Good or bad, my new script is out. Hard to stop beating myself up; the place I sent it to had an on-line submission page, and only allowed one PDF file to be uploaded – yet it asked for the script AND a cover letter, two completely different things. Couldn’t make it work any other way; I had to go back to the on-line software I’m using and insert a cover letter at the beginning of the play text. It’s not where a cover letter should sit, and that’s bugging the hell out of me. But if anyone knocks me down for what I did, they can suck the balls of a donkey. It was the only way to give them everything they wanted. So, that’s California. Now I’m haunting the website of a New York theatre, waiting for their submission period to open. Gotta keep checking online, too: never know when a new notice will be posted.
Still really fucking scared. I get moments of heart stopping anxiety. My body goes cold, the never ending pit to Hell opens up in my stomach, and I completely leave my body. Those moments are less frequent now than a week ago, so I guess I’m making progress. Can’t say it feels like it.
I’m probably making progress on losing weight, too. But again: I don’t feel like it. My body looks (to me) as wide and as fat as ever before. Lately I’m at the gym for extended periods to prevent me from smoking all afternoon, not for weight loss. Two hours a day should accomplish both: no smoking and loads of caloric burn. Yet somehow my smoking level remains fairly constant (according to the butts in my ashtray the next morning), and my body is still flabby and thick.
The sciatica pain is better. That’s something.
Hearing: same. High end ringing and fizzy popping like you just opened a can of soda and put it right up against your ear to listen to the carbonation bubbles – all the freaking time. Get up, that’s what I hear. Go to sleep, that’s what I hear. It’s at a low enough level I can hear most other things as well, and in noisy situations I can’t make out the ringing or the fizzing popping, but put me in a quiet space and it’s the first thing I’m aware of. Bass frequencies are difficult or (in some cases) even missing from my audible range. High end frequencies cause all the fizzing popping to get even worse, and I’ve found some music on my iPod tweaked too high on mixing boards; it hurts me.
Handled a bread knife yesterday doing the dishes and didn’t think once about cutting myself.
Experiencing fear and a bit of amazement over the idea of being able to reach out and make things happen in my life. Case in point: been talking about getting a read through of my first script since I began writing it. Now – BOOM! Have two English speaking and reading volunteers, and a possibility of using the comic guys’ new shop one evening if nothing else pans out for me. Suddenly it’s become real, and not just a stray thought. And I find myself shy about doing it. Scared. Nervous. Worried, even. How can that happen so fast for this one thing, yet so much of my life involves waiting around for months at a time?
Going on six weeks now with the local theatre group. Still waiting for that announcement that’s “coming soon” for auditions.
Speaking of waiting, I was treated to a rejection email the other day from a publication I sent a piece out to over a year ago. Gee! Like I couldn’t figure out you didn’t want to use my stuff after not hearing from you for thirteen months. But thanks for the standard automatic reply.
I am flying blind, and terrified.
Still. On, Teb.