the month of may...

the month of may
brought house guests
in hordes

mom and dad
lindsey from florida
my brother will & his girlfriend hannah

nearly every weekend
was booked solid with visitors
coming to enjoy these few blissful weeks of spring

luckily we managed to fit a lot in...

opening night of "les liaisons dangereuses" on broadway
cai guo-qiang's show at the guggenheim museum
new york city's AIDS walk
a midnight screening of "sex and the city"
roof parties and loft parties

brunch after brunch
followed by dinner after dinner

and sooo much more

june just won't feel the same without them
it'll be warmer, slower, with just a hint of "empty nest"

but then there's nothing quite like family and friends
to spring you back to life

"sex and the city"

my god

sometimes stories come into our lives
that have the power to move us
beyond comprehension

they take us further
or touch us deeper
than we'd even dreamed possible

why this show?
why these characters?

if you had told me in 1999
that i'd fall in love with four
fictional middle aged women
on an hbo series

one of which was played
by that blonde witch from "hocus pocus"
i'd have said, "um, yeah, sure, I Don't Think Sooo"

but "sex and the city" is so much more
than just fashion or sex

it's the writing
the performances
the truth that's told with humor
and yes, those unbelievable clothes

see this movie
if you're one of the millions who hasn't already

it is sad
and gorgeous
fantastically unrealistic
and inspiring

it's new york

perhaps even a sliver of the heart
that beats in all of us

hardened a bit, but open and raw
always ready for experience
up to any challenge

and madly in love with love

stage fright-mare

i often awake from a dream
aware, nervous
groggy but slightly panicked

the details of the dream are always different
but the scenario remains the same

a theatre, packed
as i stand in the wings of the stage
just peeking out at the crowd

i am about to go on
the costumes, scenery, details of my character and audience size
are never the same

but the reality is
i'm moments from stepping onto that stage
and i feel totally, utterly unprepared

it's a sort of phantom pain
the sensation or memory of a lost limb

i have not been on stage in years
but the dreams are as real as ever

in that time since my last play in 2004
i've worked regularly in commercials & featured work on film
but all the burly crew guys in the world
standing, waiting, watching
can't add up to even a pinch of the anxiety in knowing
that you're about to step before an audience
unsure within yourself

i often wonder about anxiety
what good it does, if any?

the damage caused by that racing heart
the heightened awareness that your shoulders have gone tense
how unavoidably unnecessary it is to pace and sweat

i suppose for some it gets worse the older they get
once the seriousness of life sets in
once a kind of now or never pressure makes itself clear

for me it's lessened greatly
though the dreams persist
and i find myself relishing in the new comfort
within my own skin

dreams, i think, can hold a mirror up
to all the different facets of our lives
reflecting on corners of our deeper selves
we didn't know were there

a dream tells a story
but not necessarily the obvious one

i'm panicked
about to step on stage

but the truth is that i'm not in a play right now
and have never been in one when i WASN'T fully prepared
so the dream is both irrational and untrue

irrational, untrue
but continuous and ultimately unavoidable

because of that
i'm reminding myself to always be prepared
to breathe deeply & take in every moment, especially the scary ones
to be brave
and to never truly fear other people

it's a process
until i lay my head down again

the scar

beware of bathroom doors
at the restaurant park avenue spring

that's all i'm sayin'
before we begin

under different circumstances
filtered through another lens
i'm sure this story could be woven into a witty, self aware fable
about getting up again
when life, quite literally, slaps you cross the face

but i'm not too sure i'm that writer
or if this is even that time

all i know
is that after four stitches and excessive bruising
the area just beside my left eyebrow
is finally beginning to heal

i suppose i should blame marco...
my amazingly talented magician co-worker
who months ago got me phobic
of bathroom door handles

i don't touch them anymore
try not to, anyway
and predominantly because of him
& our detailed conversations about germs

so, as i was leaving this beautiful bathroom
at the restaurant park avenue spring

i gripped the bathroom door handle while still holding the hand towel
then quickly turned to throw the towel into the bin
when suddenly, BAM!
as i turned
i was pounded in the face by an incredibly heavy door

it didn't hurt
adrenaline must have set in

but instantly, blood
everywhere

and little old me
shocked, confused, a bit frightened
tip toeing towards the coat check
hand over face, hunched over
asking for a band aid

looong story short
it took a lot more than a band aid

what it took was a night with my dad in the emergency room
my parents were luckily
(if unfortunately for them)
in town at the time

and then a return to the e.r. five days later
to have the stitches removed
by a bleach blonde hospital employee
who looked almost exactly like matt

as if the entire situation had occurred
so that this exact moment could present itself

i could hear in my head...

"This is what your life could have been..."
"Visiting the hospital to see your doctor boyfriend..."
"Instead of visiting the hospital..."
"To have a surrogate stranger cut thread from your face..."

but, it was sad
because i see a lot of people that remind me of matt
he's almost everywhere to me

but this was a young man
probably just starting out his residency at mount sinai
essentially living the life that matt will never lead

and really
HOW MANY MEN
OVER THE AGE OF TWELVE
STILL HAVE COMPLETELY NATURAL BLEACH BLONDE HAIR?
honestly! maybe fifty?!

so here i am today
still healing

i told you this story wouldn't be funny
but maybe another day i'll tell it differently

that's the beauty of life, i suppose
it can always be remixed, remastered

only we own our pasts

and only we can own the scars that mark them