Mondays – always a drag. Don’t care who you are or what you do, nobody likes Mondays (poor old Monday; almost makes me sad for the pathetic thing). My mood matches the day and the grey outside.
Just back from the rheumatologist. Two appointments, really. Nurse practitioner and rheumatologist. Ugh. Heard how 51 (coming up for me in a few short weeks) is the better side of your 50s – which for me simply underscored what wasn’t said: that in a few short years it’s downhill all the way. Had a lecture about smoking because I admitted to smoking 2-3 ‘smokes’ (see how I get away without blurting out the entire truth?) a day. Of course, they didn’t know I had been smoking 6-8 a day. So I heard how bad smoking is, how I need to quit, blah de blah blah blah. I could say the same damned thing to my GP, who knows the levels I have smoked, and she’d tell me I’m doing well. How easily medical opinion can turn on a bleeding dime! Also heard how repetitive exercise isn’t good for me, how I should be doing 10 minutes on every damned machine the gym has to offer rather than an hour on the treadmill. Excuse me? That bit of info I tossed to the side. Perhaps that’s true of others, but I’ve been doing this for longer than either of them have been in the medical profession, and I’ll stick to what works for me. I know this body better than they do.
So I ain’t happy. Felt I got a bit torn down when I should be getting a clap on my shoulder for increased exercise and decreased smoking.
After my last post, I took the time to talk aloud to myself. Tried to find out what that anger was all about. First thing out of my mouth was ‘I’m not gonna get hooked on some goddamned medication and then have to move and go cold turkey off it again. Fuck no!’. So I listened to me. I heard that, and said okay; we don’t have to do this right now. We don’t have to give up smoking entirely or push to see the doc and get assessed and on something now, now, now. Especially not since I had a very valid point: I’m going thru the immigration thing right now. While I (and my brother, and the attorneys and the accountants we had to pony money up for) all agree there shouldn’t be any problem, until I’ve got my card in my hand giving me permission to be here another 2 years I’m not approaching this mental health thing any closer. I’ll keep my smoking where it’s at. I’ll indulge in marijuana when I bloody well please, as long as it’s kept to 2-3 a day. In truth, I might not even smoke that much. Pulling back has allowed me to see how toking all day really can make me feel tired and not want to do much. I prefer to begin my days clearheaded now – and if you’ve actually following this morass of thought, you’ll know that’s a huge shift in attitude from me. My morning joint used to be a MUST. It was the one I didn’t know I could cut out. Now, I don’t want it. I want to go walking, or get to the gym or the pool.
Still haven’t got back to the script. I hope! Been telling myself that the year end break is coming up soon. Everything will shift to Xmas. No more language class, no taal cafés to miss and feel bad about, even the gym and pool hours will change and get limited (oh, god, what will I do without the gym?). Then I will get back to it in earnest. If I can catch the groove of the story again I should be able to finish the first draft within 3-4 days. I know! You’d think if I write that fast I could do it now. Except I can’t. That’s 3-4 days of being in that living room with my characters, not being able to pull out of it. And then there’s the backlash – editing, re-thinking, tinkering, proofing, and layout bullshit. All in all, I figure I need 10-14 days without interruption other than sleep, meals, and occasionally surfacing for fresh air. Sounds like an Xmas break project to me.
And sound. I’ve had the heads up from my bro (and head of the label I’m on) that come spring he’ll be looking to me for something to take to mastering. There’s no question about it: I want my new stuff (new! I’ve been sitting on it for a year now) done. Which means studio work. Turn on and bug the neighbors. Goody, goody! I’ve had it up to here with all their yelling and scraping of furniture! [Caveat: I’m kidding. Not about having it up to here with them, but about bugging them with volume. I don’t produce at that loud of decibels.] The fabulous thing (timing wise, anyway) about producing is that it’s best done over time, so interruptions like language class or taal cafés are often welcome to give my ears a break.
Gee. Seems I’ve got the next three to four months planned out. Do ya think I’ll actually get around to getting the mental health thing going as well? I dunno….smells like a set up to fly off into mania land to me. *sigh* And honestly, that sounds pretty good right now. Curve back into what I’m familiar with.
Ooooooooooh. I just had to point that out to myself.
Damn. Now I feel I should address it. Sort it out. Make some commitment.
Now I want to smoke again, and I just finished one.
Okay. Hot spot. I hit something that’s got my skin crawling. It’s something between my work and therapy, between the utterly cool goth/punk I see myself as and the namby-pamby Barbie doll cut out I think they want to make me into. Erk! Maybe I just ‘fessed up. I’m seeing all the quitting smoking and get right with my emotional state as people remaking me into something I’m not, something I never wanted to be.
Can I be a ‘clean’ artist?