Woke up this morning with all enthusiasm for my script gone. I was/am feeling certain the group won’t do it. It’s all the way through me, not just an imagining in my head. Total acceptance. Some might say I had a bad dream. Others might say my subconscious put together some puzzle pieces my conscious mind couldn’t or wouldn’t. And what has sparked this? A message – a slightly niggling message – out on my Google email regarding a reprisal of last season’s play. A theatre in Amsterdam has an opening in April, and we’ve been asked to fill it. Seems I was the only one left to weigh in on the topic, since ‘everyone else is on WhatsApp’. Hm. While I’m not opposed to doing the play again, I am very conscious of the time commitment needed to do it and do it well – a time commitment that will take the group away from deciding on this season’s play, time away from auditions and work on something new. Namely, my script. It may push the timeline back far enough that we won’t have enough days to produce my work.
…Right. Had to apologize to my bro. Woke up late and ‘loaded for bear’, as the saying goes. Slammed around in the kitchen, doing dishes. Snapped at my bro. Sheesh. Well, I overslept, obviously got triggered, and didn’t have a moment to myself to write. Hardly any wonder I’d slam around, angry. *sigh* Nonetheless, an apology was warranted. Got a hug in return, and a bit of conversation. That’s good medicine.
Managed to get to the gym yesterday. Knocked myself out and fell asleep around 6 in the evening for a half hour nap. Ah, nothing like running the animal hard to make it docile. And she was happy at the gym, smiling away as our heart rate pumped up to 150+. Out of practice, though. Extra creaky and sore afterwards. Tried to take a look at my homework, but the Dutch just swam in front of my eyes. Little wonder; it’s an article about gas extraction and the accompanying earthquakes. Important, but BORING and strewn with words 30 letters long. Oh, Gods! No wonder I feel so sluggish reading that shit. It inspires nothing in me. And it reveals no new information, other than current public reaction. Puh-leeze! I make no bones about my distaste for most public reactions. They are, by and large, mob mentality reactions, ignorant of the facts yet bullheadedly stubborn in their feelings of righteousness. …Ach! And yet I know I need these words, the 30 letter ones that make that voice in my head say things like ‘fair-kur-bick-elick-em-(mumble, mumble)’, which isn’t even CLOSE to the correct pronunciation, it’s just gibberish because there’s too many flipping letters to drag myself through! Argh! Answered a couple of questions, left the rest for later. It makes my brain hurt.
No phone calls – yet. Today is my follow up physio and I decided I’d be gentle with myself: I left the task of picking up the referral letter to this afternoon, when I’m there for my appointment. Tomorrow is a home day, while I wait for my injections to be delivered. That’s cleaning and phone call territory.
Today I just want to calm down.
Been saying that a lot. Been hearing it a lot, too: calm down (or, in Dutch, ‘rustig!’). And I work at that, reaching a delicate balance that suffices until the next calamity strikes. But it’s taking its toll. Still having tooth and jaw pain. Still snapping at people. Still feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. Nothing is fast enough. It’s only 10 am.? Only Monday[I know it’s Wednesday; this has been going on a while]? What, has time suddenly decided to crawl through the rest of eternity? Good Goddess! The only thing my mind really seems to slow down for is simple Dutch reading. The fairy tales and kids’ stories. Give me that article on gas extraction and I zone the fuck out; give me Roald Dahl and I slow down to savor it. I can’t understand the gas extraction article fast enough, and I’m impatient. I want it, now. Now, now, now, now, now!
…Had to take a moment to get that id under control. Quite a terror.
My emails continue to have nothing in them. No peep, no follow up, no telling me what the status of anything is. Don’t know if I’ll be performing in Amsterdam in April. Don’t know if anything’s been forwarded or talked about with the Board. Don’t know if the artistic director in the states has even looked at my stuff (tho, of all my gripes, she’s the least on the list). Telling myself it’s only been two days – not even a full 48 hours – since the read through. That I only replied to the Amsterdam performance a scant 12 hours ago. But I feel like it’s been months since all of that, and that little girl id in me can’t understand what’s taking everyone so bleeding long.
Rustig. If the only thing you can slow down for is fairy tales in Dutch, use it. Read. Sit in your big chair and indulge. You know you want to; that starving part of you has been screaming for more, more, more since you woke her up. Screw the gym. Take care of the part of you that’s in the worst shape – and that isn’t your ass! It’s that wonder-filled little girl who always takes the time to smell the roses, and stare up at the twinkling stars. She never is in such a hurry she can’t enjoy flowers poking up from the earth, or the smell of autumn leaves decaying under her feet, or the eggshell blue of the sky. You have been pushing for months: the play, the film, the language. Stop! No; allow yourself to stop. You keep doing it, staring off in the distance, but then you shake it off and get back to work. Allow yourself to stare.
Allow yourself to dream.