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I should probably explain.

It’s been about a year since I typed here and a lot of things have happened. Venus Theatre opened this year with our sixtieth woman-empowering project. We began the summer by closing our sixty-first.

This year is called “2017 to a T: Love Notes to a Friend”. This year is dedicated to Tricia McCauley. My first female producer. My friend of more than 20 years. She was raped and strangled to death on Christmas Day. She was on her way to an annual Christmas Dinner. She made pie and her infamous brussel sprouts. A man who was supposed to be under house arrest at minimum one state over showed up, robbed her, raped her, murdered her, then blamed her.17903738_10211523409694148_2208642195475044336_n.jpg

This year I’ve been in PTSD recovery weekly. Until now. I’m pulling back over the summer because I’m able to function pretty well.

I don’t know if you’ve have had a friend raped and murdered. It’s a helpless feeling. A traumatic reality that revisits you several times a day. What kind of world are we living in? How many plays will it take to expose the violence of man? Is that even power? What is my power here? Is there a way to bring her back (x25 daily)? Why? Concluding that I’m just going to create now.

I’m also coming to terms with the fact that it looks like I’m an empath. My therapist has come to say the same phrase to me almost every session, “they’re just now doing studies on that”.

This is the same woman who responded to my, “statistically I should be dead. I’m a throwaway kid from Prince Georges who was molested and abused as a child and statistically I should be dead by now. Not her. Me.”

with…

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

or…

“You could also consider yourself a walking miracle. Because that’s what you are.”

to my…

“but I’m really not supposed to be here. She’s supposed to be here. My Mother actively tried to kill me, her Mother loved her. They should be together.”

with…

“You already know this is not an either or. There is no choice. If you could you would bring her back, but you can’t. So, what are you going to do?”

So…

So, I make tea and I make theatre. Every morning I wake up sometime between 5 and 8 am and I make tea. I used to wake up around 10 or even later. But now, sleep is a whole different beast. I make Tricia’s tea. You can see her making it in a video. I love watching that video because at the end the hostess drinks the tea from the only cup provided and T looks around for hers to join. But there is no other cup. So, she makes that face. Then she grabs the big mason jar and drinks from that. It’s just so her. I love watching that vid.

It’s also so her to say “you could buy a teabag, but…” and then she goes on about the ritual of doing. Which is also so her.

I just got back from the beach. Stayed at a marina. I brought my french press and grater and ginger with me (pictured). There was no tea kettle but it just wasn’t a big deal.

I wrote in my journal by the water and I read plays and I researched. I worked while the birds worked. While the owners worked. Veiled by this most incredible sky I still felt her with me. I’ve been feeling her with me since the day she was gone. And, that makes me feel like I’m going crazy. But she’s insistent and her messages are so beautiful.

She told me to get back to work. So, I got back to work. But, it was hard. And I had a few blowbacks. A few PTSD episodes where I couldn’t function, couldn’t speak without sobbing. Not only is she never coming back but the impact of this crime against humanity has done catastrophic damage to so many. She knew and loved and was loved by SO MANY different people. And she wants none of us in pain. This is difficult. She doesn’t understand why so many of us dwell on the worst day of her life when there is so much of her to look at. She has nothing to do with him. Allowing him to define her is a violation on a level I cannot convey to you. So, the terrestrial bonds pull down but the love keeps going up.

She’s telling me that the point of this life is to laugh and to connect. She’s telling me that’s the whole thing. That when we make connections this way we somehow alter the fabric of eternity in a really beautiful way. I don’t know what that is but she shows me rainbows.

She is fast. She is pure energy and really fast. And she needs me to catch up. But, I’m here and she’s there and here and life is fueled by dichotomy.

So, I drink tea.

I was almost rushed to the hospital twice. They thought I was in cardiac arrest. But, I wasn’t. It was digestive. I’d been living on coffee and wine. Red wine. She could go through bottles of it. We would talk for hours and hours about anything and everything. She was my sister.

I woke up with coffee and went to sleep with wine so I would sleep til late morning sometimes because I was never really rested. And basically my esophagus was like an old metal pipe with years of acid pouring through.

I had to give up Acid. Sometimes pipes can heal themselves if you give them enough alkaline, I guess.

It’s been ten weeks since I’ve given up coffee and wine and red sauce and spice and chocolate. I feel like a different person.

I feel her healing me.

I feel that the moment before I feel like I’m probably going crazy. Then she tells me “that’s not very nice”. So, I’m sure I’m going crazy.

But my therapist says no. No psychosis. Just PTSD.

That’s all.

Well, here I am.

Sipping tea with T laughing at me. At all the times I mocked her. Like that time some vegetable guru told her that potatoes had no soul. They were a soul-less root. I didn’t let her forget that for about three years.

She got sick of my mockery and conveyed this by giving the subject no more energy. The signature “blessings on your head” glance and the jig was up. But, she was still there. Always there on the other end.

Rolling her eyes at my processed tofu and telling me about the effect of it in relation to estrogen in my body and how there was no miracle cream for skin, “only water. drink more water. that’s what you can do.” And that time she turned off my cell phone when I was pumping gas because she said in Great Britain it was against the law and she thought the tanks might explode. Or how she loathed socks sold in the grocery store infused with aloe.

All of that is memory now.

It’s memory and some kind of connection I don’t understand. Life exists in dichotomies.

So, I’ve been up for three hours on a Saturday. It’s 8:41 now and…

I’m sipping tea.

One Comment

  1. Heart U. I breathe. (I believe I smell ginger tea.)

    On Jul 8, 2017 8:51 AM, “Venustheatre GodDesS Blog” wrote:

    > venustheatre posted: “I should probably explain. It’s been years since I > typed here and a lot of things have happened. Venus Theatre opened this > year with our sixtieth woman-empowering project. We began the summer by > closing our sixty-first. This year is called “2017 to a T:” >


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