My Horoscope Told Me To Breathe

Hi friends,


My horoscope told me to breathe this week. And that’s what I’ve been doing. It’s been a good week, too, as a result.


On Monday, I had a really great advising meeting with Beck, my gender studies advisor. We picked my classes for next semester and caught up after not seeing each other ONCE for four entire months. Crae. She’s so funny. She liked the mustache. The great meeting came after a great afternoon of classes which followed a morning of giving a great tour. I felt really confident on my tour, and the families were really sweet, and a prospective student and her mother stayed to chat for about half an hour after my tour. I gave them my perspective as a member of the LQBTQ+ community, and I think that really helped the prospective out with her choice. Monday night, after rehearsal, I watched an episode of Homeland. Have I told you I’m watching that now? It’s like Downton Abbey + Lost but with the CIA rather than upper-class Brits and a tropical island, it’s about terrorism and lust. Very similar. And also, Monday afternoon, between the tour class, I had a meeting with my #blogboss Daniella, and it was determined that I will officially become the Skidmore Facebook page student “ambassador,” like Sarah and Emmeline before me and Joe Yanks before them. I strive to be Joe Yanks. JK. I’m myself. But that’s exciting!


On Tuesday, I did my laundry and watched Homeland after rehearsal. Tuesday was a good Tuesday.


On Wednesday, I had a great morning and afternoon of classes. I love learning. I ran outside for the first time since September. Just once around Perimeter Road and I wanted to die. So hard. My thighs forgot what it’s like to run up and down hills. Rehearsal was strange. It just felt low-energy and pretty tedious, for some reason. No reason really, other than that we were doing the nitty-grittiest work we’ve done yet, really getting down and dirty with each moment of the play. I guess in a way, that’s where the most exciting work is done. I don’t know.


Today, I went to Health Services. Okay. This is quite a story. So. Last Friday, before going to give my tour, I was shaving my thick, manly facial hair so that I would have smooth skin like the butt of a newborn. I sneezed in media res. The left side of my chin was sliced wide open. I ultimately ended up seeing it as role research for when (SPOILER ALERT) my character in Sweeney has his neck slit, that’s how much blood there was. I thought I was going to die. So there was a big cut on my face. Friday night, I went to a get-together where the theme involved face paint. I was too sleepy when I got home to wash it off. Saturday, I woke up a little late, and had to rush to get my act together, so I scrubbed the paint off my face pretty aggressively, and a small section of my right cheek became almost raw. So left chin cut, right cheek raw. I felt like Mickey Rourke in that wrestling movie, The Wrestler. Anyway, sometime between then and last night, the cut became infected and it spread to the raw spot and parts of the rest of my face and I have a temporary condition called impetigo, which I found out about today at Health Services. I’m on meds now. MEDZ. Not fun. Itchy. And then I went to directing class, where my group’s piece disturbed and upset a lot of people. Acting class was swell also. I’m going to go for a run outside after I finish this post. Meaning right now.


Today’s Morning Thought: Is a bird in the hand really worth two in the bush? There are a number of terms to be taken into consideration here. First off, the bird: Is it simply a small, wing├ęd creature or rather a metaphor for margins of identity of difference? And this hand, this hand this hand this hand. Is it just the end of a limb? Or rather a metaphor for oppression. I see the bush as something more like a fern. So maybe, the phrase should be: A margin of identity of difference in the oppression is worth two in the fern. What do you think? Quite a ponder piece.


Measure in Love,



About Kevin Berry

jamba juice. mennonite. enneagram.
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