The voices in my head: carrying my bag

I can´t avoid it. I have very strong convictions about things. And then, I have this habit of looking at things from the outside, particularly when I am feeling embarrassed or ashamed, or in trouble, and I repeat as a tantra "I will laugh at this in a year, I know, I will laugh at this in a year"

So there I go. I meet this nice guy at a bar, and we get on well, and he talks to me. And then, we move to another bar and he says " Let me carry your bag". The big bag full of things I carry around all day, with the dancing clothes, the little computer, a book, a notebook, etc.
His words get to my brain, and it takes like a second to actually process them " Let me carry your bag", they echo. And a respond quickly pops up in my mind " My bag? You wanna carry my bag? Why?" But before I can say those words, another voice answers, and they kind of start talking to each other.
-What do you mean why? -says voice 2
-Yes, why would he want to carry my big huge heavy bag-answers voice one
-Oh, come on, he is just being nice, give him the bag
-But what is the point? It is my bag, I am responsible for it, you can't just be going around giving your responsibilities to people
-Oh come on, just give him the fucking bag. It is just the way it is done. you have been carrying it around all day, and you are fucked. GIVE HIM THE BAG!!
-No, don't do it. Why would you do that.It's so.....
Then I shout ( in my head, but I Shout) "ENOUGH!"
I breath deeply and look at this nice guy who has been kind of confusedly staring at me for the few extra seconds this has been going on within my head. I breath, smile, blush slightly and say in a sweet voice while smiling " Oh!, Ok. Thank you". And hand the bag over.
And it is just such a relief to get some help to carry the bag for once. It is so nice to feel you can rest for a second and you don't have to be taking care of everything all the time.It is so nice to be able to relax for a bit, that you realize the voices in your head are all bullshit.They talk from sheer fear.The fear of knowing that being helped is so nice that, when you get it back to carry it on your own again,is going to be twice as hard.

Dreams and smoke

Last Sunday I woke up in the morning decided to go to a burlesque class, because I am completely decided to get a cabaret number for next year...or sometime soon.
I forgot what happens to the NYC subway system during the weekend which, combined with my ability to always be late, made me even later.
So I get there, interrupt the class when I think there is a break, which is no break and join just at the moment where they were starting the strip-tease part of the lesson. And there do I sit in a circle,wondering what part of my outfit could I take off in a sensual arousing way. Although I could not avoid worrying about my non-matching underwear, as people were getting naked one by one, showing their sexy lace pants and bras. Then, my turn came, and the teacher decided for me to take my glasses off in a sexy way, which was very complicated because, as I can't see shit without my glasses, I could not really look at her and imitate her sexy movements. I would have much rather taken any other part of my outfit off, with or without sexy pants.
Then I joined the fringe festival volunteers, to be able to get help with the organization and get free tickets. Which sounds cool, And I got really happy.
Then I went to an old theater school, and I found out that the nice lady who was usually helping and enrolling people, died last December. She was not that old, and she was so nice and helpful, and a lot of other good things. And I got just puzzled.
Then I went to my theater class and saw my favorite teacher there, which made me smile inside ( what a bad sign), but my monologue was not the best. But hey...if singing the way I sing I managed to become a music teacher, I can become any kind of actress I want to be, even a good one
So,this is New York City, a bunch of weird things put together good and bad. A crazy roller coaster that takes you up and down, and keeps constantly showing you the darkness and the light. A place where you can find a glimpse of your dreams at the more unexpected corner, where you can catch the glare of your target star all around without being really able to nail where the light comes from, to loose the sight of it completely in a second. A place where you walk in the streets expecting, more than hoping for, that wonderful coincidence that is going to change your life, while you avoid rats and bedbugs, and open sewage holes spitting smoke at you.
That's what New York does: it raises the hope of your expectations to the highest degree to spit the reality at you in the shape of that slimy hot smog that comes out of the underground, which does not smell neither well nor bad and the origin of which everybody ignores. But I know where it emanates from. It comes from the dreams of the New Yorkers going down the drain: all those forgotten, lost or broken dreams entangled together with the tears of the disappointed ripped souls that go down the sewage system to the underground. Then, the tears evaporate into the air, and so do all those dreams.
And this is why the sewage smoke never stops in Winter or in Summer, in Autumn or Spring, because despite the defeats and the lost battles, New Yorkers keep coming up with new dreams to fill the city with that amazing glare that makes this city the most shining one in the world when watched from space. Because that glare does not come from Time Square lights, nor from malls, or houses or cars. It comes from the elusive dreams of the New Yorkers, while leaving a trail behind in order to be followed.