Another Three-Act Play (Act III)

The snow had stopped Sunday morning, but the view was noting short of a display of bitter cold.  He turned into I, and the morning preparation continued.  Oliver wanted to play, and it was wished that this could happen, but work had to get done.  As the fake mouse was dangled in front of his face, and we talked as I proceeded to tell him that my thoughts lately were convincing my mind that–

“I think that I’m cursed…”

–and that he should step away in case this were to be contagious.  He still wanted to rub his face against mine in sympathetic approval.

Oliver chased the mouse from floor to couch to counter to cabinet to counter to counter to couch to floor, and up-and-around again.  It was best to wear him out a little bit before my leaving for most of the day.  His bowls were respectively filled with food and water.  Two treats were given to him at that moment before my walking out the door.  The orange cat hadn’t tried to open the door this session, and he was being incredibly affectionate.  Why not spoil him?

Seeing my parents did not lead into an apology for the embarrassing skipping record segment the night before, but I passed it off.  Stopping by the puzzle, it was hard to resist putting some pieces in.  My piece finding skills have been more favorable than not, and a bit of mindless, fun gloating presented itself.  My mom called me a dick–and this was jokingly, I assure you–due to my success with the arduous penguin puzzle that was to display 100 penguins and 1 polar bear.

The Veil Uplifted

The afternoon prior to attending the not-yet-cancelled improv session was to be filled with helping out my friend and improv cohort, Alexis, with filming a meditative yoga video that incorporated moments of specific breathing elements.  However, there was worry in both of our minds about my inability to handle it.  Being in front of a camera is one thing that doesn’t bother me, but the practice of this meditative yoga could have thrown me for a loop.  It’s been a while since I’ve actually meditated, and there is no yoga experience under my belt; the exception of Wii yoga is not accepted as exceptional experience.

Alexis has been a great friend for the over past year-and-handful-of-days, and her website can be found at this link for all you Central New Yorkers interested in yoga.  There was no second guessing my wanting to help her, because if you immediately jump at something there is enough interest.  You’d be helping a friend out above everything else, and that’s what is most important.  Personal development is inevitable, but it sits in the background.  The filming took longer than we thought, and the first take’s electronic interference sounded like a helicopter hovering above the microphone the entire time.  Not only did this put a damper on the product development, our gag reel was ruined.  We filmed again in record time, and the bulk of it was officially and successfully done.  It’s editing time, and perhaps some elements have to be revisited.

The generous Alexis provided food and snacks, and everything was overly delicious and filling.   However, the conversation that we had during dinner at The Sherwood Inn that evening was overwhelming and reassuring.  What Alexis wants to accomplish with her life and entrepreneurial endeavors–she is on all the time.  We hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk in a while, the while being a couple weeks since we had tea and coffee at Creekside Books and dinner at Doug’s Fish Fry.  It’s still difficult for me to open up about a few things, how situations have made me feel and what’s going through my head, but the same goes for her as well.  The important aspect–there is no pressure placed upon one another.

We had another mental check-in after improv last night to talk about her project and possibly needing to film again to refurbish a few aspects.  We talked of traveling, I got to learn more about her–her past and future expectations–and she got to hear my ranting about wanting to travel and interests that may not happen.  It’s bullshit that people claim that men and women cannot be friends.

The rest of Sunday evening began with pulling out of the driveway and my attempting to get up the road was a bit of a struggle.  As the fresh air entered my lungs, my mind opened up significantly and my awareness took lifted to new heights.  The filming, as stated, did involve deep breathing techniques, and mentally one had to be in the zone.  However,  who knew this was to affect me as much as it had.  While driving, the car felt lifted off the ground, and my soaring over the streets toward the village of Skaneateles felt smooth.

George Jetson’s space car was in my control, and hitting the brake happened more often than not.  As breath puffed out, the windshield blushed, and the heat was clicked to Notch 11.  The tires scooted up to a parked car, and my exiting allowed me to skate across the street.  None of the shoes I own are appropriate for winter, and the exception is–of course–the pair of snow boots I normally use for skiing excursions.  Oh, the amount of times slipping like a cartoon character after stepping upon a banana peel… the count has been forgotten.

In the wooden tavern of The Sherwood, it was apparent that the two of us were overly animated and edgy like timid prairie dogs with elongated necks, looking around for any predators that may be encroaching their territorial survey for food.  Once the oxygen hit after all the deep breathing, it’s hard to describe the openness.  Colors were vivid, shadows proved to hide blemishes and accent.  Noises, even the most simplistic and easiest ignored, seemed emphasized; the utensils, rattling back in the kitchen and scraping upon plates, created more of a ruckus than the traffic going by and drowning out the music or television.  The waitress must have thought we were space cadets; when it came time to order we sat around jabbering about our ordering but not settling until the third time she came around.  We have to give her credit for being a good sport.

Aside feeling beyond full, my mental clarity was incredible.  The wine possibly helped, but feeling genuinely confident for the first time this year.

Since Sunday:  opportunities have presented themselves, I’ve talking to new people for and about different job opportunities since I now understand what avenue to pursue, moving is officially inevitable and gratefully anticipated, and a short and poignant conversation late last night crossed over a few minutes into this day.

On Sunday night, I looked at Oliver after playing mouse-on-a-string and uttered–

“…I think that I’m cured…”

–before settling for bed with Fitzgerald in my hand to enjoy before drifting off to sleep.

*     *     *

I’m feeling good today, really good.

2 thoughts on “Another Three-Act Play (Act III)

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