You hear me, Santa?

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One and a half days up. That’s all I really got. Enough to meet with the theatre group and get to my Thursday language lesson. By Thursday night my throat was on fire and I could barely swallow. I am back, sick again, and under doctor’s orders to sit the fuck down and do nothing but sleep and drink juice until everything’s rosy again.

There are often times when I gaze at our DVD collection and despair a bit – gods, there’s so many, or geez! who needs all that. I do. I need all that. Been burning through the DVDs like mad. Up before 6 a.m., sleeping between 10 and 2, back to watching and resting ’til dinner, then more watching and resting until I fall asleep. Wish I could still play the marathon MST3000 tapes. They’re too valuable to use before getting them transferred onto a different medium, but damn! They’re set up for my sick days. Twelve non-stop hours, edited with loads of surprises and fun stuff. I used to sleep to them. Put them on, lower the volume, and sleep. That’s back when I had a room large enough to accommodate my bed AND a tv. Years ago. But I really miss them now. One of those tapes would last me the entire day, and I haven’t seen them now for years.

Been shielding myself from anxiety over immigration by making plans for the future. One of those plans is to get a group together to do a read-through of my script. Oh, man. I can feel a PROJECT coming on. Not a small thing, but a big thing. PROJECT. I can see my volunteers saying ‘oh, let’s find a way to do this; it’s so much fun!’ and then they’ll all look at me because why not? I’m the organizer. And why shouldn’t I? If I use the people the theatre group tosses away, I’m not hurting anyone. If I find a way to use a room for free, I’m not encroaching on what the group wants to do. If I find people who want to see the play done, I’m not competing for audience members or money or time or space. None of that’s happened yet, naturally. I haven’t even mentioned needing volunteers yet. But I’ve seen the hunger in these people’s eyes. How much they want to participate and have fun. I’ve just got this sense that I may be stepping off into unknown territory. After all, this is similar to the way it started last time.

‘Last time’ was in Ireland. It began with a visit from a fellow poet, who asked about pubs or places where he might be able to get up and read his poetry. It ended with a fully registered charity, an annual poetry festival that included an adult’s night with performers from around Ireland, the UK, and the continent, a room of video feeds from artists around the world, a music room with guests from all over, and a night devoted entirely to children and children’s poetry.

Yeah, I went a little overboard.

I gotta lotta flack for it, too.

But I did find there was a real hunger for what I did, offering performance space to anyone willing to get up and strut their stuff.

It could happen again.

Meanwhile: I might as well put up a desert scene on my computer desktop, because the tumbleweeds just keep blowing through my email. Ugh. Gonna expend what energy I’ve got this weekend on sending the script out to two theatre groups; forgot last weekend, and I do so want to keep my promise to myself of getting it out to one group a week. Really hope this latest phase of my illness passes quickly so I can use my time off from lessons this coming week and get some writing done. I feel loaded up with Hollywood stories lately, and everything in me is concocting harsh tales in response. No, there is no happy ending. There is no justice. There is only dominance, power, and the will to use it. Those are the roads my mind has been wandering lately. Perhaps I should set a challenge for myself. The first script resulted from me challenging myself to try writing in that format. Why not have the second one include all this horrible crap my head continues to ponder? Make a list and include everything – rape, murder, betrayal, greed, drugs, hate, bigotry, racism, sexism. Put it all into one place. … You know, it sounds like a good idea to me. Let it all out. Who gives a fuck if no one ever reads it or does it?

Give myself a chance to write real life.

And that’s got to include some good things. Because my philosophy is that we’re already in Hell. This is it. Hell isn’t pokers up your ass and unending pain. Unending pain can be endured. You’d be surprised at how much your body can carry and forget it’s even there. Nope. Hell is having something nice for a time, caring about it, depending on it’s existence, and then having it ripped away from you. Hell is having people tell you they love you while they beat you down. Hell is facing blind bigotry, racism, and sexism. Hell is being a sane and caring person in this world. That’s Hell.

When we are children, we buy into fairy tales. Magic exists! Then we get a little older and learn that no, fairy tales aren’t real. Magic is only an illusion. Problem is, that keeps happening. First go the obvious things: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny. Then the next obvious: you learn about lying and cheating, usually by getting lied to or cheated in some manner. Later on, you learn about hidden agendas and people who’ll pretend to be your friend because they want something from you. As time goes on, more and more illusion gets ripped away. And you begin to understand why we tell children fairy tales: life is Hell. You hope for some happy memories in between disasters. Loving means losing. Pain is inevitable.

I never wanted a pony for Christmas. I only ever wanted to be happy.

You hear me, Santa?

 

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