I used to wake up in the middle of the night, a blank wall of pain right in front of my eyes, the flashes of light coming from the nerves tingling in my arms, my hands, across my shoulder blades.

Who ever figured that slinging espresso for north shore kids and their overpriced moms would be so detrimental to my physical body? Here I was, a self-proclaimed writer and actress, wild with gesture and scrawled handwriting, the fastest two-fingered typing this side of the Mississippi, and I could barely close one hand into a fist; I felt the electric shock of jangling nerves simply twisting the lid off of a jar.

I've since left that arena of coffee and frapa-cappa-whappa-pecan-sticky-bun, but occasionally in the wee hours, when I've been sitting in one position for too long, or when I reach for a glass or a book from a high shelf, I feel the impending twinge and I pull back quickly, keeping the motion fluid, working myself back into circulation and loosened muscles. Even my emotions follow suit, the fizz of anger and frustration simmering and then vaporizing quickly, leaving behind the sediment, the better things about myself that I've been ignoring for the past three years.

I live in a city held together with snow salt and grime, held up by movement of sluggish water - a lake all along one side, and river bits that greenly wend their way amongst the tanneries, the skyscrapers, the trendy lofts and condos. My neighborhood is the one I grew up in as a child. When I moved here with Scott two years ago, it was a true homecoming. We get our pierogi and bigos and mushroom barley soup from the Polish deli across the street. We cuddle in these winters, in our little apartment, lit with string lights and votives, music always playing, black cats tumbling and fighting amongst the pillows and quilts and Scott's many many shoes.

I'm an actress, I suppose, although I'm not sure what that means anymore. I'm not holding my breath for a cameo on Friends; I'm not proclaiming my undying love for the stage. Film? That's a kind of immortality that attracts me and also scares me. I dabble in storytelling, most of which you'll find here. This is a rough draft memoir, this is a brain dump, this is also a proclamation. I say these words because I am compelled to. I will tell these stories five times over before I take my last breath.

This is Miss Nose in a Book, this is that shy girl from grade school, this is the brash loud girl from college, this is the young wide-eyed naivete of the mid-twenties. Fully aware of limitations, and trying to forget them.

Welcome to Glitter.

See the first About, third About, fourth About.