2014

It has been almost a year since I last wrote, which is just too sad for words. Actually, it's just too sad, I'm going to write words about it right now.

Writing actually helped me through things a year ago when I was falling apart. Then things started to get better and I assume I didn't have time or something. Maybe I just was using my energies in a different way, I didn't have much to spare in the way of writing.

Anyway, I stopped, and I've missed it. A lot.

For weeks I've been thinking of what I could possibly write about. Nothing really came to mind, so this is my attempt to just start again. Hence, the rambly thing I have going.

But I've decided, as I did when things were rough, that maybe to get to my next goal in life I need to figure out where I am now, and ultimately where I want to be.

Also, I'm kind of a nerd, not going to lie, and maybe this is a way to release that pent up nerd-ergy instead of just wearing my R2-D2 socks and Star Trek shirt. I'm referring to writing fan fics, but like, I guess this could encompass whatever, too.

Sooooo, goals - life goals
(This is so weird, I feel like those people that plan to have three kids and have their names picked out and exactly what age they want to be when they have each.)

 1. I want to make an honest to God attempt at acting professionally. Not just, "Oh I auditioned for a couple things." But really going to cattle calls and a lot of different auditions no matter where.

2. I want to try my hand at writing more than just a blog, especially one that starts collecting dust after a few months. I want to try writing a script or a pilot, maybe I'll just start by writing some short stories.

3. I want to get free lance eventually making videos and taking photos for organizations. I would appreciate that work being artistic in some way like for a theatre, but if not, that's alright. I just want to start out doing it.

4. I have been so insanely lazy about working out and eating healthy. I need to start doing this again, for real. The goal will be to do a little yoga practice everyday with other work outs combined, while actually paying attention to what I'm putting in my body. Like for real, I really want abs. Even when I played varsity soccer I didn't want abs, but for some reason I do right now so, this is going to take eating perfectly and varying my work outs.

5. I need to find some way to stop thinking about dying all the time. It is a contant worry of mine and contributes to an anxiety I have about things that stresses me out more than anything should. I should either go talk to someone about this, or at least find something that minimizes my worry. We'll see.

I'm sure I'll think of more eventually, but for now that seems sufficiently terrifying.

Chocolate cake, carpe diem and that other "c" word

I just had a slice of chocolate “I just found out my grandma has breast cancer and there’s a good chance I’ll have it too” cake.

But for real, I just had a piece of chocolate cake that I would usually feel incredibly guilty about eating. I would have obsessed about my consumption of that creamy filling moist cake combo for the rest of the night wondering why my self-control is so terrible or why I didn’t grab my orange flavored dried cranberries out of my desk instead.

I’m not even the type of person that eats my feelings. It just seemed appropriate.

It was chocolate and comforting and soothing and I don’t even care.

My mom and dad went to see some relatives, my grandpa’s grave and my grandma. She has been bed-ridden for at least 5 years I think and hasn’t remembered anyone in closer to 10. She doesn’t feed herself, can’t move, just lies in bed and gurgles for the most part. As my mom pointed out in a text, her skin still looks fabulous, no wrinkles or anything. None of this makes it any less difficult to hear (also in a text) that she has breast cancer.

As if her state wasn’t bad enough, let’s just pile more on top of that. Watching someone slip away with Alzheimer’s is just watching that person deteriorate until all they can achieve is basic functions that sustain life. I love my grandma and I know she is lying in that bed, but she hasn’t been the grandma that took me to poker where I sat under the table in a smoke-filled room and played with the cat, or the grandma that gave me nametags with my name on them from Hershey Park in a long time. She isn’t the same grandma that loved gambling and sometimes let me pick the greyhounds she bet on (I always chose them by how much a I liked their names.)

Now, it isn’t just about Alzheimer’s and that I’m scared my dad and I are going to turn into bed-ridden shells someday. Now, it’s a fear that I’m going to get breast cancer.

Don’t get me wrong, many of my friend’s moms have had breast cancer, a sorority sister close to my age has it, and it’s all terrifying and real and present. October basically turns pink every year with breast cancer awareness so it’s hard to push aside anyway. According to breastcancer.org, about 1 in 8 U.S. women will develop invasive breast cancer.

·      A woman’s risk of breast cancer approximately doubles if she has a first-degree relative (mother, sister, daughter) who has been diagnosed with breast cancer.

·      About 15% of women who get breast cancer have a family member diagnosed with it.

·      About 85% of breast cancers occur in women who have no family history of breast cancer.

It looks pretty scary when you look at it through numbers, doesn’t it?

I guess I could be just as scared about the pancreatic cancer my grandpa died of.

Maybe I wouldn’t be so concerned if Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy hadn’t been a massive topic of discussion for a while. I’m thinking if I have that same genetic issue if I will have to consider that option if I somehow manage to make a ton of money one day. I mean, Melissa Etheridge thought it was a cowardly choice, so maybe no? I’m worried that if I get married I’m going to put my family through the stress of a loved one with the disease.

And maybe I’m over reacting. I think we all think deep down we won the genetic lottery that we’ll never have to worry about that stuff. If we feel perfectly healthy right now, there’s no way something like that could happen to us. But life has a funny way of proving us wrong.

For now, I suppose that cake was a good way to keep from unraveling quickly while at work. And I feel surprising OK. After all, I’m lucky enough to be healthy right now in this moment. I’m lucky enough to get to eat that fatty piece of heaven, whether that changes eventually is yet to be seen, but I guess I’m right there with everyone else wondering if they’ll inherit a tragedy.

That’s just no way to think and no fun. For those with ailments now, you’re so brave and I’m totally in awe of your strength, and for those with me waiting, well… let’s just help others, support each other, carpe diem and eat cake.

24

It’s my birthday again. It comes right on the heels of the major holidays, in the midst of those holidays used for getting lucky (you know that’s true, I mean Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day? Hello.) My birthday usually gets lumped with Valentine’s Day because of the proximity. I’m just glad I wasn’t born at the end of December because then I’d get the dreaded Christmas/Birthday present combo. People born in a span of time devoid of holidays escape the combo present curse completely.

I share a birthday with Abraham Lincoln, Charles Darwin and, this year at least, Fat Tuesday. Apparently, Joe DiMaggio’s brother was born on Feb. 12 too, who knew.

Since my last birthday I have quit a job, started a new one, moved states, ended three relationships and started two (that sounds like a lot but one of them was this weird on and off bad thing so it wasn’t multiple people. Right now if a psychiatrist asked me to say something that reminds me of that relationship I’d say – hanging chad), got my heart broken, had multiple visitors, attended a wedding, was asked to speak in a wedding and be a maid of honor, made new friends, made new enemies, learned to line dance, started playing soccer and acting again, swam in the ocean at night, saw manatees for the first time and glowing phytoplankton. There’s more, there’s a lot more actually. When I was in college the years between birthdays didn’t seem much different. Everything was working up to your 21^st birthday but beyond that it was a blur of school work, parties and a smattering of activities done sober. You learned more, maybe if you were lucky you learned enough to make changes that would benefit your life. If not, like most of us, things went on the same way. Maybe you learned to eat before drinking, that was an important one. New faces came and went, old ones stuck around or maybe we lost them somehow.

The only birthday in high school that stands out is my 18^th. The only one I was really looking forward to was my 16^th, but I don’t remember anything really exciting happening except that I could say I was 16 (maybe that came from the Sound of Music, I don’t really know.) My parents threw me a party for my 18^th with my friends, all of which didn’t drink (we weren’t hardcore it just wasn’t on our radar, we could act like idiots on our own, no alcohol needed.) We danced like mad to the DJ that was a family friend and eventually it was so hot we had to stick our heads out the window to cool off. It was freezing outside being February in Kansas, which is usually dreary, and full of shallow snow that turns the color of mud as soon as it hits the ground. It isn’t the pretty pure white snow you see in December. I always remember there being slush on the ground around my birthdays when I was in elementary school. Sloshing through the dirty wetness to get to a birthday party where we painted plaster molds to hang on the wall, or painted vases that would eventually be glazed, there was one where we dressed in Victorian dresses and played Victorian games where you won fancy soap as a prize. Those were the days.

The only birthday I remember in college was my 21^st. If the only reason to join a sorority was for your 21^st, that would have made it worth it for me. We met at the Heidelberg, to this day my favorite place to go in Columbia, Mo. Everyone started 21^st birthdays there, everyone could eat, drink or not drink if you were underage. I had a boa, my sisters made me a paddle and shot book (think scrap book but for the shots you are taking that night), ALL of my friends came to at least take a shot with me or just say “hi.” I took 21 shots that night with my friends timing me so I didn’t take too many too close together, I had a rule to not take any shots with multiple kinds of straight liquor (you know, four horsemen, three wise men, whatever.) I ate and drank a ton of water and I survived, no throwing up and I remember everything, I didn’t even get kicked out of a bar, which is a common occurrence on a 21^st birthday. I didn’t have to plan a thing and it was perfect. The Winter Olympics’ opening ceremony was on TV that night, but I don’t remember even being interested. I just remember trying to talk to all my friends and sisters that were there, letting them buy me shots called Scooby snacks or chocolate cake. My friend Bill had the tradition of buying a blowjob shot for everyone on their 21^st. He had made me a Rocky Horror themed shot book page and I remember thinking I was so lucky to have friends around me that knew me so well and being so grateful they had taken the time to plan something for me.

Last year, I spent the eve of my birthday in a hotel room in Virginia Beach with my then-boyfriend. He was on a base there and I flew in for the weekend. We didn’t go to an expensive dinner; he hadn’t planned anything although the hotel was nice. We ended up walking to a 7-Eleven as snow fell; I wasn’t wearing enough clothing by far because I had come from Alabama where I had worn a tank top and jeans onto the plane.  We picked up a pint of ice cream, wine and powdered donuts for the morning. That night we watched Tangled in the hotel room. I ate most of the ice cream and we didn’t finish the wine. I flew out the next day, on my birthday, but I don’t remember anything interesting about that day except that he told me Whitney Houston had died in the morning. I don’t remember what I did when I got back to Montgomery, I know that my apartment was like a refrigerator and I couldn’t find my fish (turns out he had frozen to death over the weekend since I had turned off the heat to save money. I know I’m terrible, but when I left I was wearing a tank top, how was I supposed to know a cold front was going to come through?)

And here I am this year. I’ve been alive for 24 years. Last night, instead of getting wine from a gas station, I made a big meal of jumbalaya, fried pickles and beignets to celebrate Fat Tuesday, listened to country, painted my nails and caught up on my programs. I spent the night alone. Today, instead of taking 24 shots I start rehearsal for a community theater production. My Facebook wall has been blowing up all day with kind words, some very kind and unexpected. It’s unusual for me to comment back to every message, but I appreciate each birthday wish so much I figured I’d show it this year, it doesn’t take much of my time. My friends at work decorated my corner with purple and green streamers (mardi gras, y’all) there are beads all over my desk and my boss got me a tiramisu cake with little peanut butter cakes. She said she thought I needed dainty things for my birthday.

Look how dorky I look. Twenty-four years old and I am just as gawky as ever, the tiramisu is the star of this picture. 

I know I must have wondered on the plane from Virginia where I would be in exactly a year. I know I hadn't considered a desk covered in mardi gras beads. Now, I wonder where I’ll be in a year from now. I guess, judging from this year, I could be anywhere, with anyone, doing anything. And although my year is streaked with depression, low self-esteem and anxiety (and any other problems you can think of associated with major change and some outrageous personal growing pains), I can’t imagine where else I would be right now. I’m afraid to imagine where I might be next year. I can’t imagine another year quite as exhausting as this one, but bring it on. I’m ready for it this time.

I was originally going to make this a post about what I wanted for my birthday, but that was really boring. So... money? Wait, wait, drinks, that’s it, just buy me a drink when we’re out. 

So, this is the New Year...

In the words of one of my fav bands (Death Cab for Cutie) - "So, this is the new year, and I don't feel any different."

That's not EXACTLY true, but it definitely isn't because the Earth had a birthday or whatever. Remember when I had this blog and I was good at keeping it up and stuff and junk? Well, the holidays put a damper on my creativity and totally wore me out. Excuses, excuses I could have made time or like, wrote a little instead of watching the Big Bang Theory and Family Guy every night before going to bed. I could have done less indulging (read: drinking) when I went back to my own personal winter wonderland in Kansas. I could have refrained from watching EVERY Christmas movie I could get my hands on (that includes The Santa Claus 2... really) with my parents. But I didn't, and here we are in 2013.

Pretty sure the world isn't scheduled to end this year, so that's a cool thing. I say that now and in a few months a crazy zealot will be all over the place talking about something weird that'll wipe us all like an acid rain tornado storm. Which now that I put scary environmental things together like that willy-nilly is actually a pretty terrifying mental image. M. Night Shyamalan should totally make a movie about that. Or Michael Bay because I imagine there would be a lot of explosions involved.

I didn't make any resolutions except for to keep on with my goal of trying to make myself happy instead of worrying about what everyone else thinks. I mean, there's that goal (that everyone should have) of not doing the same stupid shit this year that we did last year.  That one is actually a lot harder than it sounds because I'm pretty sure I've already messed it up, BUT I still have 357 days to keep trying. Or failing. Potato potato... which doesn't actually make sense in print. Potato po-tah-to then, for those of you confused about my phonetic rambling.

I do feel the slightest bit different on this side of the holidays, I'm trying to think about everything being bright and shiny because, well, I hear it's better that way. I've had people tell me that good things come their way because they think good things will come their way. That kind of thinking isn't even related to karma it's just their frame of mind. They want/think they deserve good things and they get them. Simple as that. It couldn't hurt to put on the rose colored glasses for a bit, drink the Kool-Aid and all that (wait). Although the color of 2013 is emerald (see, I'm not making that up) and when mixed with rose I think that would make some sort of breen color (yea, breen, like brown/green.... think I got that from Rocko's Modern Life...) I have a good feeling kinda'.

Do you ever do that thing where you just sit and wonder where you'll be this time next year? Not like imagining where you want to be, but actually wondering what job you'll have, who you'll still be in touch with, if you'll be dating someone, single, living in the same place or if you'll be drastically different. I wonder that all the time. This time last year I was still living in Alabama and it never crossed my mind that I'd be living in Florida in a year. I never thought I'd be working for a print publication, especially not one that focuses on business (remember how I'm bad at numbers...yea.) But here I am. And if I've learned anything, even one night can change everything. One misunderstanding on Halloween can halt a friendship for months, one chance meeting at a bar can lead to taking someone home for Christmas.

Think about it.

Weird, right?

Let's talk about me

Let’s talk about me for a second. I bet you’re thinking, isn’t that what you do on this blog you narcissistic boob. In my head a black and white cartoon character was saying that then promptly took off his white glove to slap me across the face with it. To that I would say, “Of course you know, this means war.” But to the non-animated folks I would counter with, “No, no it is not what I write about all the time.”

But as Toby Keith put it, “I want to talk about me, I want to talk about I, want to talk about No. 1,” just for right now.

 So, the other night I tweeted this:

Let's just talk about how much I hate myself right now. What the eff is wrong with me?
— Amanda Heisey (@AmandaHeisey) December 3, 2012

Being a closet emo high school kid is a hard habit to break even into adulthood apparently. Oh, and I used to do theater, I’m pretty positive drama just courses through your veins after that for the rest of your life.

And I know people are probably thinking, why is she complaining? She has a lot going for her; she has a good job, lives in a beautiful place, so on and so forth. Or you’re going, that’s not funny, there are people that really struggle with hating themselves. And to all of you I say, yes I totally understand all of that and am well aware. You have no idea how aware I am of all of those things. I’m aware times infinity.

This does not, however, dismiss the fact that the other night I was really angry with myself. Don’t tell me you are happy and content all the time with the choices and decisions you make. Actually, if you are a person that has somehow managed to not feel remorse or regret things, you should probably tell me how you accomplished that feat. Unless you are like a cold-blooded killer (There’s Dexter again. My bad.)

But I am still riding the struggle bus when it comes to making good or not so good decisions. I’m pretty sure this comes from the fact that I have no idea what I want out of life. Not that I think everything needs to be planned, but having some sort of direction isn’t a bad thing I would assume.  

This whole thing came to a head partly because I feel as though many of my other friends have their lives together with long-term relationships; engaged, married, one even had a child on purpose. ON PURPOSE I tell you. I want a cat right now, but I’m a little nervous about how that would go, and one of my friends has another human being depending on her.

See, this is why people think Disney movies are bad influences on children. Pocahontas didn’t know where her path led but she had a magic talking willow tree to help her out. Where’s my enchanted vegetation? I’d settle for a smarmy palm tree (being in Florida I feel like that’s more likely than Grandmother Willow.)

Part of my frustration lies, not only in the fact that I am pretty jealous of my friends with their shit together, but because I do feel like, little by little, I’m actually gaining some control over my life. It just isn't quite there yet. While I’m making so much progress it’s difficult to realize I continuously make the same mistakes over and over again while improving other aspects of my life. And even though I think I know what I need to do, it’s like impossible to do it. Not impossible just very, very hard.

I suppose I sound pretty weak then, huh? I wrote that I hate myself because it’s just so difficult to know what you probably should do and to mindfully make a questionable choice. Then you judgers may say, “Why didn’t you just do what you know is right?”

Because, my apparently moral friends, it’s effing hard. OK? There are all of those what-ifs and the thought that things could be different for me and not suck if I make the slightly more reckless decision.  But I am most likely the rule and not the exception to the rule. Alas. 

Here's to struggling with, you know, life. Cheers to everyone out there being equally as stupid as me. Next time we're out we can take a shot to celebrate our frustration, or to take out our frustration, whatever works.