Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Because if anyone should be a therapist...

My recent peak of interest is in a program called Creative Art Therapy. It's a Master's Program at Concordia University aimed at using Drama as a clinical therapy tool. Essentially there can't be a better fit for me. It's exciting to find something that seems to be the right path, but it might be a touch precarious. I don't have any psychology credits, not even Intro. Now the program is set up as such, that I ought to be able to take these courses before I begin, but it does put me at a disadvantage applying.

On the positive side, you will not believe how effing cheap it is to live in Montreal! I found an apartment for $460/month for a Bachelor that is less than two blocks from the metro station and a ten minute ride to campus! The campus is right downtown and if you haven't been to Montreal, go. It's amazing.
This is the other part of my motivation for applying. Even if I don't get in, as long as I get an interview I at least get to go to Montreal :D

Now all I have to do is get my reference letters back, get my transcripts (shudder) and write a letter of intent. Le sigh.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Please comply

Hi all.

I got sick of the 30ish daily junk mails that were getting through my spam filter, and the fact that everyone thinks my msn sign-in is my email address. I have decided to simplify. My new msn/email address is thaliasmask@(spam me and die) (because drama_geek isn't drama-geeky enough)
please email me there. As an incentive, the first person to email me and tell me what is so drama-geeky about thaliasmask, gets a certificate of acheivement or something. Sorry no monitary bribing.

PS: Responding here does not count. For once emails trump comments.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

A Day Late

I won't recount the last 48hours on the blog, at this moment in any great detail:

Sick, fainted at work, banged head and jaw, concusion, swelling, still not feeling great, Nissah came to heal me physically and emotionally because she is beautiful in everyway, and a book has captivated me so greatly that I have been reading it with what little brain-power I have by candle-light to stay awake. I will talk more about this later.
PS: When I arrive home tonight I will have electricity. Unless I just imagined that.

Every year around this time I usually take a moment to do my quarterly emotional online purging. I didn't get around to it yesterday, so I thought I might briefly today.

Here is something I think Jay would have liked:

The light shines in the darkness.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Three Weeks Ago

Three weeks ago I recieved a job offer from the Cardinal Motor Inn up here in Sudbury. I had just returned home from an exhausting (to say the very least) apartment hunting expedition and visit. I came up to try to find an apartment as quickly as possible in order to get a roof over my head while I worked. I went with the first reasonably affordable place I could find. This is so far not proving to be the best choice. I began the job before I could even move in, and between working eratic hours to train and moving up, I have had very little time to settle in. To make matters worse, I failed to notice when I was moving in that the electrical outlets are all "two pronged", thus have no ground. Besides being a major safety hazard this is also a seriuos inconvience as I have no computer thus no music, movies or soure of mindless entertainment, which to be fair ranks for most of us somewhere on the second or third level of the pyramid of basic human needs.

All of this was greatly worsened a week ago when I lost the majority of my power altogether, whether two pronged or not. I have four faulty outlets and only one functional light. I can't store food in the refridgerator and I can't cook. I have been doing my best to contact my landlords and deal with the problem, but between a lack of answering machine (on their part) and a 300 or so kilometre highway, it is not as easy as it sounds. Theoretically they will fix the problems this weekend.

I ended up quitting my job at the Cardinal after two weeks. Something about working 40+ hours per week without breaks in an environment that the word "hostile" doesn't do justice to, just didn't appeal to me. Truthfully I was just exasperated trying to handle my supervisor's negativity in a mature assertive fashion, to the point that I couldn't take it any more. I like to think that I have more backbone than that. Apparently I don't.

People who know me well.. or at all I suppose... likely don't think of me as someone that "bottles things up". I guess I don't really, but I think that I try to make it seem as though I'm capable of handling things when I'm really not. People also don't likely think of me as being terribly rational. I would argue that I am. I am very capable of thinking through things in a very logical way and intellectualizing (hmmm sp?) matters close to my heart. In fact it is when I am thinking clearly about things in my life and taking in the bigger picture that I am most happy and feel the most deeply and positively about life.
There seems to be this other side of me however that rears its ugly head from time to time. It is totally irrational, based entirely on gut reactions and peculiar notions that I keep bottled because I know damn well they're stupid things to say outloud. These are the things that I say when I'm drunk, or depressed, or just at my absolute wits end. It doesn't make it OK for me to say these things, in fact I tend to feel worse and worse each time I do.

I started unleashing "evil Liz" if you will, on the world at large about two weeks ago, and I think I've finally got her back under control. Please know that I am not taking lightly the notion of having a split personality, I just simply don't know another way to describe it. I have this deep desire to go back to three weeks ago and try to do things right. Not jump into the first crappy job someone offers me, not move into the first apartment I can find, and not hurt anyone I care about. Just be me, the real me, the one that thinks things through and is careful and considerate. The notion that I can be that person may be the most positive thought I've had about myself in over a year. I think I'll end on that note.

Monday, November 20, 2006

The Star (a cliche monologue 2 years later)

Charlotte, 25, sits holding a cup, looking at it with disdain. She is at a table in a movie trailer. There is a script and some pencils on the table.

CHARLOTTE: Excuse me? I asked you for a low fat cafe latte with NO FOAM. There is foam in my latte. Can you not see the fucking foam? pause No, no, don't try again. I'll drink it, just leave me alone.

The invisible assistant leaves. She takes a sip and shudders. She picks up a script sitting on the table and begins to read quitely to herself, then aloud trying many different unsuccessful tactics.

But Eric you can't die, I love you! But Eric you can't die, I love you! But Eric you can't die I love you! But Eric you can't ActARRRGH! This is impossible. "Play it real Charlotte, I want to hear your voice". I think I fucking know how to act dumbass, I won the emmy for best supporting actor in a daytime drama in 1997, I'm pretty sure I can handle a bit-part in a B-rated movie. This guy doesn't know anything.

But Eric you can't die, I love you! But Eric you can't die, I love you! Christ! "Your voice" No one wants to hear my voice. They want to hear Miranda's voice, the character. Dumbass.

She sits and takes another sip from the latte and shudders

I didn't become an actress to play myself. I became an actress to play characters other people. People who are bold, and strong and brave, beautiful, smart, funny... anything but me.

But Eric you can't die, I love you- and there is foam in my goddamn latte!
Sure they tell you "be yourself" but you can't get anywhere in this business being yourself. No you have to fight for every inch you get.

Hi um I'm Charlotte, yeah nice to meet you, could you please tell me where studio 6 is? HA. It's all an act. Everyday, every moment. I am Charlotte Vanier and you will show me to studio 6. Charlotte Vanier is proud, regal, sassy, sexy. But what am I? Who am I? Be real?

"Charlotte, your boyfriend, what if this was him?" Truely? I haven't SEEN my boyfriend in three months. We don't have time to call, he's barely alive now. I don't REALLY feel anything. "Oh I'd be devestated" "Show me" "Show me" she continues to mimic him for a moment

Fine. You want the REAL me? I am scared, I'm weak, I'm shy, I'm not sexy, I'm alone. Why would anyone want to see ME or hear what I have to say? I might as well be-


Eric you can't die. I love you.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Short and weird. Kind of like me :)

Now that I am completely confident that no one is reading this unless specifically asked to... I present my creative writing:

The Prisoner

My job was simple: guard the prisoner. He was not a

tall or particularly imposing man, perhaps six feet. He sat

against the wall of his cell facing up at the tiny window

nearly ten feet above him. Not nearly enough light to

brighten the dour interior of the prison. He sat

uncomfortably on the drenched cement, his arms resting on

his legs, simply staring out at what was once his world.

I noticed his eyes, not particularly captivating eyes,

but very sincere. His concentration, wherever his stare

happened to be fixed seemed unbreakable. As with most of

the prisoners he was unshaven and dishevelled, the odd

bruise darkening his sickly pale skin. While most had cuts

and deep wounds, there was something striking about his. I

noticed a white imbedded strike carved from the tip of his

right eye brow to the center of his forehead. It was an old

scar. It didn’t especially deform his face, but it was


He wore his issued clothes, it seemed a size too large

for him and became aware that his pants were beginning to

soak from the cold ground. I saw his hand check for a dryer

spot to sit and his eyes turn towards me. I tossed him

another set of pants. He spoke for the first time since he

had arrived.

“Thank you”. He said with slight surprise in his

voice. It was a deep voice for a meagre man. I turned to

give him his privacy. With my back to him I find a moment,

that for whatever reason seems appropriate and ask, “Where

did you get that scar?”

“Sorry?” he replied.

“On your head I mean. On your forehead.”

“Oh. Long time ago,” he said with a little disease. I

heard him sit back down and turned to see him now sitting

against the back wall of the cell facing out towards me.

“I was in a bar fight,” he said with a bit of a

chuckle. “I guess not much of a fight. I pretty much got my

ass kicked.”

I sat as he said this. I cannot say I was surprised.

Not just because he was not a large daunting man, but from

the few words he had spoken, he did not seem to be a

hardened aggressor.

“How did you end up in a fight?” I asked attempting to

seem casual.

“Heh, the usual way, I suppose. A girl,” he said

grinning. A look of remembrance enters his sincere eyes.

“But not any usual girl, no doubt?” I suspected that

my attempts to sound formal, but still feed my curiosity

were a little transparent.

He smiled at me. “Blonde and petite, a beautiful body

and an innocent smile. I didn’t fall in love with her at

first sight, no. I feel in love with her the first time she

said my name. There was something in the way she looked me

square in the eye and held her lips together before she

began, and softened her voice… I had never been happier to

be me.”

I replied without thinking. “The speaking of a

person’s name an have a powerful affect on that person. It

is how they identify themselves, and how they hope that

they are identified by others. I still to this day miss my

mother calling me by my full name. It used to make me feel

so safe.” I stopped myself.

He looked inquisitively at me for a moment and then

continued. “She was at the bar with a real jackass. She

must have been an angel to have put up with his shit for

all that time. Anyways, they were there and she came over

to talk to me for a few moments. She asked me how work was,

we talked about old times, how my sister was doing, if she

had a new cat, how life was, the usual crap. Of course

coming from her it was like she was touching a deep inner

part of my soul.” He laughed again.

“She left and turned back to her boyfriend, and as she

approached him he gave me a menacing look. He turned back

to her and began yelling some gibberish about ‘who the hell

is he?’ and ‘don’t fucking flirt with other men’, and when

she started apologizing and trying to explain that I was

just a friend he hit her square across the face. Without a

thought, including a thought about how much larger and

stronger he was than I, I practically leaped across the bar

and punched him in the throat. Now granted his throat was

about the size of my thigh, so this did not do the damage I

intended it to. He broke a beer bottle and came after me

with it. He got in about one good slash before a few guys

could hold him back. I just ran for my life.” He again

found enough humour in this to chuckle a little.

“What happened to the girl?”

He suddenly became very sullen. “She got pregnant and

married him. I think they are still married. I don’t really


He stood up and turned towards the window. I decided

not to ask any more questions. I began to return to my seat

when he stopped me with a few short words.

“You know, I’ve never told anyone about that before.”

A day went by and we did not have any more talks. I

didn’t ask the prisoner anything else, and he didn’t

volunteer anything. But I became obsessed with his story.

Not an unusual story, but a noble one. I had never heard of

a prisoner doing something courageous before. As a matter

of fact, it didn’t occur to me that they would.

The more I thought about it and the more I looked at

him sitting in his cell, the more I obsessed about it. I

began to bring him extra linens from the closet. I found a

mop for him to dry the floor.

A peculiar sense of morality overcame me. Not only did

I sympathize with this man, I sympathized with everyman I

had ever held prisoner. What right have I to hold anyone in

a cell and tell them to stay there. If he were not here in

this cell he may be off rescuing this girl, or some other

girl from peril. Or perhaps inspiring others with his

courage to stand up to a stronger brawnier man. He seemed

quite bright, and thoughtful. He could be a professor, a

doctor, a police officer, a politician, and here he was

confined in this cell, staring at the wall, his potential

as stale as the small portions of food he was occasionally


This is when I forgot why I was holding this man

prisoner in the first place. I decided that I could not in

good conscience keep him there, confined in his cell.

Around sunrise that next morning I took the keys from

the wall where they were hanging, went to the padlock, and

unlocked the cell. The entire time the prisoner remained in

the back upper left corner of the cell watching me as I

anxiously disobeyed the duties of my post.

I returned to my seat, waiting for him to take his

leave. He sat motionless, still groggy from another

restless night. I caught his eye and nodded.

To my surprise he nodded back and then, most

strangely, continued to sit staring at the now unlocked

cell door.

I thought to myself ‘He’s tired. Perhaps he’s

regaining his strength before he leaves’. I decide to give

him some time.

But then hours passed, and then nearly a day. I

thought ‘Perhaps he doesn’t realize that I’ve unlocked the

door’. So I got up and approached the cell, the prisoners

sincere eyes now fixed on my motion. I pulled the door open

wide and motioned for him to exit. He continued to sit.

I could not understand ,for all my life, why he would

want to remain in this dank, smelly, miserable cell.

Didn’t he want to leave?

I left the door way and tried turning my back on the

cell for a short time. Maybe he would try to escape while

my back was turned. I looked back to see that he was still

sitting, this time staring at me. I looked into his eyes

and saw that he had no intention of going.

I returned to my seat and began to puzzle over the

reason for his inaction. I’d had men sit in this cell and

beg me for their freedom, threaten me for it, cry for it,

scream for it, attempt to prostitute themselves for it, but

here was a man whose freedom I had granted and he was

refusing it? It was almost beyond comprehension.

Was he waiting for something? For night cover perhaps,

or for a different guard? Yes perhaps that was it. Perhaps

he didn’t want me to take the fall for his escape. No, that

was ridiculous. Once he was gone he would never hear from

or see me again, of what concern would it be to him?

Maybe he thought that this was a trick. Yes, he thinks

that I’m testing his obedience, and that this will result

in better treatment.

Though I could never match his sincerity I made my

best attempt. My eyes met his and I calmly spoke, lowering

my voice, “This is not a trick.”

“I know,” he said.

I froze for a moment and then looked away.

The mystery loomed. I sat and paced and ate and drank

and never stopped thinking. ‘Why is he still here? Doesn’t

he have anything to live for? And even if he doesn’t, isn’t

death better than the hell he faces here. The slow rotting

of the body and the mind?’.

After sometime it was dark, I couldn’t tell for how

long. I looked at him sitting there wide awake. I on the

other hand was exhausted, emaciated. I hadn’t eaten in

sometime now, I couldn’t tell how long, I’d lost track of

days. I said, with the first hint of desperation in my

voice “Don’t you know I’ve unlocked the cell?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You can leave” I pleaded further.

“I know,” he said calmly.

Somehow those words struck me. There was no more

denying it. He was choosing to stay in this cell for

reasons I could not understand. And all at once, I did not

want him to go. Not because I was afraid of my job, or my

life, or the rules. I wanted him there with me.

I controlled my urge to run and shut the door, and

simply remained seated, somewhat glad that he was still

there. The content lasted only a short while, as I began to

further contemplate his actions. Did he also want to be

there with me? Impossible. Yet he would not leave, and this

line of thinking began to develop. I wanted him to stay and

he seemingly also wanted to stay. Did he love me? I knew

that I loved him.

This is when I began to wonder how long I had been

there, or when I had started to become completely

delusional. I started checking for a watch I didn’t have on

and trying to count the days by the bodily deterioration of

the dead rat lying adjacent to the cell. I saw my

reflection in the puddle. I was a wreck, a hideous mess.

How could anyone love me?

It was then that I began to wonder which side of the

cell I was on. Was I in fact HIS prisoner? Where was I? How

had I gotten there? How long had I been there? I started

anxiously pacing around the hall looking for the telltale

signs of a prison cell. The bars were there, the small

uncomfortable bed, the puddles, the tiny window. That was

it! I was in a prison, he was my guard!

“Let me out!” I screamed. I began frantically running

and crying and screaming, “Let me out!”. Ran up to the bars

and started shaking and thrashing, “Let me out!”.

Falling to my knees I curled up on the floor shaking

uncontrollably. When I looked up the first thing I saw were

those sincere eyes looking down at me.

“Why don’t you leave?” I meekly coughed out.

“Because I don’t want to,” he replied calmly.

It was me that they took away. They pulled me from the

ground and brought me to another prison, but a different

kind, where I WAS the prisoner. What happened to my

prisoner I’ll never know. I assume they locked his door

again. Maybe someone else unlocked it. I wonder if he left.

On the off chance someone did actually read that: please be gentle. It's a VERY VERY first and early draft that needed a home.

Friday, November 03, 2006


I have two jobs up in Sudbury- The Cardinal Motor Inn and my job doing sampling at the LCBO. I have a further potential job, but I'll just keep my fingers crossed for that one. I PROBABLY have a place to live, I will know for sure on Saturday. That's about as much as I can update with any certainty.

I am putting that questionaire thingy back up in hopes that I won't look like a nerd this time around :p

Six things you wonder about me

Five Things you like about me

Four things you would do to me if we were alone

Three of my best features

Two words that describe me

One question for me (Ask away, I will answer honestly)