Blog, I've been MIA for the latter half of April. I'm aware of this. I'm also aware of my reverting to the typical blogger tendency to acknowledge a rather lengthy absence. Luckily I had four posts in April. That's keeping up with my average, I do believe. I just got all of it out of the way during the first week of the month.
Ok. Enough with the posting about how I haven't posting. That's no fun to read.
Tonight I realized I could make my life sound fucking awesome if I wanted to. I have a cushy office job that pays me pretty well for the work I do and has regular hours. I love the people I spend my 40 hours a week with; they both challenge me and make me laugh every single day. I have this really great second job that not only brings in extra cash, but also is a gateway to free theater and fun parties with food and wine and chocolates and actors and crew and paper lanterns lighting up warm spring nights on a city balcony.
I have a quaint little apartment that has french windows decorated with paisley curtains. There's a fireplace filled with books and a gallery of friends' art on my walls. I have a cabinet stocked with wine and a fridge stocked with food. I take the train to visit my brother. I always have music in my ears. I can sing and play the guitar. I find myself sporadically going on auditions or performing in front of paying audiences. I'm asked to be a part of films here and there and every once in awhile I'll see someone I know on TV.
I live walking distance from a plethora of bars, restaurants and theaters; not to mention a grocery store. Half a block from the bus stop. Half a mile from a lake surrounded by multi-million dollar homes. I can walk down the street and not be surprised in the least to run into someone I know from some circle I'm a part of.
I'm like fucking Carrie Bradshaw sometimes with how I sip wine and sit in front of my computer in nothing but a towel, fresh out of the shower; save my image from riding around on the side of a bus all day long.
I've settled in the suburbs with a two car garage, dog, and fenced in yard. I've traipsed around the bars lending my mouth to any boy who was accepting of my drunken offers. I've gone on dates where doors were held and chairs were pulled out. Checks were taken care of and checks were split. I've been nervous, confident, cocky, and disinterested. I've felt beautiful more than I've felt unattractive and I think my wardrobe is alright; maybe even slightly above the fashionable average on a good day.
Sometimes I'll get into a routine where I do yoga and run on a regular basis. Other times I'll pass my evenings trying new recipes or eating ice cream while perusing the internet. I have close friends who are far away and because of this I'm starting to need my toes when it comes to keeping track of how many times I've flown across the Atlantic. My passport is filled with stamps from Europe and Mexico. I've been to Canada and both coasts. I've seen the northern lights and a meteor shower and the Swiss Alps...
Twenty four hours from now I'll be on yet another flight hanging over the Atlantic, preparing to land in a new country for me; Portugal. More accurately, the Portuguese islands known as The Azores. I've somehow managed to travel more than I ever thought I would. Make more money than I ever thought I would. Know more talented, amazing, inspiring people than I ever thought I would. I have a cute apartment, good health, and a glass of wine right in front of me. My bags are packed and I'm ready to get yet another stamp in that passport I got at a time when the only place I had ever been outside of the US was Canada.
And here I am barely holding in the tears because despite all of that "cool" shit I've just listed, at the end of the day I come home to an empty apartment and no one to share myself with. Reading through the self-involved vomit I've just spilled to you Blog makes me realize I'm an alright gal. I'm a catch. I've got a lot going for me. But that good feeling goes away when I know that those friends of mine have someone they love by their side every night. They have valid relationships and it makes me just want to throw all the parties and circles and performances and travel to the side because it's not important. It doesn't matter. It's just busy work until someone meaningful comes along.
The twelve year-old me would be blown away by who I've become. Sixth grade Samantha wanted nothing more than to travel and work in a skyscraper and live in a city doing important business with important people. Well Little Samantha, what you didn't know was that laying low and having a meaningful relationship with someone could have been just as, if not more fulfilling.
Of course, there's always the potential of a stay at home mom or settled down wife coming across this post and thinking that this life I lead is a fabulous one. You always want what you can't have, I guess.
To Portugal then.