Issue No. 004: 1,000 tiny cuts & something to celebrate!
MAD: No newsletter series
Photo: Clowns Without Tour 2022 in Ecuador
MISSED AMERICAN DREAMS
A NO NEWSLETTER SERIES
ISSUE NO. 004 | SEPTEMBER 2026
...Maybe strangers, maybe fans, most definitely my parents, the people who graciously signed up to receive this or accidentally are receiving this. Thank you for being here.
to start...
i have
NEWS...
the good NEWS is,
it is not bad news.
The bad news is,
it is news.
...but it's beautiful news...
so I hope you'll forgive me.
See Details Below
But...first, no news.
Simply I'd like to share a piece I wrote last week after speaking to my sister.
My sister said a divorce doesn’t happen from one thing it is from 10,000 little cuts.
I am not divorced. I am not even married. But I feel those tiny micro cuts slowly and deeply puncturing me, and slowly letting all the air out of my spirit.
It’s that moment when I go to the farmers market and am so inspired by the fresh local food to then slowly watch it rot in my fridge never to be eaten. The dreams of my week slowly fading and turning into mold.
It’s the tiny cut as I press snooze 10,000 times and squeeze my eyes closed praying it’s not as late as I think it must be now. And knowing I missed a morning of connection with my self or movement or plans to lay my back against the sycamore tree and feel the depth of the roots and connect my heart to the beat of the earth.
It’s the 7,000th time I’ve said I am going to make my show, or write my book, or offer an acting class. I stabbed myself with a staple the other day when grabbing my delivery bag full of food. I punctured my skin against the tiny metal of the staple holding that paper receipt to yet another bag full of plastic to be discarded and piled in a plot of what was once beautiful land. And that cut was shallow but hit so deep. It stung like a thousand bees. My body and soul and spirit are full of 1 million paper cuts and I am dying.
How do I expect to live in a world where I get cut every time I make any decision. I take the garbage out, squinting, not to see the plastic bags I am throwing in the large can on my dirty city street. I squint as to not to feel the tiny cut of guilt knowing I have no idea where that garbage bag is going. That I pretend the water in my sink didn’t just come out brown or the pressure is curiously low.
My air conditioning broke. It was only 2 years old, 10 paper cuts. I asked Chat GPT?? It said it was supposed to last for 8-10 years, ouch add another. Then my plant light broke, and my precious monstera’s turned yellow, 10 million cuts. It’s ok. Let them go. They lived for a while. But It hurts too much.
The amount of loss and waste is too great to bare. We build things to be replaced. We have created a world made to be disregarded. And now that the weight and the blood of the constant wounding is starting to show, we must get a divorce. Something must change.
My heart is not broken it is raw and and exposed by 10 million little cuts of abandoning myself in order to survive. And I can feel the blood escaping and the beat start to slow.
Times up!
xoxo,
Love,
The Patron Saint of Missed American Dreams
Now for the Good News!
A Clowns Without Borders Benefit!
I have been on two tours!
One to Ecuador and one to ZImbabwe with CWB.
It changed my life!
This work
is what makes sense to me in this non sensical world.
There will be performance and Fun and myself along with others will speak a little about our experience.
Please Come!
Clowns Without Borders
brings professional artists to communities facing war, displacement, natural disaster, and other crises, creating moments of laughter, play, and connection for children and families.
If you can't come, Please consider donating :)
MISSED AMERICAN DREAMS: A No Newsletter dispatches every once in a while on Sunday.
Let's explore the missed dreams together.
If you want to follow me on Instagram @the_clownwitch
Comments