Ah, you again.

Hello, restlessness. It's been a while. I was beginning to think I'd never see you again, but that was only my immense need to be still for one bloody moment. Now, ticking away like clockwork, 6 months have passed and I find leaning towards Irish pubs, as though they were a portkey to the real thing, Guinness in the afternoon, the world open and waiting patiently as I gnawed feverishly on my restraints. Those restraints are long gone now, the new ones are industry that I hand picked with care and devotion.

The need to hop on a boxcar is also long gone. That's not what this is about. I wasn't designed to do the same thing every day or even every week- something I built my life knowing but this is all starting to look very familiar. Some perspective would be good, to sit in the proverbial bathtub and hold up each facet one at a time, stare hard at it and decide once again if it should stay or go.

Or at least to go home to North Carolina and quell the homesickness that pops up every time I see oak leaves. One week should do the trick.

Working in Show Business -

What It Does to Your Face:

So, I've noticed a phenomenon among circus performers in which they stop aging when they dedicate themselves to the practice. All of my coaches have been in their mid 30's and in prime performing shape, and all of them have looked 22. Circus men tend to age to a ruggedly handsome 28 and stop there, many times in perspective as well as looks. I was looking forward to capitalizing on this promise of extended youth. But I think I must wear more makeup than they do.

At least twice a week, I begin the slow process of applying several layers of makeup, powder, paint, eyelash glue, and artificial gemstones over my face. I have gotten so used to the feeling of productivity and well being that accompanies being in stage makeup that without it I feel like I must of course be at home watching House MD and in a bathrobe. Am I going to end up like Granny in Memoirs of a Geisha, a lifetime of China clay making her yellow like a plucked chicken? Possibly. But I'll take my chances.

Last night Shaun came into my room brushing his teeth and froze when he saw me sitting in front of a mirror just sort of staring at my face. "What...are you doing?"
"Eyeunno."
"Why are you staring at yourself?"
*slightly self-conscious now* "I don't know. I just don't see my face that often."
It was true. And this face looks every moment of it's 27+ years. And I feel proud of that. I need to counteract the large amounts of pictures of me online in glitzy stage-face with one 100% bare faced Max Cooper portrait, in natural light. Hopefully with a cigarette.