Apply Fertilizer and Water

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The cross trainer at the gym is a bitch. Ten minutes on it and my legs were spaghetti. Can’t wait to hop on it again, later today. I may have to metro home.

Wowie zowie and hallelujah! I heard from the theatre group. My email tells me it’s only been a week. Really? Only a week? Have I been that impatient – again? Now I’ve two people reading the script and willing to help me move to the next level. ‘Natch I read the damned thing through again and found half a dozen errors and typos. Just can’t seem to catch them all in digital form – give me paper, and a pen, and a highlighter. Besides, I’m still old fashioned enough to feel that a story doesn’t really exist until I print it. Digital don’t count. It’s just fluff in digital form; an oral version that can be manipulated and lost. Give me a hard copy. Then it’s real. Now I’ve just got to get the printed version minus the errors I found.

My CV is finished, as are notes on script development, character lists, scenic breakdown, and a cover letter. Give me a synopsis and I’m ready to see what people think. *sigh* Still not sure if the pacing is right. Still not sure if it’s funny. Still not sure of a lot of things, but I’m willing to try. I’ve a dozen theatre groups that are willing to look at new scripts and take digital submissions. Top of my list. I’ll see what feedback I get before I start ponying up money for additional print copies and postage to the ends of the earth.

Today I’m back in Dutch class, and my head feels like I can barely make it through the usual ‘goede morgen’. Ye Gods! If anything, I feel less inclined at the moment to tough the language out – I’m old, I’m lazy, I might actually have half a career writing in English – the list goes on. Then I think about how pleased I feel to get through simple transactions in Dutch, and I double down on my efforts. I may never speak the language well. I may never be able to write in Dutch. But damn it! I AM gonna be able to get through simple things with it. Just gotta relax….

Made an appointment to see my doctor on Monday. Been having some dizzy spells. Mostly when I lay down or sit up in bed, but sometimes just from turning around too abruptly. It began in early December. I figured it was part of a cold I was having; stuffed up nose, clogged ears – made sense. But the cold faded and the dizziness remained. So I made an appointment. I expect to find nothing. My doc will look in my ears and nose, take my temp and blood pressure, make a few notes on her computer, then look at me with a small frown. I don’t see anything to explain it, she’ll say. Then the suppositions will begin. You had a cold, you say? I suppose it could have been because of that…. Yeah. And I suppose it could have been because aliens were coming down and zapping me with their gizmos while I slept, too. Suppositions! Useless shit.

Here comes the old routine, back with a bang. I can feel time speeding up on me again. Language class in the mornings. Work out. Errands. Housework. No wonder when I zone out, I zone out. Too much daily shit; to get anything done I really do need to check out from reality for a stretch.

Meh.

Been kicking around some new (and old) ideas for my next script. I know! Don’t tell me. I barely finished with this one. Don’t even have it out the door. Don’t even have a synopsis. Don’t even know if it’s really done or if I’ll have to go back and make some adjustments. I’ve told myself all of that, and far more. Can’t help it. Been contemplating a lot of angles, a lot of stories. I don’t know which one I want to do next, and that’s a real problem. I suppose I’ll muddle through something over the next few months, writing here and there. Then at the next break I’ll probably do what I did this time: trash it all, start from scratch, and write it in a few days. Dat be my style.

Maybe I’ll talk to my bro. He’s got a way of cutting through shit that I find very useful. Where I see obstacles, he sees different paths. I’ll lay a bet he says something off the wall over one of my story ideas. Something I think is complete hogwash. But that seed he lays in my brain will grow. It always does. I think it’s his autism. He looks at the world differently. Don’t know what I’d do without him. My stories would certainly lack a distinct spin if he wasn’t around.

For now, it’s gym time and Dutch, dust-bunny chasing and sink cleaning. So unglamorous. All that little shit that is life. But I’ll take that tired and true routine right now. I’ll fall back into that rut of learning and slimming. As ruts go, it’s at least productive.

The words will grow. The ideas will grow. The stories, the scripts, will grow.

All I need to do is set them in the window,  and apply fertilizer and water.

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