Katinka Hurvig

Category: Writings

  • about life in the village

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    Thursday may 8th

    2025

    09:07 (am), Shabaz café in Nordhavn

    All right.
    here we go in English. Here we go – OK go – music videos from a time when youtube was a teenager. I stole a line from bo burnham’s second best song about the internet and I put I in both the script and in the speech I gave in the foyer in front of the preview-audience.  “The whole world at your fingertips”. Just like he would’ve wanted me to. This could have been more about the internet; the global village, how could it not? It turned out, in the end, it was humans all along. And of course it was – we are the ones with hearts and longing and tears streaming down our cheeks as we realize we’ll possibly never meet in physical life. I wrote a line about data centers and the 1% of the 1%, but my mr. robot references didn’t make it to the final version and in a week’s time I’ll be happy about his decision. Maybe even tonight.

    Tonight is opening night. Do you get that? Do you know what that means? Do you know that I’ll be pressing the panel to unlock the door to the theater in exactly 40 minutes? Do you know that it’s a little crazy to be doing that on opening night – day?
    I wouldn’t know it was crazy if someone hadn’t told me. I’ve never been great at listening to my body, but this time around I’ve heard its calls for sleep. Moved into the spare room in my parents’ apartment and gone swimming in the harbour two out of three days. This morning I went here instead. To clear my mind.

    I thought, in this performance, there would be more, actual, hyper stimulation. I’ve been talking to two of my people last week, the only people in my life that aren’t colleagues right now and one of them kind of is,  about ADHD. I’ve been thinking about notifications and brain pauses, and about the only way to fall asleep for some people is to listen to audiobooks because it makes the brain not think about everything else. I thought the play would be about this, somehow, with notifications and visual claustrophobia, of sound in frequencies to kill your concentration, maybe it is about this but I thought it would be done differently. I didn’t know that the way would be to see the streets of Mumbai and listen to a wise and incredibly kind man talk about a constant state of stress, of people, of over population, wondering where his body might ever feel at rest.

    I’m realizing I haven’t had time to pre-mourn. I sometimes do that, just to take the edge off the actual goodbye a little bit. Usually a successful strategy, but this time around there has been no, well, time. And after tonight, when they log off vMix it’ll be over. For me. I’ll come back in a few weeks and the week after that, but I’ll have left the village. I’ll have moved out, possibly to the big city, in the search for something new with someone else, and I’ll be longing to go back. At some point in August I’ll be completely mindfucked that I haven’t spoken to Okan in months, and that Christi’s probably still sleeping as I suddenly remember Nnamdi the next time I see someone wearing a red tie. Possibly I’ll pass Mette on the street and we’ll almost cry and it’ll be like we’re family, but we’re not family, we were neighbors and when we open whatsapp and return to the village we’ll be the same. Or I’ll actually make another show with Katrine, next year, and we’ll feel bad that our connection lives on when the others don’t have the same options. Will the village only exist digitally or will we ever change the format? Will our 3D bodies finally hug, and are we gonna pick up Abhay in the airport when he goes to Berlin in December?
    Or it could go completely differently. We could speak. We could talk, text. Still be sending memes and send love for each our countries’ struggles, heart their stories of going to demonstrations and cross our fingers that the flooding won’t be too bad this time. That they will get the fires under control and that someone, somehow, will see the light and legally stop the accumulation of wealth. We’ll be each other’s hypemen and hypewomen. And everything in between. We’ll surf the Bosporus river of being kind of connected but also not at all, and hopefully the line I wrote was a lie; “and once I log off, to me, you stop existing”.
    Too much? Brutal? Dumb? Simple? I have no idea, but a wise opera singer from Canada/USA/Germany told me that this is it, we’ll have lives everywhere, and we’re going to have to figure out how to make it work.
    Maybe this time the audience can help.
    All the times I’ve been traveling alone and returning, with no one to confirm stories with, no one to hold me accountable or to remember with, when I’ve only had my diaries and scrapbooks to consult, to stay sane and remember that it wasn’t just a dream, all the times I’ve done this it’s been fine, it’s been ok, absurd but ok. But this time maybe the audience could help?
    Is anyone out there? Are you seeing this too? Do you hear Christi as well? Do you see the streets of Lagos and hear the honks from tuktuks in Mumbai? Did you also feel like smelled the romantic cigarette on Okan’s fingers even though he was all the way in Istanbul? Did you listen to Nnamdis line about police brutality too, or were you lost in his charming eyes and beautiful lips?
    As the landslides cover the Bollywood Hills, we’ll still be here. Needing to remember that it happened, and just because something happens digitally it doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s been a beautiful chaos of imaginations and lines that got cut, of cowboy scenes that got cut, of meditations that got cut, of botox that got cut, of cockroaches that got killed and of hearts that were broken and mended and broken again.
    Thank you for letting me into the village. I loved living next door. I promise I’ll come visit.

    THIS IS THE VILLAGE

  • alien igen

    Crossing the street to walk in the sunny side
    Deciding to turn right at the church after all, so; abruptly stopping at the green light waiting for the one on your right to switch
    Meanwhile,
    a beautiful dude looks up, more vertically than anyone else that day,
    and stretched his arms up in front of his face,
    almost not catching the fannypack somebody throws out the window
    but after all catching it, reciprocating the gift with a thumbs up and a grin like it’s not the first time in a while,
    perhaps it’s become a tradition and they’re enjoying it because it’s a very apartment-core thing to be doing on a Sunday in Nørrebro,

    and as the bagpipe-intro of “run away with me” by carly rae Jepsen blasts kindly through your ears you enter the park on Central Park West and 72nd, and you turn up the music to avoid the singer-songwriter paying endless tributes to john lennon in the Strawberry Field section of that particular entrance, and you’re almost hit by a horse wagon except
    now the song is “daydream in blue” by monster and you don’t know whether to associate it the most to “mr. robot” or “severance” so you’re almost hit by a bike and there’s obviously no horse in sight,

    vi er jo ik I indre by og du har sgu aldrig set hestepolitiet på den her side af søerne
    og du tænker på at de aldrig rigtig fandt ud af hvor sjov, du egentlig er, selvom de roste dit engelske til skyerne,
    du blev så træt af at høre dig selv sige ”that’s amazing” og ”that’s so, so great”.
    Derovre sidder victor lander vist, ham komieren du engang snavede med på nørreport
    Ellers er det jesse plymouth fra den scene i Civil War du aldrig glemmer,
    Fortsat skuffet over ikke at have set andre ægte kendte end Sarah Jessica Parker og Donald Trump,
    Du tænkte at 5 måneder måtte betydet at du rendte ind i Adam Driver mindst én gang, det er jo ik fordi du ikke var i DUBMO hvor han bor eller i midtown Broadway hvor han spillede, men sådan går det jo nok bare når man ikke har råd til en billet og ikke rigtig vidste at det var normalt at hænge ud ved stage dooren
    På stefansgade leger børnehaven yggdrasil, og petra og clive render rundt på det væltede fly men solen skinner og ingen vandpytter er at finde på denne fastelavnssøndag,

    You can’t believe this is supposed to be the danish version of halloween because there are absolutely zero costumes around, and the only scrappy versions of them are hidden. Underneath layers and layers of jackets, and it’s only children, tiny children,
    Where’s the fun in that?? You thought Europeans were supposed to be fun and slightly extravagant, at least in a stylish city like Copenhagen but maybe that’s the point, maybe the city’s too vain to dress up its adults. Not very solidary, you contemplate, as-

    En fyr I shorts cykler forbi med en guitartaske på ryggen der er så lille at det næsten må være en ukulele og det orker du slet ikke
    Mon du kan slippe afsted med ikke at købe en kop kaffe her på det udendørs bord, eller tror hun at de efterladte kopper var dine?  En fremmed mand der sandsynligvis er på vej ind for at købe en fadøl (til) stopper simpelthen op og kommenterer mit klimahandling-klistermærke på min laptop med en thumbs up, og sikke dog et cute community af tommelfingre vi har os i dag her i verdens næstbedste by?

    Jay-z rapper om tribeca og det var rart for dig at finde ud af at der faktisk ik rigtig er nogen grund til a ttage derhen,
    Det var mindre rart for dig at finde ud af at der faktisk ik rigtig var nogen grund til at skrive det her,
    Lettere ubehageligt at erkende at din dagbog måske bare er netop det
    Og du gider ik læse mere om at være en ung kvinde i københavn så hvorfor skriver du det så,
    Tænker du,
    Måske hvis du krydrer det med krydsklip til new york kan der findes relevans i glitchene,
    Ellers er det bare dobbelt op på metropolitan white life
    Og så hårdt har fjerdebølgefeminismen heller ikke brug for din stemme,
    Specielt fordi den ikke er udtalt men bare flyder lidt rundt i dit blod og aktiveres når du nægter at træde et skridt til siden i fodgængeroverfeltet når mændene stormer imod dig,
    Alicia synger om inspirerende lys og du må indrømme at høje gladsaxes betonboliglys i nattemørket i går fik dig til at tænke på et eller andet du ikke har tænkt på længe i det minuts tid, du kørte forbi, før 4A allerede var bumlet forbi din gamle folkeskole

    and you think of a difference,
    Suddenly you give a second to the entertain the though of having a past
    New york is different to you because this is where your stories were born
    These are the corners you turned when in love or looking for a boy to fall in love with,
    The bagel store on the corner of 68th and westend avenue is where your father used to bring you on Tuesday nights after ballet practice,
    And the golden roof on the midtown building is the mythical place you projected all your fantasies into,
    And walking up the circular hallway of the round tower in copenhagen will never do that to you
    It can’t give you anything but instant appreciation without lore,
    There can be no lore if there’s no past, or at least the lore can never belong to you, and so Copenhagen will always begin right now for you, now is when you’ve begun and you can never alter that timeline, only proportionally can it become a long time since the first time, but the case of the childhood stories are forever lost, the adolescence as well and you gotta get moving, sweet  girl, you gotta get moving if here’s wher you wanna experience the rest of your youth, so much in fact that I’d advise you to not really leave, because multiple lives and recurring alienation will take it out of you in ways you couldn’t anticipate because you’ve only heard it from other people’s lore and like I just told you, –

  • too small and how long

    ,

    I used to have photos of my Danish friends glued onto my new york wall
    Now I’ve got front pages of new yorker-magazines glued onto my Danish wall in a desperate attempt to not forget
    I got the pictures from the disposable camera
    They’re dark and grey and blurry
    There’s some of josh and colleen
    But it’s like dan and caitlyn never existed
    I don’t know how to start my scrapbook
    I started it but I did it wrong, I should have printed more photos,
    I don’t want to immoirtalize them in my scrapbook I wanna keep them alive in my life

    I could just go back
    And forget all about the nest I’ve been building
    I’ve been saying over and over this week,
    “I wanna live small for a while” but it’s a motherfucking lie

    I miss the scyscrapers

    I miss the park

    I miss le bain

    I miss here arts center

    I miss the director, the composer, the stage manager and the performers,

    I miss the colleagues

    I miss the roommates

    I miss the administrator of the house I called home

    I miss grays papays

    I miss the breakfast rolls and the bagels with lox scallion cheese

    I miss my view

    I miss the colour of my duvet cover

    I miss the sink

    I miss the rats and enjoying the fact that I hate them a little less than most of my friends

    I miss the memes

    I miss the trains

    I miss coney island

    I miss the locations of mr. robot

    I miss the frozen dumplings

    I miss having places I wanted to go to

    I miss having a list of places I wanted to eat

    I miss being on a train and googling a mr. robot shooting location and getting off at the next stop and there it was

    I miss essex house

    I miss the shuttle to grand central

    I miss Ronkonkoma

    I miss gates ave

    I miss other people’s clothes and i miss DuPoint

    I miss bossanova and I miss the M train

    I miss st. ann’s

    I miss alex

    I miss the secret rooftop and the view of Brooklyn bridge

    I miss the view of Manhattan bridge

    I miss the view of the Manhattan skyline and the stupid statue of liberty

    I miss redhook

    I miss Hannah who was a visitor like me

    I miss knowing where to go

    I miss my mountain bike and the memory of how I got it

    I miss josh

    I miss the tiny plant I bought after 3 days and I hope Claudia and alberte has kept it alive

    I miss the stupid elevator

    I miss the stupid marble steps

    I miss the glorious skylight

    I miss the trash bags on the enormous sidewalks

    I miss off-off-broadway theaters

    I miss discount websites with $12 tickets to LaMaMa

    I miss writing everyday

    I miss drawing every week

    I miss reading on the subway

    I miss walking through the meat packing district in the sun

    I miss learning about opera

    I miss using my text analysis skills

    I miss carly and hope to see her again

    I miss dan and wish he was here

    I hope colleen’s job will continue to be exciting

    I hope caitlyn’s well

    I hope alex will reply to my text

    I hope justin’s ok

    I hope the homeless man outside of gray’s papays isn’t too cold

    I hope there are trans flags in the windows

    I hope sidse’s doing good

    I hope kristin’s taking a break

    I hope the new resident of my apartment is chill

    I hope the sun’s back at the rooftop after a long winter that went by in 3 seconds

    It’s almost been 2 months
    And I’ve been so busy rebuilding my life in Copenhagen
    That I’ve forgotten to nurture the life I left in new york
    I’m gonna text josh now
    And this will be my life for a while
    Bouncing back between missing friends abroad and appreciating friends nearby,
    Grieving the loss of endless opportunities while building other, smaller ones
    Buying an apartment with my boyfriend,
    living out one dream,
    Knowing it’ll never be 36West 74th
    I wanna live small for a while
    but how small is too small and how long is a while

  • things i didn’t know about: working on an alternative opera

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    “Eat The Document” was my debut of working on an opera. The wonderful and brilliant director, Kristin Marting, let me onto the team and taught me exactly what she needed her assistant (me) to do. Clear lines, great communication and transparency made for a work environment where I quickly learned completely new skills – skills that all looked like the world I’m from (theatre), but tasted like something completely different (opera).
    “Eat The Document” was an “Alternative opera”, and coming from a world of pretty alternative theatre, a lot felt familiar to me. A bunch of the methods and the inisticts I’m trained in following as (assistant) director turned out to play a big part in making the experience as wonderful as it was; to me it seems that working with 8 opera performers managing costume changes, measure countings, acting, singing, hitting marks and living through war traumas through the heightened emotions of the opera genre was similar to, say, 7 south african performers building a western movie set while shooting a movie and playing both white europeans while telling a story about apartheid and the human heart of darkness. Organised chaos, high stakes, attention to detail, a caring and talented team that knows the importance of the story they’re telling – I felt all at home in the strange new world I inhabited during the rehearsal of ETD.

    A BEAUTIFULLY CURIOUS WORLD WHERE…

    …the assistant director have never lived in new york before or worked with opera before or read the book it’s based on yet, and so it’s nice for her to know what prototype festival is (embarrassing) and what some basic opera terms mean (embarrassing) even though this is clearly not a basic opera (is there such thing, i guess i mean it’s not”classical”) and what the story is about (why is it so embarrassing to have once not known what you know how? actually dumb)

    … a libretto is a script
    (this one brilliantly written by librettist Kelley Rourke)
    … some words are in italian
    (“TUTTI” is not a name, it means “everybody”, but “ENSEMBLE” also means “everybody”, so that was one of the questions)

    …you can’t just make last minute changes or new endings day before the opening, because a score was composed many months ago and some of it actually pre-covid
    (this one beautifully composed by John Glover)

    … rehearsal schedules are very detailed, rarely chronological and actually kept, because you can’t just rehearse something else because the other performers aren’t there because there’s literally nothing to do for those performers if they weren’t already scheduled in because it’s all music and the music director can’t be two places at once

    … costume changes aren’t to be fucked around with, because you can’t just stall the score, so it’s helpful to know how many measures you have to change into a completely different character off stage, because that might be 15 seconds

    … notes are referred to by measure numbers and not page numbers

    … blocking is by surgical precision and there’s no time or space to write full names or unnecessary words

    … where words are poor; where a moment when a single word, within the music, channeled through an insanely brilliant performer, creates a moment so emotional it gave me goosebumps over and over. “Exasperated move” become nothing but words of reference from director to performer. Useful but ridiculously short of meaning.

    I don’t know if any of this is different from how other people usually work – I’ve been told this was not a usual opera. I’ve come to know that the composer is groundbreaking in mixing genres. I learned that the director, being from the world of theatre and not opera, has a completely and more theatre-based approach to rehearsals (which may be why I felt such at home). I think maybe the fact that the librettist was able to change a few lines during the rehearsals was very unusual, helpful and “flexible”.
    This opera was not devised, I don’t think. It was developed. So much had happened before the rehearsals started, years of research and set design models, of composing and writing and talking with the author of the book. But so much also happened once rehearsals started. I’ve never paid this much attention to blocking, to the importance of a look, of a gesture, of routes through the stage and physical relationships between the characters. I think I’ve learned that there’s still so much space for creativity and ideas and impulses and care and love for the story even though the essence of the material had already been developed. This might be why I love a good script as well. Maybe I should really write more. And spend the time giving it life instead of altering it. At least that’s one way to do it. Worth a try. Stay tuned.

  • “ALIEN” – a staged reading at Under St. Mark’s Theatre

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    THE SCRIPT

    ALIEN – Paper Kraine reading (1)Download

    THE FINAL LAST MINUTE REHEARSAL
    in a dumpling restaurant next door

    THE PIECES

    1 – Like in the movies

    2 – A father’s funeral

    3 – Loving from afar

    (some of) THE OTHER PERFORMANCES

    THE CELEBRATION

  • right before the epilogue

    ,

    I’ve started to repeat
    Im seeing the cycles more clearly, and its time to make some shit happen, to facilitate some narratives, to round up and finish off
    i’ve begun to tie up loose ends
    i’ve literally got zero plans-free evenings left for the rest of my time in new york city:
    that theatre I wanted to come back to, the dance club I still haven’t gone to, farewell dinners and ceremonial trips to the bathroom at mood ring, three of us and I can’t actually remember who the third one was but I think I loved them

    final coffee meetings, people I forgot to invite, people I was sure I’d see again but now I honestly don’t know how it’s gonna happen,
    leaving to long island for 24 hours seem crazy when there’s so much left to do in the city, but im fairly certain that leaving for 24 hours to long island might be one of the most important things I do while I’m here, cause there’s another narrative, an old one, a chapter of a dusty book from 2015 that I need to read again and write the sequel to,

    im in the climax, headed towards the epilogue but I’m not there yet, everything is still about to happen and is happening on every corner of 42nd and 72nd and gansevoort and prescott, and ill remember some of these stories but the ones I wont will still have happened, and I’ll try to channel the ungraspable sensations of love and confusion and appreciation and hangovers and ideas and happiness into a tiny little dumb tattoo, and the tattoo will be what connects us across the sea, an always late subway train but nevertheless the reason we’ll ever see each other again, better late than never, how can I wrap up a story I’m still living?

    Everything else could happen tomorrow and it might be up to me, or it’ll be in the hands of someone else, an opera singer or the light designer I’ll see at tech on Wednesday. Something’s been happening and I’m so fucking stoked that I can only control some of these rituals, the other things will just happen, they will just happen to me, they’ll happen when I’m with the others in new york city as I walk towards the C, probably

  • week 19

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    – calendar candle (from danish christmas market)
    – the turkey from that parade (as seen on friends, where underdog gets away and they lock themselves out of the apartment to look at the giant baloon, and apparently the parade is not just on friends its actually been happening for 98 years. on the street next to where i live)
    – ann (an amazing person who anybody would be lucky to know, including me, at any point in their life, at any place in the world)
    – hyped up friends (after having watched wicked 4D, wauw, as a person who had not even (at that point) watched the wizard of oz i am amazed to this introduction to the lore)
    – an octopus and a whale (from the dimly lit display at the museum of natural history, amazed and entertained and impressed)
    – from “burnout paradise” (the phenomenal cast of ponycam collective minus ava who’s counting the show’s score in the back before deciding whether or not the audience are entitled to ticket refund. i didn’t know this iconic music video before seeing this show but here we ok go. also didnt know burnout could be this entertaining. have seen this show 3 times and would always recommend <3)
    – danielle (an incredible person who, for 3 blissful weeks 9 years ago, was like a sister to me. she was so old, 24, and now a decade went by and everything is the same. nostalgia is my favourite feeling. people are my favourite thing. i’m not over this. i can’t describe this. i just love it so much. i love her so much)
    – leftover police equipment from the parade (and i think we should call it now, central park west, take a break for a while, it’s been marathon and thanksgiving parade and go take a nap)
    – cutting the turkey (cutest and best chelsea at cutest and best thanksgiving. there’s too much to give thanks for to write here, but yes, that’s it, thankful for the rest of my life for these 19 weeks)

  • hold space for me please

    ,

    holding space for this apartment
    holding space for the motherfucking skylight
    holding space for the girl who visited today, newly highlighted hair and her well articulated wits,
    holding space for ann,

    holding space for dan and his bracelets,
    lots of space in his and her apartment
    lots of food in caitlyn’s kitchen
    feeding people I hold space for

    holding space for all these people
    Nathan josh colleen asil
    silly me for ever leaving
    leave their mark on me they will

    holding space for half assed rhyming
    holding space for whole assed timing
    holding space for 4D screenings
    holding space for future meetings

    holding space to come back another time
    leaving the calendar open
    holding space for future projects
    holding space for something completely different that I don’t know yet

    holding space for cuddly couches
    holding space for hugs in subways
    holding space for rooftop coffees
    holding space for slutty costumes
    holding space for body bag cocktails
    holding space for k-town karaoke
    holding space for the steps in front of bossa
    holding space for the C train if it chooses to show

    I’ll hold
    I’ll stay on the call
    I’ll wait for something to show
    I’ll make space and keep it, hold it tight, hold the space so life stays open,
    hold them in my heart in the meantime

    if they’ll hold a space on a couch in bed-stuy
    if they’ll hold my index finger when i say goodbye
    (and probably cry)

    a C train will show up one night
    and I’ll be back to hold them tight

    until then,
    hold space for me please

  • movies, tv and theatre so far

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    films in cinema:
    it ends with us
    speak no evil
    my old ass
    the substance
    joker 2
    we live in time
    the apprentice
    anora
    conclave

    new york-related cultural products:
    american psycho (movie)
    99% invisible “lost subways”, “penn station sucks”, “squatters of the lower east side”, “it’s chinatown” (podcast)
    sex and the city (only had 1 season left) (tv series)
    brooklyn 99 (only pilot) (tv series)
    how i met your mother (began at episode “the best burger in new york”) (tv series)
    studio 54 (documentary)
    frances ha (movie)
    mr robot (tv series)
    just kids (book)
    the new yorker (magazine)
    girls (tv series)
    post show recap: mr robot (podcast)
    sentimental in the city (podcast)

    theatre/performance (full productions):
    family (hoi polloi)
    the marriage (la mama)
    deep history (the public theatre)
    the cursed child (lyric theatre)
    women of will (west end theatre)
    safety not guaranteed (bam harvey theatre)
    the beastiary (ars nova)
    another shot (pershing square signature center)
    walden (Second stage theatre)
    the post poetic machine (theaterlab)
    fahrenheit 451 (st. michael’s church)
    burnout paradise (2 soon to be 3 times) (st. ann’s warehouse)
    frontera (bam howard gilman opera house)
    sleep no more (the mckittrick hotel)
    in the amazon warehouse parking lot (playwrights horizons)
    we are your robots (theatre for a new audience)
    oud player on the tel (here arts center)

    theatre/performance (readings & other):
    ogallala (runthrough of second act) (under st. marks theatre)
    paper kraine (lots of different acts; reading, dance, music etc) (under st. marks theatre)
    catch 77 (lots of different acts) (the invisible dog art center)
    rage (reading) (playhouse 46)
    helen in her homeland (reading) (center for performance research/elif collective)
    la casa del cuco (reading) (intar)
    protect the protectors (staged reading) (the tank)
    the moth: rejection (storyslam) (the cutting room)
    approx. 15 sets of 10-20 minute stand up (stand-up comedy) (the tiny cupboard)

  • the best prompt to spark my personal pure happiness is Flowers by Miley Cyrus

    ,

    Can’t believe this is what im doing right now
    Im sitting in a café
    In tribeca
    In new york
    And they’re playing flowers
    And a year and a half ago I lived through flowers, fell down and picked myself up, inviting people to join me, danced with myself and celebrated all of our failures,
    Will it be the greatest thing I’ve ever done?
    No
    Cause im in new york now
    Booking a fucking hostel in Sydney two months from now


    And don’t stress about finding an apartment katinka
    Don’t stress about your relationship katinka
    All in its time
    You’ve lived for 28 years and the gigantic scope of things you’ve experienced?? I could cry
    Im so proud of you

    You’ve built your life on being a go-getter
    Now give yourself a break
    Receive for a bit, take it chill, find comfort in being a bit homeless for a while,
    Leave the slate clean for other people to fill it out,
    Just try it out,
    See how that feels too
    Youre really good at seeing how things feel, trying one thing and then trying another

    Yes its tempting to apply for a job right now
    To email all the cafes back home
    Or the front of houses
    And you could
    And maybe it would be a good idea
    But today youre in tribeca,
    And the sun is out and you’ve got your gorgeous shoes on to compliment your gorgeous lady body
    And your coffee is cold because you’ve been too absorbed into writing and researching and all the things youre doing when your computer is open

    And your coffee is cold and that’s fine
    But maybe try to see this upcoming spring as a coffee, try to drink it while it’s hot, theres nothing wrong with cold coffee honestly that’ll just be iced coffee on a very hot summer day where the ice melts too quickly,
    But lets do January and February and March as a steaming hot coffee, lets drink it and see what happens in the meantime, you don’t have to control everything that happens, maybe something will happen TO you
    Maybe people will ask you to do things
    Theyre already starting to
    Carol just hired you yesterday for 4 days of intense work in February
    She asked YOU

    And your boyfriend is sweet and kind and struggling a bit and maybe now is just the time to be there for him, not to worry about your own things because theyre going splendidly, just be there for him and enjoy that you’re in tribeca and that the sun is out and that the air is crisp and you’ve got two episodes of Sentimental In The City left,

    Your visa got you in
    Bikubenfonden let you in and gave you an apartment
    Sidse let you in and you’ve learned so much about directing naturalistically,
    Kristin let you in and you’re going to fucking assist in making an OPERA ABOUT RESPONSIBLE ACTIVISM

    And your family is healthy and safe and they love you
    And at the moment, I think, no one is mad or annoyed with you,
    And you might catch a movie with Dan later today and I could cry

    How did you get so lucky? You’ve been drinking cold coffee and you’ve enjoyed it, and im so fucking proud of you, my only advise is to never forget to say thank you, keep thanking your uncle for his money and keep thanking your parents for their support and keep sending videos to your nieces and keep asking your sister about how she’s doing and not just how her children are doing, maybe actually call your sister right now, drink your shitty delicious cold coffee and call your sister to tell her you love her