Cabin-ish

Every so often, I get into a mood I call "cabin-ish." It's exactly what it sounds like, so long as it sounds like I want to be tucked away in a cabin in the woods instead of where I am at the present. If I was really being honest, I'd say that I am at all times relatively cabin-ish, but the level of cabin-ish changes on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis.

Currently, my cabin-ish level is somewhere between moderate and severe, and if it would only take a very small thing to tip me headfirst into the dangerous severe territories.

I am not a city girl. I'm just not. I pretend to be, and can even pretend that I am so well that I begin to believe it for myself. I enjoy trips to the Other City, but that's solely because of the theatre and cultural experiences, and has nothing to do with the pavement and subways. I like saying that I live in Boston (well, West Roxbury--I know some people take issue with whether or not that is truly considered Boston living), but the fact that I get emotionally stirred thinking about small cabins in the middle of nowhere makes me realize that liking to saying it and liking to live in it aren't really close enough.

The fact remains--I majored in theatre in college. I have student loans that are far higher than any income I'll ever actually make in that field. I have to pay them off. To do so requires a job that pays. To do so, I must live and work here. Once my loans are paid off--the world is my oyster (at least, the low-to-moderately priced world); however, if I ever want to make some sort of an income within my field of interest, I'll have to stay in a city. Not necessarily this one (in fact, probably not this one), but I can't be both a cabin-dweller and a theatrical professional.

Unless, of course, I'm a Nathan Lane or Patrick Stewart, who can easily afford to pop between both worlds.

I like to think I could start some kind of rustic theatrical group--touring through fields and forests to perform for the woodland creatures and A list directors (a sort of theatrical Robin Hood), but the day of minstrels has ended.

Today, the air is heavy with moisture (again), my eyelids are heavy with sleepiness (always), and my heart is just a little bit heavy with the knowledge that someday, I'm going to have to choose between my cabin-ish nature and my love for performance--and because I'll have to choose, I think I'll always be just a little restless.