This isn't goodbye, but it isn't hello either.

Today, I finished classes and my preceptor meeting and everything else that was 100% necessary for me to complete here in Tucson at 2:00pm. It takes 2 hours maximum to travel to Gilbert from the afore mentioned Tucson. Kristen has yet to leave Gilbert. I have not seen Kristen in 3 weeks, and although that is not a very long thing even in the semi-grand scheme of things, it has been hard for me. What can I say? She's my best friend, and I miss her.

"Lindsey, if all of that is true, then why are you blogging right now when you could be saying a heartfelt farewell to your best friend?"

That is an excellent question. Answer: Coronado. More specifically, the glorious 4am to 8am shift tomorrow morning. That shift stands between me and Kristen, not to mention me and my Labor Day weekend (the only vacation between now and Thanksgiving, which is a travesty, and will no doubt be a soapbox I'll mount in the near future), and me and everything else near and dear to me in Gilbert, albeit only for an extra 18 hours or so.

"But Lindsey, at least you're getting some good stories from Coronado, right? I mean, it's Coronado!"

You might think that, but unfortunately any good story subjects that live in Coronado have either returned home to pass out or have passed out in a less advantageous location by 4am, so I see about two people between the hours of 4 and 6, and then come the crazy joggers.

Ironic life happening: three Kristens. Yep, three. There is Kris, my former neighbor and friend down here at UA. There is Krys, one of the other members of my directing group down here at UA. And there is Kristen, who lives on the floor below me and hangs out with Jackie (my roommate), Hailey (our neighbor), myself, and often others from third floor Yavapai, down here at UA. Clearly God is trying to fill a very specific void in my life. Newsflash: it's not working.

Anyway, I guess I can stop complaining now. Just in case my message was too subtle: I miss Kristen.

Side note: I really hope I get to see Emily this weekend. That would be amazing. I miss her so much too, but God in His mercy has placed her much closer to me!

Let's change the subject, ok? So, I think maybe my problem finding a man is that I've been looking in the United States. The other night, Jackie and I went to the Verizon store because her phone broke (PS - I love technology, and tremble at the thought of ever living without it. The Amish are freaking crazy). There was a guy standing at the counter while the girl and guy he was with talked to the sales representative. He was thin, not fit, but not skinny, about 20 year old, neat hair cut, tattoo on his arm. He turned and saw us, and said to me, "How can you let her out wearing that?" At this point in the story, you would probably think he was gay, except that Jackie was wearing a Texans football jersey, and he was not a fan. He started talking to Jackie, discussing his time living in Texas before he moved to Tucson (he was trying to escape the suffocating small town life, so Tucson was the clear choice). He made an off-handed comment about "trippin' while [he] was walking down 4th street" that I didn't catch at the time, but Jackie did, and surmised that he was a druggie. Quick ears, that one. Anyway, as the conversation continued, we discovered that he does not go to the U of A or even to Pima Community College, and so clearly Jackie and I had to wonder what motivates a 20-something year old with no degree and probably no job to move to Tucson, Arizona. We settled on drug dealer. Anyway, after the people he was with started toward the door, he turned to go, saying, "Well, see ya..." but then he added, "Actually, do you guys party? Because my friends and I are looking for something to do tonight." Heh, yeah, looking for "someone" is more like it. We said no, he shrugged, and left.

Ok, so he was Subject A. An example of all that is wrong with American youth. It is ridiculous that he would even ask two strangers he didn't know if they want to go party (a poor man's Romeo and Juliet story), but unfortunately the fact that he asked demonstrates that there are a fair number of girls out there that would have said, "Yeah!" as they flipped back their straight blond hair in a shamelessly flirtatious fashion and bounced out the door behind him, a night of drugs and date rape ahead of them. But then, is it date rape if he doesn't buy dinner first?

Subject B: The other day after costuming lab, I was walking to the Student Union. I was the picture of loveliness: sweaty, hair in a messy pony tail, and only what little remained of the make-up from that morning (undoubtedly a very little). I was stopped by an Indian guy whose name I now cannot remember, and he asked me where the Student Union was. I told him I was walking that way (it was just around the corner), and thus pointed out the approximate location as we walked the few paces until it came into view. "What's your major?" he asked me, and I told him (keep in mind, he skipped asking my name entirely). "What's yours?" I asked, and he answered something involving computers (his thick accent + my lack of knowledge about computer science = I didn't catch the exact title). "Are you from Arizona?" he asked me, and I explained where I live. "You?" I asked, knowing the answer was very likely "No." It was. Apparently he had only been in the US for 15 days. Then I asked his name, and we introduced ourselves. Just as I finished saying, "Nice to meet you," he said, "You have very pretty eyes." I thanked him, we said our see-you-arounds and parted ways.

In conclusion: foreign guys are nicer, and clearly he has a more lucrative future than Verizon guy. Well, I don't know, the drug business may pay well, but there are a few too many caveats for my liking. So I guess I'm moving to a different country. Any thoughts on where I should go? I don't actually want to move to India. I have a feeling karma would make me crave a hamburger the second my plane touched down. So where?

On an entirely different note, I had an amazing day in Directing class on Thursday. Oddly, this is after Directing class inadvertently put me in a serious funk on Tuesday. In a nutshell (because I am so good at being concise): I was questioning my choice to be in theatre, questioning my enthusiasm, wondered if I'd been lying to myself about my passion and desired direction in life, felt I was completely unimpressive in this, my chosen field, and so on. I felt so oddly melancholy that I took a nap. I intended to sleep for about an hour to rejuvenate myself, but I ended up conking out for four hours, and when I woke up I thought it was Wednesday morning. So Tuesday was pretty much shot.

I tried to bring my issues before the Lord, and submit my future to Him. Whatever his purpose for me in theatre is, that is what I want. If it is to meet one person and tell them about Jesus, and not a thing more, then so be it. If I am no better than mediocre, that is because God made me that way, and if he intended me to be the next Meryl Streep, he would have made me that way instead.

This in mind, I was marginally encouraged by Thursday when I arrived again at Directing class. Each group was given the task of forming a scene around two lines, and these were the only two lines that could be spoken in the scene. Furthermore, we were given six pairs of lines, and we had to chose from those on the list. I came up with an idea for the lines, "I need you," and "Just a minute." It became a commentary on life and how we go through the motions being self-centered and failing to see, acknowledge, and love the people around us. It started with a pregnant woman and an inattentive husband, and spiralled through the years until the two kids are grown and the husband leaves the wife. The entire time, our fifth group member kept a beat similar to a clock ticking or a heart beat in the background.

After we did our scene for the class, Betsy (our teacher) asked the class their thoughts. We got positive feedback, but what really sent me through the roof was Betsy's own comments: "I thought it was excellent." She continued to say how the many different uses of the two lines was excellent, how the staging was excellent, the beat in the background was excellent...excellent was the prevailing descriptive word. She loved it, and it was my idea. This, to say the least, made my day.

As I was walking away from class, I let the grin I had fought for the rest of class break across my face. And I thought of something, or rather the Lord pointed something out: one of the other groups did something sexual, another group did something very abstract, and the other two groups weren't really memorable. But mine was the best, and I didn't have to do anything that didn't glorify God to do it. It was a married couple with problems, a family in turmoil. It was real drama, nothing sensationalist or shocking, just raw truth. So if God has a place for me in Hollywood, he can carve it out for me. I don't have to compromise what I believe to do it. And if it isn't His will, then I don't want it, and I'll just enjoy what theatre He does have me do.

I say that, but it doesn't mean those old discouragements won't come back from time to time. But now I've committed this to cyber-paper, so helpfully I can gain perspective quicker next time.

This has been a horribly long post, and alas my laundry still isn't finished. I started it when I started this post, and now the post is over, I've gone through 4 episodes of The Office (commercial free is the way to be!), and my butt is numb from the concrete floor...but still 11 minutes left on the dryer. Oh well, I won't subject you to 11 more minutes of my rambling.

Thank you if you even made it this far. I don't expect anyone to, but I appreciate it if you do.

Recuerde, Jesucristo es PURA VIDA!

Love,
Lindsey