we get to be friends through the best of it. I love exploring with you and trying new things and talking about those old bugaboos (of course looking forward to the day when they won't enter into our conversation at all). I love that Rob makes you so happy and you him.

Rob--I'm so proud of you. And so lucky to be able to tell you everything, even if it grosses you out and you choose to take three steps away from me. 

Gavin--As long as the offer stands, my answer will always be: yes, yes, let's run away together.

So thank you summer. 

Summer of the red door (I see them everywhere). 

Summer of the never-ending-book.

Summer of goodbyes...so long school, farewell Ned.

Summer of discovery. Summer of finding out that love is everywhere... in everything and everyone if you just open yourself up to it.

And of course...summer of you, my little blog-spot lover.

So summer, thank you. But now it's time for fall. Time for me to start working. Time for me to turn twenty-three. And time to at least give this acting thing a go of it.

See you next year my sweet and sinful season. 

'til we meet again, 'til we meet again,

Meg