Catherine

I always wanted to be an actress, in Atlanta I did all the school and church plays and got the lead roles and just, loved the thrill of being on stage. I can't sing to save my life, so I always just gave up on musicals, plus those are definitely Elizabeth's strong point so I let her have them. I was at work the other day, if you don't know, I work in the Memorial Union in the Event Management Office. I'm a student/administrative assistant so I was verifying the ISU website with our information in our programs to make sure the times were correct and I saw "Vagina Monologues Auditions." I went to see The Vagina Monologues last year out of sheer curiosity. I left with a respect and a sense of pride in being a woman. I am not a feminist normally and feminists usually drive me nuts, but, I didn't always get that vibe from the monologues. If you don't know what The Vagina Monologues even are here's a little blurb courtesy of wikipedia "The Vagina Monologues is an Obie Award-winning episodic play written by Eve Ensler. Ensler originally starred in the production, playing all the various women who share their views about their vaginas with the audience." Essentially Eve interviewed women and asked them about their vaginas. Which, may sound weird but she discovered a lot and learned a lot about women. There were older women, who had never even looked at their "down there's", women who loved to talk about their vaginas and women who had stories of tragedy. Anyway, back to my story. I went to the audition. I was terrified, but, it was so exhilarating feeling that nervousness. I got an email later that week saying I had gotten a part. Fast forward to when we get our scripts, my monologue is called "My Vagina Was My Village" and it is heart-wrenching. My monologue is from interviews with Bosnian women refugees interviewed during the war in Yugoslavia. My monologue isn't really a monologue either, I read it with Katharine, a friend of mine from french class who happened to get cast in the same one as me. We alternate lines. She's the girl before the war, innocent, happy and full of life. I'm the girl after. This girl was raped systematically for 7 days by soldiers. The shoved rifles and broomsticks into her. She lay in her own feces and blood for days just wanting it to be over. It makes me want to cry now. I'm scared for it, I can't get it I won't ever understand how this girl can even talk about what happened to her. Yet I have to make it believable, I have to make the audience uncomfortable and make them feel emotion. It's so hard and I'm so scared that I won't do it justice. That I'll look stupid and fake and passive. I'm so scared.

I went to Minnesota with my Mom yesterday and today, because I didn't have school. The shopping was fun and I loved having time with just me and her. Dad even got us a movie package at the hotel so we ordered a movie to watch and they brought us popcorn. Turns out that us being together was perfect timing she was there to help me through major meltdown mode. It was like all the crying that I needed to do this past week with everything that happened came out at once. I had been trying so hard to be strong about it and pretend it didn't bother me, turns out that's exactly what I shouldn't have done. It made things worse for me and for him.

Things are getting better and hopefully they'll keep going in that direction.

I love that picture, not sure why, it's just more real and it's us. Wish he was here right now.

Today started off like any other Saturday morning. I was excited, because 2 of my dear friends Stephen and Mike were moving back to ames today, so "The Steves" Mike and Catherine would all be reunited again. Mike texted me this morning saying he would get in around 11:30 and to make sure that I was there. This seemed a bit unusual, but I called Steve and he came to get me. Mike walked in right around 11:30 and said that we all needed to talk. He let us know that he had withdrawn from Iowa State and that he wouldn't be here this semester. The reasons were all good ones and I understand why he has to leave, but, it doesn't make it any easier. The guys all had tears in their eyes and I of course was crying like a baby. It's crazy the bond you can get with people in college. Mike lived just down the hall from me last year and then lived the floor below me first semester. Those 3 guys are the ones that I always went to when I was having a bad day and needed a laugh. I just, I can't imagine him not being around all the time. Those guys are like the brothers I never had and one of them is gone. This sucks.

1. Reunions in the airport are very cute. 2. Leaving a job after 3 years makes you a surprisingly sad. 3. Fights happen, even with people you love. 4. Sometimes you just have to be brave enough to admit that you don't know what's wrong with you and that you need real help. 5. Optimism is always better in tough situations. 6. True love requires total surrender. (still working on that one) And I think the one that was most surprising deserves more than just a place on a list. Because it's something that I've been trying to analyze in myself to figure out where it comes from. I cry, nearly instantaneously when someone is mad at me. They don't even have to be yelling. If any part of their voice or expression gives away that they're mad or upset, I cry. I can't control it. I don't like people seeing me cry unless the reason I'm crying is something obvious, like when I'm at a funeral. But the second Burt and I get into a fight about anything the tears just start falling and I try to hide. Obviously he notices and asks me why I'm crying or just says, "You can't cry it makes me feel bad for making you cry." So, during a little fight we had last night, I of course am sitting there crying letting him talk and I just...I realized where it was coming from. I was terrified. I was sitting on that couch, scared. But I don't know what the fear was. If it was fear of him leaving me or fear that he would be so mad at me he wouldn't love me anymore. But there I sat, scared like a little girl, with my knees hugging to my chest, tears running down my face, listening to what I had done wrong. The pathetic thing was, that it wasn't a big deal, he was upset that I hadn't been paying much attention to him that night. Because I was packing. He drove all the way to my house (25 minutes) and I was in my room cleaning the whole time he had been there so far. It was a valid reason for him to be upset, but I could've easily apologized and snuggled up to him and all would've been ok. But no. I cried. I hate that.