(no subject)

Okay, i just got smacked in the face by a sentence in the New York Times. Like one of those sentences you read, and then try and look away from because thinking about it is too hard.

There's this article about one of Lynda Barry's writing workshops. I have her first book and I LOOOOOVE it. Not that I've done any of the writing exercises mind (yeah, me in a nutshell, outside looking in. but go read the article. its awesome for us creatives.). Anyway.

Coming on top of a week where I've had to very actively fight self loathing, sparked by a rehearsal shot of us in our costumes, where I think the three ladies surrounding me are adorable, and I look like the village idiot, I read:

“Why does it matter?” she asked. “It’s like me saying, ‘I’m beautiful.’Compared to other women, I’m not. But who does it hurt for me to say
so?”

OK, WOW. See, mostly I LOATHE myself in pictures. Once in a while someone will take one where I go, okay, there I'm cute, but mostly UGH UGH UGH. Which when you really parse that, its sad how much self loathing I must be doing just looking in the mirror every day. Never been called pretty. Always gawky. Always ... WRONG ... somehow. Tomboy, too thin as a child, too fat -- WAY too fat as an adult. Weird blotchy cheeks. Several more chins than I ought to possess ... mostly all I can see are the ... well, I wanted to write "negatives" but the word in my head was "deformities."

So yeah. I always say its not a pretty place inside my head.

But I have this great line in the show I'm working on that sort of touches on this ...

"Trickiest of all are the crones with onion-thin skin who at inexplicable moments, reveal the inconsolable child within."

We're all pretty broken in the inside, yeah?