2026 Goals

It's that time of year again.

 

Usually I'm really excited for these goal-setting posts, but this year I feel I've lost quite a bit of momentum. That's crazy to say... I added six shows to my résumé this year alone, including a 15-minute solo tap dance set for a fairly well-known theatre company and two theatre-musical choreography gigs. I made enough crocheted shawls to place them in a brick-and-mortar shop for sale. I learned how to draw half-decent human eyes (in colour).

 

But I feel like I'm stuck in quicksand.

 

This is probably understandable. We just made a fairly major out of town move less than two months ago. Work has been absolute madness for the past two months and I'm thisclose to burning out. My body feels weary. My brain feels like a car that won't start. I have $3 to my name, winter tires balder than Peter Furler, and less than a quarter tank of gas with which to get to work for an entire week before my next paycheque. I am so tired of worrying about finances, of asking for help, of having to put off legitimate needs (like safe tires for my vehicle) with more pressing legitimate needs (like gas for said vehicle). I think this year's goals may be more about getting my immediate 'boring' surroundings in order than creative projects that will probably never be seen by human eyes anyway. Maybe the fact that the small boring details of my day-to-day life are in chaos is the reason I'm struggling to work on my choreography and writing projects.

 

I've recently discovered Struthless on YouTube. This channel has been a Godsend, and a lot of what's in the rest of this post is probably going to be adapted (if not directly lifted) from his videos.

 

2026 Goals:

 

FINANCES.

I absolutely need to get some finances in order. I am so freaking done with not being able to go anywhere or do anything because I didn't set aside enough gas money for the van. I'm tired of knowing I'm driving on extremely unsafe tires, and the catastrophic electrical failure that took the van off the road for so long that the registration on it lapsed is still fresh in my mind. If something like that happens again, how are we going to pay for it?

I'm not trying to become a millionaire, I just want an emergency fund. Something we can fall back on if another $3,000 part on the van drops dead or if I get sick and have to miss a week of work. I want to be able to go to the grocery store and not have to prioritize some food needs over others because we don't have enough money for the whole list.

I'm guessing that the financial chaos we have lived in for so long is a big part of why I can't get my act together enough to work on anything creative. 

 

So how am I going to do that?

First, any and all Christmas gift money is going to open up an investment. It's something I have been talking about doing since I was 18 years old and never did. Not doing it is one of the biggest regrets of my life, and the longer I wait to open one, the bigger that regret will be. I don't even know what I'm saving for, I just want that money out of my easy-to-access chequing account where it WILL get spent on fancy snacks because that's exactly where it has been going for at least five years.

Second, I want to set up autotransfer so that every time a paycheque comes in, a certain dollar amount will immediately get siphoned off to a savings account of some kind. This may honestly just go toward buying Christmas gifts next year or something, as that has been a huge sticking point for me every year since we got married. Clearly I'm not doing this manually, so I need to automate it or it just is not going to happen.

 

Third (and we've already started to do this a bit since we moved), I want to meal plan at least a week in advance so we can buy groceries accordingly and cut back on eating out (last time we went on a dinner date it was over $80... just for the two of us! This wasn't even a high-end, fine dining restaurant, this was the culinary equivalent of a decent sports bar).

 

 

DANCE.

This is a tricky one. My confidence in my abilities took a huge hit on the second-most-recent show I choreographed, and now I feel like I need to prove something. Again. I was only just getting out from the 'I have to prove myself' mindset from college and then this. I've been asked to be a choreography consultant (not even the actual choreographer) for a local show and even that feels like I'll mess it up somehow.

I'm also fairly out of shape. Our new place has two levels, and even climbing the stairs twice in a row knocks the wind out of me.

 

I've been offered a really great teaching opportunity, and while I really want to take it, I'm also VERY aware of how easy it is for a teacher to absolutely destroy a student. My biggest fear is that in my inexperience, I will do the same to all my students and they will come away hating dance and hating themselves, the same way I often have. 

 

How am I going to do this?

First, I am NOT starting by posting on Instagram, where all the people who have tried to break me will see them. Instead, I have drafted an email to those who have supported me over the years asking if they would like daily video clips of me performing choreography for the month of January. I have learned that if I don't have any specific people waiting for a video, I will not make one... so I need to get people invested and waiting.

Over Nachmo, I would like to do an Alphabet superset -- 26 dance clips to songs starting with each letter of the alphabet. After 26 days, I'll run a poll and see which piece my accountability group thinks I should develop further and run out the run of the month working on that. I want to start putting those clips on my Ko-fi account and after January will start actually promoting that (because then it will have actual dance content on there -- wild, right?).

 

Second, I want to make a Project Board with a clear timeline of the dance thing I'm working on and focus only on that ONE dance project. The thing that has always hamstrung me with making dance films is trying to have eight of them on burners at once. This is impossible to do, and I absolutely know this. But I keep freaking doing it. I need to start with one (1) film, and not even think about any others until that one is legitimately done.

Also on this project board, I want to lay out a memorization schedule. The other MASSIVE difficulty I have with making dance films is simply not learning the choreography and then trying to cram it all in the week (or even the day) before. I want to schedule one section of memorization per week, so that by the time I want to film these upcoming projects, I will already know them well enough to feel comfortable performing them.

 

 

WRITING.

Kyrie has stalled out. The older I get, the less confident I feel writing about interpersonal relationships, and unfortunately that's exactly what Act I of this novel is. I've been stuck on/avoiding this one dinner date scene for probably almost a year at this point. I love this story, and even if I don't bring any of my other novels to fruition, I want to see this one published. I have had a handful of friends publish their own books, so I know it can be done by people like me. I just need to do it.

 

How am I going to do this?

Small, daily goals. One sentence a day. On good days, maybe shoot for 100 words per day. Just get something, anything, on the page. I'm going to set myself a goal to get this draft done and out to beta readers by the end of April. Most of that period is my layoff time from work, so I have PLENTY of time to write 100 words a day (especially since I'm pretty experienced at cranking out 3k+ words an hour from my NaNoWriMo days). Plus, Act II is already is pretty decent shape and really just needs some light editing before it's beta-reader ready.

Or, if 'one sentence' is too much, I might try for half an hour per day (setting a timer). 

I may also need to implement some kind of reward system until I can get Act I to be more fun. 

 

 

WIP CLEARING.

I have a pile of (mostly crochet) works-in-progress that I need to either finish or officially abandon and rip out. I think these are taking up a lot of brain space and slowing me down from doing other things because I keep thinking 'I really should work on this...' Two weeks ago I knocked out two crochet projects that literally took less than two hours each and already I'm starting to feel a little more like I can breathe again. I wrote a list of all the WIPs that exist so I can think about which one to tackle next (and which ones I need to seriously consider ripping out so I can use that yarn for other things).

 

How am I going to do this?

I used to crochet while watching YouTube videos, no I need to get back into the habit of doing things while watching YouTube again. Adrian's Digital Basement is a great channel for this, as Adrian is really good at explaining what he's doing as he's going along so you don't actually need to look at what's happening every single second. Plus, if you're watching one of his repair videos, you can tap into the body-doubling effect, as he's working on a project too. I also learn a lot about patience, troubleshooting, and computers in general from his videos.

 

 

 

SLEEP.

My mother often tells of when I was a two-month old baby and she would have to sit up with me at night because I was awake and wanted to play. (She's still bitter about this, by the way.) I wasn't crying or upset, I was just ready to explore and hang out and had zero interest in going to sleep.

That has set the tone of my entire life. I can sleep just fine. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm down for the count. The actual sleep is not the problem. The getting-to-bed part is. There's just too much to work on, and learn, and do, and explore. Life is short, and to spend a third of it sleeping, a third of it working, and half of it dealing with feeding myself seems absolutely ludicrous. When exactly am I supposed to, you know, live?

But my husband has given me an ultimatum: be consistently in bed by midnight before May 2026 or he'll leave me. And if it means that much to him, I do really want to try. But I've never done this before.

 

How am I going to do this?

I've come up with a physical tracker idea and I know I want to implement a reward system (which, of course, will require me to stay on track with the financial goals). A reward system helped me a LOT with getting my wake-up times solid (still going strong after six months!), so I'm hoping it will help with this too.

Being on ADHD meds has already helped a lot because now I can actually get the chores done before midnight (most of the time), which was definitely a big part of what kept me from going to bed. But now I'm using that time to putz around on other projects. I have a feeling clearing out the 'should do projects' (the WIPs, see above), might help a lot here.

 

 

COMMUNITY.

Part of why we moved was for a community. We had some friends in this town already, and for YEARS my husband and I have dreamed of hosting people for dinner... which is tricky when all your friends live(d) 90 minutes away or more.

I'd like to set a goal of hosting two dinners per month. That feels manageable, and that will be a great day to strengthen the connections we have (which is turn will hopefully help our mental health).

 

How are we going to do this?

Meal plan. Schedule. Text people until somebody's available for that date.

 

So what are my first steps?

 

- Buy a corkboard and some brad fasteners (to make the project board, as at least three of these goals will be tracked on these).

- Make a list of people to send the accountability email to.

 

- Keep referencing the WIP list and work off the momentum I've already built.

 

- Write one sentence in Kyrie.

 

- Wear the tap shoes. 

Meds And Gym And Shows And Van

I didn't realise it had been so long since my last post.

I'm still on the meds. No side effects, and the faintest whisper of actual effects. The pharmacist told me straight-up when I filled the prescription that I probably would need to bump up the dose. I did notice slightly less resistance to switching tasks in the beginning, and I have managed to stay on top of the household chores since I started taking it -- this is something that has never happened for longer than two weeks. I had a doctor's appointment on Monday, and we have increased the dose slightly.

I also got a gym membership at the end of January, and have kept it up so far -- I'm literally only using it for access to the dance studio. Tap shoes aren't allowed, but $48 a month is still a MUCH better deal than the $40 PER HOUR that it costs me to rent the local dance studio.

 

We are officially halfway through our current show -- my first show in the major city I've been trying to break into since 2018. My husband is also in this show and he's grown so much already as a person and an actor. It's in a beautiful old venue (over a century old) that's just packed with character and stories. The people have been lovely so far and I'm having a lot of fun.

 

An undercurrent to all this has been vehicle drama.

 

On 15 February, on a routine trip to the grocery store, my van suddenly gave a 'reduced engine power' message and did exactly that. Even pressing the pedal to the floor barely coaxed it up to 40 km/h.

 

I limped it home and my father-in-law (our unofficial mechanic) took it to his garage, where it sat in varying states of disassembly for over a month while he cleaned, fixed, tested, waited for parts, installed, tested again, repeat. In the meantime, he graciously lent us his old truck (which, it should be noted, has SIGNIFICANTLY more kilometres on it than the van does) as I was opening a show the following week and was in rehearsal for two others.

 

This was all well and good until the truck requested an oil change. We returned it to father-in-law's place, where he discovered a bad axle and recommended that we not drive it on the highway.

 

Not a single one of these shows are in the town in which we actually live. The literal only thing I was doing with that truck was highway driving.

 

He gave us this diagnosis on a Saturday afternoon. We had a rehearsal 150 kilometres away in less than 24 hours -- the final rehearsal before tech week, and our first in the performance venue. We couldn't miss that rehearsal. My husband despaired, and I, out of some old dusty reflex, began praying of all things. This is something I have not very seriously done since the night my cousin died -- fast approaching ten years ago.

That same Saturday night, I had been asked to work an event (in town, thankfully) at a performing arts venue I occasionally pick up hours at.

 

My former boss (from my last fast food job) was attending this event, and over the course of conversation, our vehicle troubles and the impending rehearsal came up.

 

"Do you want to borrow a vehicle?" he asked.

 

Arrangements were made, and the next morning he dropped off a very nice GMC (which, I noted, also had a lot more kilometres than the van). We made it to rehearsal and back, and within the week the truck was highway-driveable again (which was more than could be said for the van, which had already been declared repaired and highway tested once only to melt down dramatically again the second I touched it).

 

As I write, my father-in-law has taken the van to two separate repair garages in an attempt to figure out what's wrong, as by this time he's replaced almost every component in the thing with no success. The first garage followed a red herring, but the second garage discovered a catastrophic electrical failure (I'm surprised the van was even turning on at all based on the description I was given) and, at last report, were waiting for a replacement part to come in. We will be on the hook for over $800 by the time that part is installed (and we can only hope that solves the problem). That old prayer reflex kicked in again.

I put out a single plea on my social media, linking to my Ko-fi page. We received a decent donation right away, but then it sat for a week... until I woke up Sunday morning to a $500 donation.

All these years I thought maybe I had misunderstood God's calling -- that I had mistakenly attributed my love for performing to Him when it wasn't from Him at all. But He got us to that rehearsal, against all odds. He has brought us over half of the amount we will need to pay for that repair, and is there really any reason to believe the remainder isn't forthcoming?

And, looking further back -- He has provided not one, but three pairs of tap shoes when I needed them. I have not paid for tap shoes out of pocket since 2012.

I let that stupid 'Christian' college convince that God did not care about my pain and was only interested in my pre-existing happiness. I let the ones who claimed to trust God tell me that my 'talent' was only in my head and that I'd never be any real use to anyone -- in performing or otherwise.

 

This does not mean I'm over my cousin's death. I don't think I ever will be. But maybe I can find a way to live -- albeit differently -- in a world without her.

A Way To Support Me

You may notice a new button along the right side of the blog, just underneath my bio.

Jury's still out on the Patreon page, but for now I'm trying to bridge the gap with Ko-fi. Ko-fi has the option of one-time donations rather than monthly contributions (although it can be set up that way too), which lowers the pressure on potential supporters and the initial commitment level. I know as well as anybody how tight things are financially and how hard it is to commit to a monthly pledge in the current financial climate. I currently have the minimum donation set to $3, although you can certainly contribute more if you like.

Right now I have a financial goal of $500 on the site. That's how much money it will take to get me back into dance training one hour a week this fall. I've been off for two years and rebuilding my mental/emotional health for a third. I feel I'm at a point in my mental health/burnout recovery where I can -- and perhaps should -- go back into the studio and start training my body again. Unfortunately, gas prices do not agree and neither does my paycheque. My paycheque only covers bills and rent. It does not cover fun things or mental health things like dance, books, and music. Heck, sometimes it barely covers food and rarely covers gas (I walk to work and try very hard not to have to go anywhere else -- not even to the library to read books for free).

Ko-fi is going to be my artistic income. My 'real' job is going to take care of the bills, but my plan is for Ko-fi to fund what I really want to do (rather than trying to raise enough through Ko-fi to cover my living expenses AND my artistic work).

Right now, my goals are mainly going to be training-based -- classes and intensives. As I get my dance legs back under me, I'll start posting more film-related goals (costumes, dancers, sets, light design), and once I finish this Kyrie rewrite (over one-third done and still going!), there'll be a goal to raise the money to pay an editor. But the vast majority of the money from the Ko-fi will be going into my dance training/education/development, and all of it will be going to my artistic work in general.

If you can contribute even $3 (the price of a coffee -- and I should know, I work in the industry), that would help so much. Even if you can't spare three bucks, share the link with your arts-loving friends. I deeply appreciate any and all help.

Thank you.

An Open Letter To Those Who Love Me

Written 28 September 2013, 8.07pm.

I found this deep in my drafts folder the other day. I thought it was the perfect manifesto to start off this year. It has not been edited since July 2017.

(I'm not actually as depressed as the title makes it sound.)

Dear people in my life,

I think by now ya'll have noticed that I'm not exactly following your dreams for me. You know, the corporate dreams of me being some big-time lawyer or doctor or some other kind of genius. You have told me so many times over the years how smart I am, how smart I am, how smart I am. I get the sense that you figured I was some kind of a child prodigy or something. Cha-ching. Don't think I don't hear those cash registers in your heads.

Now, that may be true. Maybe I am a genius. I don't know. It depends what you're talking about, really (because if we're talking math, I am most definitely not a genius). But whatever the case, you all see me as intelligent. And I am not living up to your expectations of me.

I may be wrong (correct me if I am, I really do want to hear your honest take on this), but it seems to me you expected 'more' of me. I was to graduate high school and then go to college for perhaps a psychology or a medical or law degree. Something that would accentuate any speck of intelligence I possess. Something you could brag about to your co-workers to make you sound like you had some serious connections. And then, after spending four or perhaps ten irretrievable years of my years institutionalised, I would be ready to take on the world, to be the messiah, and you would have the privilege of saying you knew me before I was 'great.'

But it didn't work out that way. I graduated high school with... I don't know, integrity, I guess. I was willing to admit I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. And, perhaps more damagingly, I was not willing to commit to what I didn't know. I did not want to go to college for a degree that I wasn't sure I wanted, only to decide after three or more years' worth of money had been sunk into it that it really wasn't what I wanted to do after all. And then I would have been dishonest -- to you, to the school that would have had the misfortune of hosting me in such a case, to myself.

And I cannot be dishonest.

For two years you secretly hoped and outwardly 'spurred me on' (to put it politely). And then -- a miracle! -- suddenly the announcement came. I was going to college. Your hearts pounded. You were so excited. Finally I was going to live the life you had planned for me. Finally I was going to make good use of all my brains that I had been wasting for so long...

And now for my side of the story.

I have never been interested in committing more time than necessary to anything I am not fully interested in. Even in grade school: math. Math never interested me (nor did it make sense, but that's a different discussion), so I hated it. I would do whatever it took to do as little as possible... to waste as little of my life as I had to on such a pointless pursuit. (I know now that there is a point to some math, but that was my perspective at the time.) Second example: You all have had the misfortune of trying to make small talk with me. I'm not interested in small talk. 'Share how you really feel or shut up' has pretty much always been my guideline for conversation (for better or for worse). I'm not interested in small talk -- I hate these little social lies we tell each other -- so I don't do it. Like, at all.

By the time I graduated, I was keenly aware of the fact that I have one life to live. I have already used up twenty years of it just getting to this point. That leaves me with roughly sixty years remaining (give or take a decade or so). And there's no promises that I won't die earlier -- say, from an accident or something. Is it really wise to spend four years of those precious remaining years on school? School that I don't really want and may never need?

This was my logic behind not going to college immediately. I wanted to think it through first. I wanted to be sure what I was doing with my life, then decide if college would be necessary for that.

For two years I thought about this -- believe me, I thought about it. Hardly a second went by that I wasn't thinking about my future, praying about it, asking God what He had created me to do. It looked to you like I was just being lazy and mooching off my parents. Believe me, this was not the case. At the very least, it was not the intent.

Two years I pondered this. Two years I agonised. Two years I prayed.

I have to drop this train of thought now and back up a bit.

You didn't know this -- nobody really knew this till recently. You know I have been dancing ballet since I was six. What you did not know was that I have been making up dances in my head since I was seven. I didn't know it until those two years between high school and college, but I had found my passion by the time I was seven years old.

Choreography. Imagining dancers on the stage, coming together as a choir of movement, creating beauty. It captivated me.

At seventeen I began to take this seriously. At eighteen I choreographed and wrote down my first complete dance. Here is where this news began to leak out... that I was doing choreography.

You didn't know it, but I did. I had found my passion. This was my calling.

In those two years, I researched so much about careers in the arts. You have no idea how much I tried to spin it different ways, wanting the worst-case scenario so I knew what to expect, but wanting the best-case scenario so I could tell you something you could be proud of. So you would stop taking jabs at me for being lazy or stupid. Because I was not being lazy or stupid -- in fact, that was exactly what I was trying so hard to avoid.

I will tell you straight. Even the choreographers for big-name TV shows make about $20,000 a year, often less. And it's straight commission. If you don't have a project that month, you don't get paid that month. You are your own boss, and there's not a lot of demand for a choreographer. There's a reason you don't meet a lot of choreographers. It's because we don't need a lot of choreographers. Because nobody cares about the arts anymore. Ballet (true ballet, not this 'contemporary ballet' crap) is fast becoming a lost art, and hip hop, the dance of choice today, is largely choreographed by the performers themselves. When a classical ballet company does tour, they often mount the old classics -- Sleeping Beauty, Nutcracker, Swan Lake... There is no need for a choreographer; those works already exist.

In fact, this is reality for the arts in general. Artists are overworked (mostly as volunteers), and they are severely underpaid. Some of the most talented artists of the past century languish in a furiously creative flurry... unnoticed. Loved only by a loyal handful, but misunderstood and rejected, then ignored, by everyone else.

This is the life I am called for.

I am called to live a life that not only has no retirement plan, it has barely enough money to buy the groceries every week.

I am called to toil in obscurity, perhaps for decades, not because of the quality of my work, but because perhaps God has seen fit that I choreograph for only a few.

I am called to a life of intense loneliness. No-one can understand what it's like to create a dance from scratch until they have done it. And even then, those without the passion cannot begin to imagine the thrill of the soul that so captures our imagination that we dream of pointe shoes at night; that demands we return, again and again, to the music, to the stages in our imaginations.

I am called to a life that no-one on this planet will ever understand. It will look intensely foolish to anyone who has never tasted the wine of creativity, and in this day and age, that's almost everyone.

I am called to daydream with a vengeance.

I am called to a life throughout which it is highly probable that I will be broke or near-broke, lonely and largely ignored, obscure and taunted by those who do not understand. I will very likely struggle, not because I'm not smart, but because this is my God-given passion and the gift He gave me. And when God gives a person a gift, they can not and will never be truly happy doing anything else.

So I will choreograph. I may dance, I may sing, I may play an instrument. But no amount of criticism from you will make me change my mind. I will not be happy doing anything else. Let me be happy doing this.

Can you live with that? Can you accept the fact that I will not be a doctor or a lawyer with a 'thriving' multimillion dollar practice? Can you accept the fact that I will sometimes ask aloud where my next meal is coming from -- when I know there are other, higher-paying jobs out there?

New Year? Can't Tell...

2020. The start of a new decade, a new dawn, a new hope. A fresh slate, a brand-new start.

Nine days in and there have been two more deaths, a full-on identity crisis, a huge row over the wedding and it's now on hold, I've been fighting a chest infection for a month and still have a stabbing pain in my lung that hampers every single breath I take, and I lay in bed till 2pm every single day because I have literally no reason to get up in the morning. Or the afternoon for that matter.

I don't even know where to start.

All I ever wanted was to dance. I went into musical theatre because a certain program director told me I was not cut out to dance and that was my only real option (even though he also told me I'm not cut out to sing either).

I'm increasingly starting to resent musical theatre. I wanted to dance. But because of the money situation (see my post dedicated to that rant), I can't keep up my dance training. I thought musical theatre would get me into the dance world more easily, but it didn't. The last two dance callbacks I've done have been abysmal and I don't blame them for not casting me.

I'm starting to let auditions pass me by. There's no point and I can't afford the gas money to get to the rehearsals anyway. I don't want to do theatre. I don't want to do anything. I'm not sure I even want to be alive... I don't know that my existence means anything to anyone anymore.

I wanted to start 2020 off without complaining. I wanted to have a more positive attitude. I swear I did. Nobody believes me about that anymore -- I say I want to be positive and I do make an effort but then another rash of devastating things happens and how the hell am I supposed to stay positive through that? Stay positive? My friends are dead.

I tried. I try over and over and over again. I try so hard, so many times. I keep getting up and I keep trying again and it's like nobody believes me and nobody cares.

I Am Trying, I Swear

I picked the literal worst year in the history of Alberta to get married.

I've had almost ten other perfectly good, not-economically-abysmal years that I could have used to meet him and get married. But nope, dumb Kate has to pick this year, of all years. Nobody in Alberta has money, and even less people in Alberta have any sympathy. Alberta is a province of hard, determined workers who will themselves into a job and have exactly zero sympathy for anybody who's struggling to find work. It is worse in Alberta to be on financial assistance than it is to be a Nazi.

It's so frustrating. I only moved back to Alberta because I got no paying work after two years -- read that again, two years -- of job-hunting in Saskatchewan. I have applied for I swear every single job in Alberta. Every single one. I have applied for everything I may be even remotely qualified for, and even quite a few jobs that I am not qualified for. I have applied for everything, in pretty well every field of employment. Cashier, food services, waitressing, construction/contracting, sales associates, secretary, janitorial, grocery clerk, post office, farmhand, dishwasher -- you name it, I have applied for it. I promise. I have applied for all of the above in five different towns/cities in the past two days, in fact.

I cry a lot nowadays -- half because I miss my sweet fiancé so much (stupid long-distance), but half because I can't fund my own wedding and I'm losing to ability to convince everyone else that I really actually do want to help finance my wedding. Even his family seems to think I'm expecting a free ride somehow but I swear I am not. I am trying as hard as I know how and if there was a way I could be guaranteed a job, I would have done it already. My parents are experiencing their absolute worst year financially since I was a very young child, so they can't afford to help me out, no matter how much they would love to. I swear I'm not being lazy. I would absolutely pay for this entire wedding out of my own pocket if I could. If it has to be, I will go beg on street corners to get the money together for this wedding without asking any of our family for any more help. I am NOT lazy, and I am NOT looking for a free ride in anything. I know it takes hard work. All I'm looking for is a job.

It would be so easy to just move in together and call it done. It would be a hell of a lot cheaper and way less stressful. But I really want to do this right. I want to have an official Christian wedding. I want to be married before we live together. I want to do the right thing.

Yes, we could sign documents, get legally married, and have a party later -- but we all know the 'have a party later' thing never really happens. If we don't pull together the money for it now, will we really have the discipline to pull it together later, after we're already married? What's the point of it then? People won't take it as seriously then and then they're less likely to come celebrate with us anyway.

Sure, we could postpone the wedding a year or two -- but I hate this long-distance thing. I hate being apart from him, and I want to be with him as much as possible as soon as possible. (For the record, we already have postponed our wedding three months.)

We've cut down the budget as far as it can go. We got our wedding down from an initial $10,000 projected budget to $4,000. We are getting a lot of things at a reduced rate due to networking. There is nothing else we can cut... except the dance.

I never planned out my future wedding as a child, a teen, or even a young adult. I didn't have a dream venue, or dress, or flower arrangement figured out, or a Pinterest board of decorations, or a playlist of songs I wanted. The only thing -- the literal only dream I had about my future wedding (if there even was one) was the dance. I wanted a dance.

I was flowergirl in my aunt and uncle's wedding when I was young. The only thing I remember about that wedding -- besides cupping my aunt's face in my little five-year-old hands and telling her she looked beautiful -- was the dance. I watched all sorts of people get onto the dance floor and dance to the music and I loved it. From that age, I knew that if I ever got married, I wanted a dance at my wedding. That was the only dream I had about my wedding before my engagement. The only one.

And of course that's the most expensive thing. That's the easiest thing to cut, financially. Both the hall and the DJ are big-ticket expenses, and both are dispensable. This puts me into a state of extreme stress (even more than unemployment already has done)...

I want a dance. It's my only dream.

But it's expensive.

But that was the only thing I ever dreamed of having at my wedding.

But you could cut the budget in half if you dropped it.

But it was my dream.

But you don't have a job. You can't fund it. And you can't in good conscience make everyone else fund it when you're already contributing diddly-squat.

But I've always wanted a dance.

It's not like it's a necessity. Grow up.

But I'm only ever going to have one wedding...

And now I'm crying again.

It's starting to feel like God made me defective. Literally all my passions are the exact things that western society will not pay for. Even my artistic siblings have jobs, side passions that fit neatly into a trade or at least something that will pay them minimum wage. I'm willing to learn stuff outside of my passions -- I already have for previous jobs -- but first somebody in this God-forsaken prairie has to actually hire me.

I pray so much about this. I beg and I plead and I yank desperately at the hem of God's cloak but still He is silent. Just like He always has been toward me when I have been in need. I try to do the George Müller thing and not ask anybody else for money and just trust God for it but then my gas tank is empty again and I have rehearsal in literally forty-five minutes and I have no choice but to beg my friends and family on Facebook for money again. And I feel like scum doing that. I feel like the worst specimen of humanity when I have to beg my friends for money just to put gasoline in my vehicle. A lot of times it does feel like I would be better off dead -- I wouldn't cost anything anymore. The literal only thing that stops me is the thought of how devastated my fiancé would be.

I hate that all I think about now is money. I hate that everything is so tied to money. I hate that I'm obsessed with it now, but I have to be -- you cannot exist in western society without it, even if your tastes aren't expensive and you know how to stretch a dollar. A dollar only stretches so far before it breaks.

Everyone talks about the faithfulness of God. Everyone else talks of His miracles of provision. I can't even tell you how many people just in the past week have said to me, 'just let go and let God,' or 'just pray more, and I guarantee...' You don't think I haven't been doing that? You don't think I have prayed my face off for the past two years of my unemployed (and therefore worthless) existence? I have confessed sins, I have prayed for guidance, I have taken risks, I have worked hard, I have tried. What yet do I lack? What magical ingredient am I missing that God still requires from me? I thought His grace to us was just that -- grace. Not based on our merit or our works, but our need. Not once have I pointed to my Bible college degree. Not once have I pointed to a lifetime of church attendance and tithing. Not once. All I have said, over and over and OVER again, is, 'God, you know I need to be able to pay for this. Please help me. Please provide.'

And He is silent.

I have great need, God -- and only some of it is financial. Do You care or not?

The Cost of Dance

Life update: I have moved back home -- as in, to the little town where I grew up. My focus right now is on theatre and it's killing me because what I really want to do is dance. The city I was in this summer has WAY more dance opportunities and even training options than my home city. But I have literally zero savings to fall back on and it's cheaper to do theatre than dance. Yes, really.

First -- auditions.
I have never in my life paid for a theatre audition. I've auditioned for the biggest theatre company in Regina (twice), as well as the one in Edmonton. This past September alone I auditioned for thirteen small volunteer-based organizations. Not one of them -- not even the one that's several thousand dollars in the hole -- charged me an audition fee.
Conversely, every single dance audition I have ever done has come with an audition fee. I've paid as little as $25 and as much as $80 for a single dance audition. That's a lot of money to throw into the abyss on the tiniest off-chance that you might actually outshine the 300 other dancers who are no doubt also sending in video auditions.

Second -- training.
I had the opportunity this fall to train with one of western Canada's only tap ensembles but I had to pass it up because I was barely able to scrape together the last few dollars of my savings account for the audition fee (see above), let alone the $400+ required for registration for the actual training.
Dance training -- just to keep up your technique FOR auditions -- costs about a thousand dollars a year, per hour/week. (It does depend on the region a bit, but that's about average in western Canada.) Ideally, dancers at a professional level should be taking at LEAST twenty hours of class per week. That's $20,000 a year. That is fully half the average annual salary (in US dollars) for a professional dancer. That doesn't count transportation, pointe shoes ($120/pair, new pair every two weeks at that level of training), dancewear (one bodysuit averages $100), physiotherapy (every two weeks at least), and things like medication, counselling, food, rent -- you know, regular living expenses that everyone has to pay for.

On the other hand, I have never, ever had to pay for acting training (my degree doesn't count because I got exactly two acting classes out of a $100,000 degree and the director straight-up, to my face, refused to give me more even though my degree program actually required me to have more acting credits than that). All of my acting training has come on-site -- actually on the stage, in the rehearsal room, doing shows. I'm basically self-taught because nobody thought I was good enough for them to bother actually trying to teach me.

Third -- costumes.
In dance, there is always a costume fee. Always. From the time you're a three-year-old in a costume-shop tutu sickling your feet to the time you're a college student taking professional-level classes, you always, always, pay for every single costume you wear -- whether or not you are actually allowed to keep it.
In theatre, I have only paid a costume fee once. I've had to supply parts of my own costume -- slips, blouses -- but even the pieces that come out of the company costume room are free for me to use as long as I am in that particular production.

Fourth -- mentally.
Theatre is (usually) quite good at meeting their actors where they're at mentally and emotionally (my college and their 'you MUST be happy all the time whether or not the script even actually portrays this character as happy' attitude notwithstanding). They require a lot, but they also give a lot of empathy. If your depression is acting up, they'll accept whatever you can do with gentle encouragement. If you've twisted an ankle, they are happy to let you sit to the side with an ice pack as long as you're paying attention to what your blocking will be. If you haven't eaten in three days because you haven't had time, they will cobble together all their collective snacks and feed you, and they'll probably all remember your allergies and texture issues too.

Regarding dance, Sydney Magruder Washington has actually described it much better than I could in her excellent post on ballet and mental illness. Dancers are constantly told to shut up and smile. Grin and bear it. The show must go on. No negativity allowed. Ever. At all. Not even a hint of a breath of anything less than sunshine and rainbows and unicorn poop. And if you can't do it, there is NO END to the emotional and verbal abuse you will get if you can't fit the artistic director's mould of perfection and happiness, even during barre when you're still trying to get your exhausted eyelids to stay open. In dance, if you're having a rough depression day, you get fired on the spot. And then the director blacklists you to anybody who will listen for the rest of your life.
Also, for reference -- one (1) counselling appointment can be over $200. Each. When I was in my most intense period of counselling (which lasted for about eight months), I was going once a week, but probably should have been doing twice a week.

Don't tell me this huge financial disparity is because nobody goes to the ballet anymore -- nobody goes to the theatre anymore either, and yet the theatres somehow manage to run without soaking their usually-not-well-off performers for money. And when can these performers work? All the job openings insist on evenings and weekends. When do performing arts companies rehearse? Evenings and weekends. We can work OR we can perform, not both. And if we choose the latter, we can't even afford to get proper dance shoes, let alone get our properly-clad foot in the door with an audition.

All I want to do is dance, and I HATE that I'm too poor to afford it.

Investing

As I mentioned in a recent post, I have a fixed amount of money and that amount is rapidly diminishing.

I managed to peel the entire front off my vehicle, managed to land an audition with a fee that the company conveniently neglected to mention until I'd already committed to the audition, and probably should get counselling as I spent the last four or five days in a pit of suicidal rage. That will pretty well take care of my savings, and I haven't even paid rent yet.

What really annoys me about this (I realised while ranting into the void), is that I can no longer invest in myself. Self-care for me includes dance class, it includes driving around listening to music, it includes wandering shops, it includes photography, it includes writing, it includes auditioning, it includes counselling, it includes creating things.

But dance class costs money. And I need new tap shoes (again), which costs money.

Gas costs money. Wandering around shops usually costs money because I usually find at least one costume piece. Lord knows film and development cost money and my dear Pentax is in desperate need of service.

With Lila broken, my writing is severely curtailed. If I had an income, I could justify buying another word processor on eBay or something but I have no income so I can't.

Auditioning often requires me doing video auditions, and that requires me having a memory card for my video camera -- mine is full, so I went out and bought another but it turned out to be a piece of trash. A good memory card runs into the $100 range... I cannot justify that in my current financial circumstances. And heaven knows counselling costs money.

I can't create anything. I can't do anything. And as mentioned before, that makes me feel really useless. I want to make dance and writing and photos and art and maybe one day that will be a source of income. But right now I'm in a place where I can't continue with any of that until I can make these investments. But can I really justify these investments when I can barely afford rent and gas to get to rehearsals (I haven't really eaten in a week in order to cut down on food costs). I have no assurance that these investments will actually pay off... out of the literally dozens of auditions I've done so far this year, only two actually cast me (and one was with the school so they kind of had to shove me in somewhere though we all knew the director would rather have gouged out his own eyes than work with me).

I want to do all these things. I want to pursue these things, even though they're mere hobbies at the moment. I want to continue to hone my skills and develop my stage presence. I want to keep auditioning and making dance films and writing novels. I want to get counselling. I want to do and enjoy all of these things. But I can't -- I can't justify spending that kind of money on literally zero income with no assurance of return on my investment.

The Useless Artist

It's been a difficult, discouraging week.

To start off, my beloved word processor Lila may be dead for good -- including some newly-written scenes for Kyrie that hadn't been backed up yet. She's been with me nine years, and I genuinely cannot imagine life without her (what? I'm single, it's not like I have a human to use that line with anyway). There was a scare in February, but she came back... she's a tough little thing, and I thought it was just a bump in the road. She alone was my companion in my teen years when I was isolated in the middle of nowhere, raising four kids, bullied at church, and trying desperately to stay on the nonexistent right side of an abusive parent without also compromising the safety of my siblings. She came with me to Saskatchewan and prevented boredom on many slow days at work. She was a key player in twelve novels and has been a huge part of the Kyrie revision so far. Without her, I don't know if that revision will ever get finished.

I'm living my dream now -- a west-facing window with both a skyline view and a mountain view, my tap floor in the basement for practicing whenever I want (within reason -- the walls are shared with neighbours), but yet, I'm trapped in the house because if I go out anywhere, I'll end up spending money. Money I don't have. Because literally nobody in Canada will hire me for even a basic, entry-level cashier job, let alone anything else I apply for (yesterday morning alone I literally applied for 36 jobs). All I have to live on for probably the rest of my life is a couple hundred dollars. I have zero income to replace what I'm spending on rent. (I'm not spending it on gas because I'm not going anywhere and I'm not spending it on food because I have no motivation to eat and also the money will last longer if I don't eat.)

I can't even make audition videos or even dance videos because I need a new memory card for my video camera. But I can't afford one. In today's online world, you literally CAN NOT get anywhere without the ability to record video and post it online. That's the only way people even have a chance to see what you have to offer.

So there it is. I'm in this beautiful city I can't explore, I can't write, I can't really do anything dance-wise, I'm locked out of a lot of auditions, and I can't even get up and go work a menial 9-to-5 because literally nobody thinks I'm employable... I, who have worked in literally three different fields and have a Bachelor's degree in yet a different field entirely.

Money can't buy happiness, but it can at least buy life... or at least a life worth the air I'm breathing. Right now I'm just taking up space and bringing nothing to anybody. I'm just sitting here quietly spiraling, and since I have no friends here, there's nobody to stop me. I feel unseen and unheard and of no consequence to anybody. For an artist -- for someone who has literally spent their entire life trying to create things that change people and make them feel -- this is the literal worst thing that could possibly happen. If nobody can see or hear me in any of my avenues of expertise (writing, dance, or theatre), that means I'm not having an impact.

And that means I'm useless.

(Metaphorical) Split Jump

I feel like I have one foot in two provinces and it's honestly exhausting.

Earlier this spring I had made plans to stay in Saskatchewan fairly long-term (despite graduating college in April). I notified my housemates, job-hunted, started looking at places, told my entire extended family/friend group -- and then it fell through. Completely. Entirely.

I came up with a backup plan fairly quickly. Since it involved me moving back to Alberta, I officially ended the perennial Saskatchewan job-hunt -- no point in prolonging the frustration of not getting hired if I was only going to be there another month and a half anyway.

However, because I have zero income, this means I am literally scraping together couch change to pay for gas to get to rehearsals. I have $18 to my name right now. I literally can't even break a twenty for change for the parking meter at the doctor's office.

This leaves me in a very tight spot. I'm still in shows in Sasktachewan till mid-June. However, I don't have money to even fuel my van this week. The one saving grace was that there's a week and a half between performance dates here. It's a long enough period of time to go back home and work for my dad's company for a week. And that should earn me enough money to pay my final rent bill in Saskatchewan and cover gas till I move back to Alberta. It's really kind of stupid that I'm having to commute nine and a half hours (to a different province!) to work, but I swear literally NOBODY ELSE on the planet will hire me. Name it and I've applied for it. Even jobs below minimum wage. I have applied for literally everything.

I've just confirmed my place in a renting option in Alberta. I guess it's official now -- my time in Saskatchewan is ending, much sooner than I anticipated. I really only have about two weeks total here -- the rest will be in Alberta, working to afford to actually move.

It hurts. 98% of my friends -- my support system -- are in Saskatchewan. I really only have two Alberta friends left, and they'd be in a different city than me. I would be well and truly alone in a strange city, when I'm already not in a great headspace.

Don't get me wrong -- I love Alberta, and I love the city (both cities in general and the particular one I'm moving to). But I feel very much like I'll lose all the friends I made here in Saskatchewan, and I'll have to start rebuilding a support system from step one all over again -- do you know how long it took to cobble together the one that I currently have? And that was in a school environment, where you're together with people all the time, in a setting that's fairly conducive to building relationships.

It still doesn't seem real that one day, in less than a month, I will be leaving this house, driving away from this town, taking the exit off the highway... and never coming back.

Honest Ramble

Can I be very, very honest about my life right now? Here is one of the few places I can be, because here, on this website, on my domain name, nobody is required to read anything I write. If you want to read it, fine. If you don't, fine. Nobody's forcing anything on this blog down anybody's throat. On Facebook and Instagram, I have a persona to keep up, at least a little bit. I do show frustration on there sometimes, but I try to balance it with humour (even if it's sarcastic/dark humour).

I'm frustrated beyond words at my lack of ability to get a job. I've been job-hunting for three years. And I'm not being picky. I've applied for waitressing, cashier, reception, janitor, construction, literally anything that I'm even kind of half-qualified for. I feel like a failure as a human being because I'm not self-sufficient, because I still need financial assistance. People tell me, 'just apply for everything.' I know... I've been doing exactly that for three years. And I feel like I'm defective, like something's fundamentally wrong with me because despite being very qualified for a variety of different types of work, literally nobody even contacts me for an interview or anything. How is it so easy for everyone else to get a job and not me? What's so horribly, horribly wrong with me that it's immediately obvious even to those who have never met me in person?

I haven't practiced dance since February. I just -- haven't. I was busy, then sick, then injured, then recovering, now sick again. And now I'm wondering if I even bother picking it up again because now I'll be so far behind -- again. And it's not like all that practice was serving me well anyway... I was easily the worst dancer in Fame.

I am bored as heck. Having no job and no more schoolwork (ever) has left me with a LOT of free time that I really wasn't prepared for. Ordinarily I would just use it for practice, but I'm not even sure I want to put in that much effort anymore... I'm not sure it's going to be worth the time and energy I've put into it, and I have so little energy to play with as it is. I'm not sure I should even bother pursuing the performing arts anymore. I'm not sure what I should be pursuing or what I should be doing. I feel very, very purposeless. Up till now, the arts was my purpose. But now... now I don't even have that. Never before in my life have I not had the arts, some kind of creative project, to capture my imagination and my days. Never, never before. Is this how people live? Is this the hell they wake up to every day? How do they breathe under that weight?

I just feel so, so useless. I feel like I have nothing to bring to the world that somebody else isn't already doing ten times better. I feel like everyone's got everything taken care of and they don't need me for anything. I worked so hard and I tried so hard and I practiced so much and it wasn't enough to be of use to anybody. I feel like I have nothing to contribute, nothing to say that hasn't already been said, nothing to do that hasn't already been done. They say to put your own unique stamp on the world and to live life as only you can, but my only calling card is that everything I do is subpar. And maybe that's not even my fault... but it feels like it is.

I don't want to just spend my life watching YouTube. I don't want to spend it scrolling through Facebook. But right now those are literally the only options available to me. I don't have a job and I don't have talent and I don't have money to start something even moderately big. I can't even do another dance video -- I don't have the money.
I'm scared that I'm just wasting my life and that I'll be mooching off my family for the rest of my life. I'm scared no-one needs me. I'm scared I'm missing something.

My brain literally feels like it's being eaten by acid -- melting, burning. I wanted so much to create things, but they're always, always subpar and I'm exhausted from expending so much energy into something that's worth nothing.

When you're a kid you can do something as stupid as make bracelets and sell them for $5 each and make money that way. But when you're an adult they expect so much more from you. They expect the world. They expect complete perfection. Nobody will pay $5 for a string with three beads on it made by a fully functioning adult human who's perfectly capable of going out and getting a job... right?

I feel unheard -- completely invisible. I send emails and it's like they're never received. I talk to people and it's like they never heard my voice. I stand by them, I even touch them, and they look right through me. It's like being gaslighted by the entire world -- 'I never ignored you.' Then why do you refuse to acknowledge my existence?

I'm aware that time is marching on and I'm doing nothing with it and it'll end soon and I'll have nothing to show for it, but it's not for lack of trying. I tried -- I tried. I freaking tried.

I feel like I'm trapped and I'm drowning and I can't get out.

A Father's Advice

My dad has taught me a lot -- mostly by simply living life. I've grown up watching him run a business with integrity and hard work. I've watched him and worked alongside him as he strives for quality workmanship on every jobsite. I've watched him demonstrate humility and love (to his fellow man, to my mother, to us kids) and leadership and a constant dependence on God to lead and provide.

A story that sticks out is recently, I was shopping for new stage shoes. I needed a very specific style of shoe for my purposes (that is, for the show that weekend), and I found two -- one new, by a quality brand, for $95; and the other for $10 at a thrift store. Ordinarily I would have jumped for the higher-quality shoes without question, but this was at a time when my finances were at an absolute low, so the price tag gave me pause. Should I just take the cheaper shoes for now and replace them in a couple months when I wasn't scraping to pay rent?

I usually would call my mother in this situation but I couldn't get a hold of her, so I called my dad at work and explained the dilemma. He doesn't know the first thing about dance or dance shoes or really anything in this world of mine filled with tights and makeup and hairspray, but I figured any outside opinion would help clarify my own at this point. I was truly torn.

Normally he makes decisions slowly, weighing the pros and cons of each option (now you know where I get it from). But once I'd explained it, he said without hesitation, "You know that I always spend the extra money for a better quality tool. It lasts longer and it's easier to use. To me, this is the same thing -- these are your tools. I would spend the extra money for better shoes that will last longer and be better for you in the long run."

So I did. I got the $95 shoes. So far, I have no regrets (except maybe the fact that I broke them in during opening weekend). But something about the moment struck me... how this advice from a contractor with no performance background or training whatsoever so perfectly applied to my situation. My parents have often said they struggle with how to guide me as I pursue a world so foreign to them, but this guideline he'd developed from years in his own vastly different work was exactly what I needed.

Not only that -- for the first time in my life I felt that someone outside the arts saw my work as legitimate. And not because they were 'trying' (code for 'saying the right things and not meaning them')... they just did. There are no words to describe that feeling, especially coming after years of striving and straining for years for people to see me as a human with needs and wants and strengths as well as weaknesses -- instead of as God's failure. A weight lifted in that moment. My dad saw my work as serious and treated it accordingly. That was one of the best feelings in the world.

The Pink Paper

15 April 2015. Three days before I graduate with my Associate of Arts degree.

I'm walking to my program director's office for the second time in ten minutes. In my hand is a single pink sheet of paper. Across the top of it are the words Program Declaration/Transfer Form. Beneath those words, in my handwriting, are my name and the date -- my sister's birthday. Below that are the words Current Program and New Program. In those fields, in my handwriting, are the words AA Music and BA Music, respectively.

And I am taking this sheet of paper, which may or may not determine the next two years of my life, to my program director for his signature, which I know he will give... he's the one who's been pressing me to take this step for the past month and a half and who, five minutes before, directed me to get this piece of paper from the academic office.

I knock, and enter.

"I'm back." I hold out the paper.

He bids me wait a moment and finishes with the computer. I stand back from the screen -- he's doing grades; he told me this when I was here five minutes ago. Then he rolls his chair closer, takes the paper and signs it. Twice -- once as the director of the AA Music and once as the director of the BA Music. He hands it back.

"There you go. Take it back up. They'll open registration for you and they'll fill in a program sheet for you and email it to you and me."

I'm aware that my face is pale. My heart is racing. What am I doing? But I manage a nod. He's already made it clear that I'm not actually committing to anything yet and can still decide not to come back. But perhaps he sees my terror at my own volition for he says it again.

"You can always decide not to come back if things don't work out. But I want you to come back. Keep me posted through the summer. Shoot me an email."

"Okay."

I thank him, leave, and take the paper back up to the academic office.

***

One full year passed -- summer, fall, winter, spring. A second summer hurtled by. By mid-August it was clear that the money would not be there to return for this degree, this program on the pink paper, and so I began packing my schedule to the brim with dance classes in Alberta. I was pulling from three different schools, working around theatre rehearsals and the few auditions I could scrounge up online, practicing on my own, working my actual job every second I could in between.

***

29 August 2016. Three days before registration day at the college -- a day I know I cannot attend. I have come to peace (at least a bit) with the fact that I am about to forfeit my Bachelor's degree and two years of musical theatre training due to lack of funds.

I go to visit a friend of mine from church. We talk about what's new and the college comes up.

"About that..." she says. "I contacted a few people I know. They have collectively contributed two thousand dollars and there is one person who is willing to loan you the difference."

Never before have I experienced the feeling that I'm dreaming when I'm not. But I am now. I sit, studying her face, utterly lost for words. So thoroughly had I despaired of ever going back again that to have it sitting in front of me, within my grasp, seems incongruent.

This just does not happen. Not to me.

Years in the church, hearing the stories of missionaries and laypeople and pastors having miraculous answers to prayer, financially, have still not prepared me for the idea that that could happen to me. I have always been the punching bag on the outside looking into grace. Miracles don't happen to me.

Every thought I had had all day disappeared from my head. She was asking me about my week and I could barely string together a sentence. I had literally forty-eight hours to notify everyone, pack, and move out-of-province. But we did. My family rallied around me and saw me out the door on my first solo flight to the middle of nowhere on the second.


And that's (the condensed version of) how I ended up back in Saskatchewan this semester.

Thought Bubble

Maybe I am crazy. What will this life give me in the end? Not money, that's for sure. Does love and passion outweigh money? Maybe I should stay here. Maybe I should move to the city. Can I really be happy doing a nine-to-five? How much long can I last in dance with my ankles the way they are? I should have picked up a second job. I'm chasing a pot of gold that doesn't exist. Now I won't be able to finish my degree. This degree won't pay for itself. I won't make that money back. Where will it come from? God funds the things that are of Him, right? Is this of Him? How do I know? Will He tell me? Do I just guess? How can I prove it? How much stock do I put in those tiny little signs? Am I spinning everything my way? Where is the money going to come from? Maybe I am stupid for trying to pursue this. Is art really needed? Does art really touch other people as much as it does me? Is it my place to try to encourage people who refuse to be? Why am I doing this, trying to help people if I can't even keep myself above despair? Who am I to say I have hope when I don't believe it? Why is money so freaking important? Why can't I enjoy my life without having to field these money questions? Should I get a student loan so I can continue college without having to take a second year off? But the degree won't pay for itself... Why do my thoughts never resolve, just keep running in circles? Why would God put this love for the stage in my heart if nothing could be done with it? What's the point? Was it to mock me? Was it to make other people feel better about their stupid ridiculous dreams? If I died everyone would bend over backwards trying to fulfil their interpretation of my dream without me but they don't give a rip about it now when I'm alive. Life would be easier if I was dead. I wouldn't constantly have to make these decisions and work my butt off for a dream that doesn't make money and a job to fund the dream. Although isn't that what people do anyway? They work their job to fund the American dream. All those hours and there's no money at the end of it and there's no strength left for the dream. Why is the world so stupid? You kill what you need. Or don't you need art? Is that a lie that I've believed in my desperation to avoid the nine-to-five? Is that all this is? Would the pressure be off if I gave up and worked as a secretary? Or would that be a denial of my soul and my God-given calling? But was it even given by God in the first place? How do I know? I should have applied for scholarships sooner. I should have... I should have... I should have... I don't know what I should have done. What is right? Is it right only for me or is it right for the plan of God to be fulfilled? Why do I have this burning need to avoid the nine-to-five? Am I just lazy and justifying it with art? Am I stupid? I must be or I would have applied for scholarships sooner... or given up this dream. Is it just that? Is it just a dream, a cautionary tale for my future self?

Round, round we go...

Another day, another 5600 revolutions of this circle, this thought bubble, this hamster wheel of the mind, spinning its tires and rehashing these questions to death, adding other more complicated questions when I'm least mentally prepared for it?

Welcome to my life.

Music Day

I had this guy's music in my head all day at work... I Want To Be A Clone, On The Fritz, Meltdown... so we're making the small leap from the sarcastic Terry Taylor to the sarcastic (and cynical) Steve Taylor. (I may or may not be a sarcastic person...)

It continues to puzzle me that for as much as I like Steve Taylor's solo material, I only own four of his songs and that's been the number for a long, long time. Why only four? I have no clue. I like quite a bit of his stuff (as heard to YouTube) and iTunes does carry I Predict 1990 and a greatest-hits compilation that actually gives you a decent cross-section of his career to date. Plus, I saw both I Want To Be A Clone and Meltdown on vinyl at the record shop the other day (I didn't have enough cash on me, or I totally would have bought them. Along with the Vital Signs LP (White Heart), the Run From The Darkness LP (Daniel Band), and that Barnabas LP I saw that I can't remember the name of right now).

I like the mood of this song. It makes you think, possibly more than the lyrics do. There's a melancholy hollow-ness in the sound, even as it races past. The sonic story of so many 9-to-5 drones -- once-wonderful and amazing people caught up in the song of little dollar signs floating just out of reach, just beyond 'a little more overtime'...

Title: What Is The Measure Of Your Success?
Artist: Steve Taylor
Album: I Predict 1990
Year: 1987
Label: Sparrow
iTunes here; YouTube here.

Brooding sound, heart-piercing story, haunting question. As for the video, I thought it odd at first, but I just watched it again and it feels like genius now. There's all this big set-up and seriousness, and for what? You'll have to watch the video to find out exactly what, but even the absurdity of it makes a point -- 'you think this is ridiculous? What about wasting your entire life in the pursuit of little pieces of paper?'

Well put, Steve. Very well put.


I know better
Still I run...

Closer To Another Dream

*total fangirl squeal*

A WHITE HEART REUNION TOUR IS IN THE WORKS!

It's all very tentative... no dates yet (and the odds that they'll come to Canada at all -- never mind small boring farmer-filled Alberta -- are slim to none), but IT STILL COUNTS!

Now, I've kind of got to temper this a little bit... a few years back there was a reunion tour in the works and the whole thing got cancelled rather far into the process, but eventually one of these tour plans has got to work out.

This is killing me... the suspense, the waiting, the not knowing -- not knowing if it'll even actually happen, not knowing if they'll come to Canada, having to face the very real possibility of knowing my favourite band EVER is actually on tour and there's a very good chance I won't be able to see them...

Man... if only I didn't have to pay for dance classes and college... I could spend all summer saving up so I could roadtrip to the nearest concert. Even if it is in the States. (Crap. In that case I would need to get a passport too.)

The announcement said six dates... well, Nashville is pretty much a given, so you've got five. Even Toront -- I mean The Centre Of The Universe would be hard-pressed to get one out of five when it's got the entirety of the States to compete with.

This is why we need an album. But touring is a good sign -- I hope (desperately).

Why I Don't Have A Nine-To-Five Job - The Practical Reason

For the past month and a half or so I've been seriously contemplating sucking it up and getting a *shudder* nine-to-five job. After all, college and (hopefully) three or four extra dance classes do not pay for themselves.

Of course, in order for me to work a nine-to-five job, I have to actually be slightly conscious at nine o'clock in the morning (actually, it would have to be more like 7.30 to allow for the commute).

So last week I put my abilities to the test.

Our church was hosting their children's day camp that week and I had been pressed into service as Official Event Documenter (translation: photographer). The camp ran from Monday to Friday, from nine till noon. This meant I had to be at the church at 8.30. Which meant I had to be leaving the house at eight. Which meant I had to be awake by 7.30.

In order to do this, drastic measures were required. I forced myself into bed by 12.30 am every night. This meant I accomplished approximately half a page of choreography over nine days (I've been known to do six in one day). Over the course of the week, my mental capacity deteriorated greatly. I don't think I've ever felt so stupid and unproductive in my life. By Thursday I couldn't focus on anything for more than two seconds. Every time I tried to do something productive I became narcoleptic. Basically, I was a zombie.

Last night was my first night in over a week that I didn't have to be up at a certain time the next morning. So, like the rebel I am, I went straight on through till 4.30 am before going to bed. Sure, I didn't wake up till 11.30, but I've already gotten three pages done on Glory To The King (among other miscellaneous household tasks) and was contemplating doing some more choreography once I publish this. You can get a lot done in fifty minutes.

So basically, either I get a 9-to-5 and be a zombie for the rest of my then-cursed life, or I keep looking for something slightly less square-peg-in-round-hole and can then continue with the work God seems to have called me to do.

Missing Out...

John Schlitt's new album comes out this Tuesday. Lecrae's dropping a 'mixtape' on 10 May. And Michael W. Smith is here in concert on Saturday (at forty freaking dollars per ticket. Seriously? I saw the Newsboys for like ten bucks at the same venue two years ago).

SUCH an epic week in eclectic music -- and I have no money. I'm already missing the Pethead Convention in Indianapolis (because it's in Indianapolis and I'm... well... not).

And even if I did have money, I'd have to put it to college.

Sigh...

Snippets Of Now

I've been trying for a week to complete the last forty seconds of Sing Your Freedom. Today I finally got it down to 31 seconds remaining.

I was hoping to have You Are The One half-finished by now. I've only got the first four or five bars and those I composed back in January.

There's a Canada-wide publishing contest looming -- it closes 15 June. The winner gets their novel published and marketed for free. My mother has convinced me to try to speed-revise Reuben (August 2010). I've done the first three pages. I figure if I don't get it done by this June, I can keep working at it and have it ready for next June, as it's an annual contest.

I'm almost completely out of money. Today I doubled the inventory of the Etsy shop, but so far no-one's bought anything. At the moment I don't even have enough money to cover the cost of developing the film I shot yesterday.

I made up a daily schedule the other day that I plan to implement starting this Monday (9 April). I carefully scheduled in time for revising Reuben and time for composing choreography. I was rather surprised to find I had nine and a half hours three days out of the week that I wasn't really making the most of. I had no idea I spent that much time on the Internet.

Under terms of my new schedule, I will have at most an hour a day on the Internet (excluding Etsy shop upkeep -- I have forty-five minutes for that). I'd better learn to write blog posts faster and/or lower my impossible standards or I'm not going to post much...

I've recently become fascinated with buttons -- the little pin-back type. I searched for old Christian band buttons (Petra, White Heart, etc.) on eBay and Etsy, but yielded nothing. (However, I did find a lovely leather jacket from Petra's On Fire! tour in 1988.)

I hope to finish Sing Your Freedom tonight. I'm midway through page twenty-nine of notation.

An Announcement

Hi everyone! Quick post today...


I've just opened an Etsy shop here:

www.etsy.com/shop/dancerbygrace

Do please check it out and buy something if you can. I'm hoping to use the income from this to pay for distance courses on Benesh Movement Notation (dance notation).

Thanks!