There’s already enough

Heavy sigh.

If I were to take as long healing from all the crap I got growing up as it took to brainwash me into thinking I was a piece of shit, I’d be 76 and counting before I got over it. That’s the thought that elicited the heavy sigh, a depressed feeling, and anger over time never fucking being on my side.

I hate my family.

Gods…I know I look awful when I’m at the gym. Catch myself too often too deep into emotion. I tear up, my face turns red – I’m sure I look either like I’m about to have a heart attack or a nervous breakdown. Or both. It’s what happens. My body moves, stuff shifts and suddenly I am overwhelmed by memories and emotions. Therapists really should think about doing sessions during work-outs. At least in my case.

Gotta go through it. Free up whatever got blocked. Breathe. Fucking breathe. That’s the only thing I can think of, when it hits me. My feet move, time ticks on, but I’m unaware of any of it. Just stuck somewhere deep in a half hidden memory that’s full of old, built up muck. I’ve only impressions left over. Impressions of regret, and anger. Why did it go down that way? Why couldn’t I have been one of the lucky ones born into a family that cared?

Don’t talk to me about fate. I’ve always felt like I’m paying forward in this life, and it sucks. I was never a kid who enjoyed frying ants or ripping off the wings of flies. I don’t have that mean streak in me. If I’d been a shit in a previous life, wouldn’t it have shown up early on? I think so. But I was that weird kid who’d get up at 4 am to sing the sun up. I talked to trees, and cried over injustices.

And if the secret to reaching zen is dealing with people shitting on you all the time, I must be some freaking holy zen master.

So why do I find all of this so fucking difficult?

Haven’t I learned anything?

But, hey. I don’t have social niceties. Was never taught them. Don’t get hidden agendas, or most faux pas (what IS the plural on that, anyway?). And if I had a nickel for every time I heard about how ‘different’ I was…well, I still wouldn’t be rich. But I could buy a cheap meal for myself.

So what’s stuck in my craw today?

Other than the welling up of old memories and feelings, I guess I’d have to say it was what happened at my language lesson. Yeesh. You know, questioning any of this makes me wonder if I’m not just some drama queen timing things out and demanding my fair share of attention. Nonetheless, I noticed a definite difference between how I am treated and how my fellow student is treated. The effect was heightened for me because we had another new volunteer teacher sit in with us, to learn how a lesson might be. I think she looked at me twice. The remainder of her eye contact was reserved for my fellow student. And rightly so; the majority of conversation took place between my teacher, the newbie, and the other student. I was not included. I was not asked questions. I searched for things to say, to include myself…didn’t feel it was well received. They turned, they listened, but they didn’t follow up with statements or questions. Am I being paranoid? So difficult to tell. The other student is not as far along as me, and both instructors might have felt she needed more practice speaking. That’s logical. Still. I’ve an undeniable feeling that something else is going on, something I’m not catching onto. I hate that.

Mm. That’s the second thing I’ve said I hate.

Decided something. Had a weird few minutes during the script read through. I was outside with the director and someone the director knew was leaving. The guy asked me – twice – if I was the director’s wife. My reaction: laughter. I’ve thought a lot about that, and realized it might have sounded derisive to the director. Like I was laughing at the idea that we could be married because I found him unattractive or whatever. I wasn’t; I was laughing over the idea of anyone even conceiving ME of being capable of marrying someone. I’m just a bit worried that my hilarity will be taken the wrong way, and I don’t want any misunderstandings over my lack of social skills. So I’m gonna bring it up to him. Remind him of that moment and explain myself because I didn’t at the time. And I don’t need anyone else thinking I’m a shit.

There’s already enough.

What a f***in’ joke

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An orange dot on the upper right hand side of the WP screen alerted me to the fact that today is my two year anniversary on this blog-o-sphere. Whoop-de-doo. The occasion should be marked by stating unequivocally that I’m in a better mental state now than when I began. Still don’t know if I’m “happy” or not, but at least I’m not miserable.

Ear specialist appointment today. No slicing or dicing, thankfully. But odd. Had a hearing test first with the nurse. Twenty minutes later I was being congratulated by the doc for ‘having the hearing of a 10 year old kid’. Really? This is good? You people are deaf. Have a prescription for extra strength nose drops (should create an excellent momentary sense of drowning; really looking forward to using them – not). Told to see a special physiotherapist, someone who (apparently) can manipulate my jaw to help any built up pressure from scar tissue formed by my RA. Ach! Another one? More money out? Seriously? And I’m supposed to wait an additional 6 weeks before making another appointment – and then it will only be to set up a further appointment for “therapy” and “counseling” to deal with the continual ringing in my ears. Like I bleeding need therapy to deal with my hearing!

In other words, I still got my bionic hearing and no one can figure out what I’m bitching about.

Story of my life.

The radio drama is out and I’ve already received notification that they’ve got it. Also feel the fool. Noticed on my writer’s email account a tiny, dark grey number by the spam folder. Yeesh. There were the two replies from the competition answering my requests for a submission form. Took me half an hour to figure out how to get them out of the spam folder, and I’m still working on letting go of feeling a right ASS for not noticing it sooner.

Brutal appointment with my physiotherapist. I asked for it, and I got it. He hit a point by my tailbone that was sore, and he began with his usual gentle touch. I was quick to point out he shouldn’t be afraid of hurting me and within half a second I was almost regretting telling him that. Bore down on the area with his full weight. OW! But for the first time he got a deep crack in the area, and my back’s felt better ever since.

Getting back to gym time. Not easy with my hearing complaint. I can’t submerse into sound with my iPod; it doesn’t sound right to me, and the high end is ALL wrong. But I can’t keep using that as an excuse. My angry outburst the other day proved that to me beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I am just done making excuses for myself. The truth is, I’m a woman of extremes. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. Always tried to prevent it, always tried to tread the middle path. Doesn’t work for me. And I’m tired of trying. It is what it is. I push more, feel more, think (and doubt) more than most, believe weird things, and apparently have the hearing of a pre-nubile goddess. At 51.

What a fuckin’ joke.

Cold Choice

WARNING: ANGRY RANT AHEAD.

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Am I the only person in the world who experiences waking up angry enough to start a war? Clarification: I do not enjoy being angry, nor do I enjoy waking up angry. I get a lot of ‘put it out of your head’ or ‘just don’t think about it’ – as if my repetitive thoughts are something easily dismissed. So, seriously. What the hell am I supposed to do when everything neuron firing in my brain is accompanied by an angry thought or memory? I break one line of anger, turn over in bed, try to find a calm something to focus on, and the next angry thought comes stomping into my head, demanding my attention. There’s no getting away from it. The best solution I’ve ever found was just get the hell up. Doesn’t matter what time the clock says. If my brain is angry, get up. Write. Get it out. The only thing I accomplish by staying in bed and trying to complete an 8 hour sleep is a deeper sense of angry frustration.

I’m still beating that fashionable dead horse of this (and the next three) seasons. …Could the former slaves ever forgive their plantation owners who vote and fought to keep them enslaved? I think not. I think that might be part of the race problem the world faces right now. Another question: can the world ever forgive the Germans for WWII? I mean, really forgive them. That includes the flip side of discontinuing all special favors and acts for one small group of people who continue to use history as a manipulative ploy to get their own way in everything, including getting away with breaking some very fundamental human rights of their neighbors. …I doubt it. It’s become part of the social fabric now. Children are taught through words and deeds that might IS right, and the mighty are now so vocal in the espousal of their “right” that it’s little wonder there’s a vast amount of people out there ignorant of the truth.

Humanity used to mean something. Oh,the humanity! I’ll give you, it was idealized. A grandiose idea of what humans could be. But look at what we are now: a money grubbing, dirty, violent species that’s turning its back on the early ideals of our forefathers because they cost too much money, or it’s too difficult, or we just don’t wanna. So much easier to make your point when it’s punctuated by a bomb.

Makes me physically sick.

…So. Up too early. Smoking again (I know, I know). Appointment with my rheumatologist this morning. Won’t be the first time I’ve shown up glassy-eyed at her office.

Better things. I think I’ve completed all the changes and corrections to the radio script. Need to read it through one last time today, and if everything is okay it’ll be sent out before the day is done. Have an idea thread for the next script that won’t let me be. Building on that structure, seeing what’s available as the story unfolds. Still too many hazy areas to commit to paper yet, but I think I know when I want the story to begin and end. Everything else is filler. Filler written to support the beginning and ending. Don’t mean to diss the mid section; it’s important. But there’s lots to tell with this tale, and as any writer will (eventually) admit to, you’ve got to pick and choose what you use. I mean, I never watched the tv series 24, but I’m pretty sure the audience wasn’t asked to sit with the main character for his five minute dump every day, or wait with him for a lift to pick him up. Point is, you can’t use everything. And when you’re writing a specific length piece, your main points become important and the rest must be, by definition, expendable. Doesn’t matter how lovely you’ve phrased it; if it’s a matter of word count and it’s not the main thread, it goes. Don’t get attached to the mid section filler!

Pretty sure I’ll be told to stop smoking altogether when I see the ear specialist on Wednesday. It’s not helping. I know it. *sigh* Like the world wants me sober. That’s a definite no. Marijuana softens my hard edges. I’ll have to go back to eating it.

…Hm. Can I get a nicotine patch from my doc?

More easy choice Dutch reading last night. Strange. I can try to pick a sentence apart and not get it, yet when I just read it through I seem to understand. Still many unknown words to me. But the flow is there.

Barely any hot water this morning in the building. Dare I attempt a shower? Brr. Cold choice.

The Benefits of Talking to Yourself

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My hate meter is off the scale. It’s always been off the scale where 45 is concerned; now it’s gone nuclear. And my hate encompasses anyone connected with 45: his family, staff, and the people who voted for him. I hope every single one of 45’s homes has a huge sinkhole open up and swallow the whole fucking thing while 45 and his people are inside. Disgusting fucking excuses for human beings.  [Note: never miss an opportunity to beat THAT horse. He deserves a whipping every day for the rest of his life. ‘Nuff said.]

If you put in an order for a perfect day a year in advance, you couldn’t have received a better day than yesterday. Warm, but not too warm. Sunny but with plenty of shade under the newly leaved trees. Every window, every door in this fine city was thrown open to the elements. I was out and about, down at the new comic book shop. It was their Grand Opening and Free Comic Book Day. The new space is killer, more than twice the square footage of the last, with a long line of windows along the street that entice and tease curious customers through the door. Never have I seen them so busy! It was great to see, and great to know the shop looks like it’ll be around for a long time to come. Spent almost three hours there, looking around (there’s enough space they finally got the INDIE comic bins out where I can look at them), and chatting. Off to Blaak, and the best Turkish pizzas in Rotterdam, then back home. My day was gone without me even noticing.

Today, there are three must do’s. I must read through the latest chapter of my bro’s work; I promised I would. I must get out for a real walk of at least 40 minutes. And I must open my radio script and begin making the changes I’ve noted after the read through.

Been dealing with some anxiety issues, even one or two small panic attacks. Had a revelation. My panic attacks (if that’s what they are) feel a lot like I used to feel before going on stage. A sinking feeling in my body. Dread. Nausea. Hot and cold sweats. As a kid, I vomited. Every time. But I got over it, and in getting over it I realized I went through all that because I doubted my own ability to get through the situation. Once I learned I could do it, I could put myself out there and NOT fail, not fall on my face, not throw up in front of the audience, that fear went away. I get a bit nervous before performing, geared up, excited – but not that panicky feeling. So, all I need to do is teach myself that I CAN get through it (‘it’ being whatever the Universe decides to throw at me). Simple, right? Doesn’t ever feel simple in the execution of it. I still go through it, still leave my body when I freak out. But I can bring myself back. Eventually.

My sneaky trick on myself worked! Ha-ha!! Now that I’m done with Tolstoy, I’ve chosen Homer’s The Iliad as my bit of English literature. And oh my! Give my Russian names any day of the week over this! But that was the point: I’m making myself choose between reading something incredibly difficult and boring in English or something easy and fun in Dutch – and I’m choosing the Dutch. Maybe I’ll never get through Homer. I’ve ten or twelve chapters to read that explain the text before I even begin, and I’m already bogged down and bored by it. lol. And I’m not sure Homer would appreciate knowing I’m using his work as a way to keep me reading a foreign language. But it’s working, for now.

I should find something similar to do about my smoking. Tho in this case, it’s got to be something more desirable than toking up, not less.

Tough one.

Hope to squeeze enough cash this month to see the new Alien film. Been dying for Ridley to come back to the series, been waiting for so long for the follow up to Prometheus!

…Did I just give myself an answer? Make sure we can see the film by cutting back on smoking? …Yep, I think I did.

See how beneficial talking to yourself can be?

A New Hope

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Friday morning, post script read through, and I am more ecstatic than expected. 😀 My dark nightmares did not manifest themselves; I was not hemmed in, told what was wrong, or made to feel inadequate as a writer. On the contrary: I was given a rare compliment by a Dutch native on the story line.

How strange to have (relative) strangers read my work aloud! I planned and completed three read throughs, and had the pleasure of hearing people find their feet with characters and begin to bring them alive. I learned a whole lot, too. Like the fact that some people, no matter how many (PAUSES) you include or … you add to dialogue runthroughtheirlinesliketheirpantsareonfire. Found a couple of typos, and considering my computer went through a breakdown when I flipped my location to the Netherlands so it no longer recognizes English as its main language and I have to catch all the typos manually, that’s pretty effing good. Discovered a couple of production notes I want to add to the text to make things clearer to the actors.

But…and…the timing is good. I can stretch it by a few lines here and there. My most worrisome scene that uses more sound effects than dialogue came off well and the consensus was the audience will understand what’s going on.

Asked for and received positive responses to help me with my next script. I want a draft ready for a read through or workshop by October, leaving me two months to make changes before that deadline.

And I remembered another script I want to write….

Yeah. Just a little manic today. Positive feedback does that to me. Feels odd to say that finding my feet after a positive experience is more difficult than finding my feet after a negative experience. Maybe that’s more a reflection of the type of life I’ve had rather than anything specific about me.

Nonetheless, the challenge remains. First on the list is resting. I was up after 6 hours of sleep, too hyped and excited about starting the day to lay around any more. Feeling it now, and with my bro already gone off to write at the library I’ve an opportunity to chill and close my eyes in front of the tv for an hour or two. Think I’ll take it. Then later, a good walk around to get some movement. A decent dinner, an early night. Tomorrow, a trip to the comic shop to say hi to the guys and see the new place. No writing before Sunday. I want last night’s experience and suggestions to simmer for 48 hours before committing them to paper.

Feeling good. A little worried that the Universe will send some disaster my way to un-balance me again.

But for now, I’ve A New Hope. *orchestral crash* Da. Da-da-da. Can you hear the opening theme? I can.

I want it to happen

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A rare word to my followers: thanks. I’ve picked up a few newbies this week, and received some comments that have boosted my mood. It’s gratifying to know someone out there connects with what I write. I’m late in replying, late in acknowledging awards, late in reading and commenting on your words – and I know it. That’s my bad. I haven’t forgotten you or meant to diss you. I’m just a bit lost in my own life.

My head is full of English. Another bad on me. Three people spoke to me at the pool this morning, and I did my fall back: smile, nod, and laugh a bit if their body language and facial expression indicates that’s appropriate. Make non-committal noises. Mmm-hmm and uh-huh are my two biggies. Did I understand them? A little. Not enough for two years living here, not enough in my book – although I’ll admit my book is a tall tome that’s intimidating to read and twice as scary to live. My grasp of Dutch is a constant struggle. And active listening is a pain in my ass! I want to hear and understand. Right now, I hear and have to think, translate, sort out the sounds that are thrown at me at such a fucking rapid pace I can barely distinguish where one word ends and another starts. It’s so much work!

The writing has begun. Nothing on paper. Nothing will go down on paper for a while. But the scenes have begun. The words are flowing. The ideas are coming. My time spent on the radio drama was very worthwhile; I’ve learned that short ideas grow into long pages all by themselves. All I need to do is find my short ideas, the three main areas I’ll circle around during each act. Act 1 is obvious: set up. Introduce the characters, the scene, the setting, the conflict. I know one character dies, tho I’m uncertain if that’s Act 2 or 3. And I’m thinking ahead, of the resolution. Do I end it with the end of the war? Not sure I like that idea. Too bleeding obvious.

Keep hearing music in this thing, too. Keep seeing characters burst into song. It’s not what I want to focus on, and I find it distracting. Though I’ve got to admit…I’ve had ideas for one or two songs that I might include. Showing the solidarity of these women through singing is appealing.

…Better check the rules. If they allow musicals…maybe. That’s all I’ll say. Maybe.

Shocker: came home from the pool to find my brother had the dishes done. I was doubly surprised considering he’s busy with writing and busy with beginning of the month stuff like paying bills. It was pretty nice, though. Volunteered to make an easy dinner tonight to take the stress of cooking off him.

Tomorrow I go downtown, get my blood tests done, and copies of the script printed up for Thursday’s read through. Where will my head be at by Friday morning? Should I even be thinking about that? Guess I’ve got to, on some level. There’s still the final touches on the radio script: last minute edits and final numbering. Technically, it’s not done yet. Just gotta keep it together a bit longer, though I already feel the pull of the next piece dragging me away from this world.

And I want it to happen.

It would be nice, though

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Got up this morning extra early and on purpose so I could write, and now I’m staring at the blankness of my post and wondering what the hell to say.

Start with the good. I can walk without pain. That’s a biggie. Off pain pills, down to an occasional paracetamol in the evening. Want to get back to the gym today for a long, slow exercise session. I am very aware my attitude goes to shit when I experience pain (note: pain for me lies somewhere between 5 and 8 on the 1 to 10 pain scale; anything less than a 5 is just discomfort). If more people were aware of that…but they aren’t, and they’re all too busy with their own thoughts and lives to think to ask why I’m in such a shitty mood so often. The answer is simple: pain. I’ve a lot more of it than I talk about.

It’s May. The Netherlands celebrated the coming of this merry month with a 20C sunny day – warmest to date, and followed up by a grey, dingy morning promising rain and feeling twice as cold as it actually is because it falls the day after such summery warmth. Nonetheless, May means movement; time has marched on. There’s the script read through. Several doctor appointments. More language lessons. Deadlines to meet. And I must begin haunting some of my online emails for replies to earlier script send-outs.

Worried about a lot. Worried my ears are gonna get sliced and diced at the doc’s, and I’ll have to spend the summer keeping out of the water. Worried the ear doc is gonna say there’s nothing they can do to rid me of this continual ringing. Worried I’ll get yet more rejections on my writing. Worried about my residency status. …There’s so much to worry about it kind of cancels itself out. Just becomes a wall of grey noise.

Do not want to begin writing on a new project before I’ve wrapped up my last, so I’m keeping myself busy. Playing games. Watching Twin Peaks again. Doing what I can to help around the house. Giving my brother as much time as possible each and every day for him to do his writing. Keep telling myself thank you. Thank you, Beeps, for doing the dishes. Thank you, Beeps, for cleaning under the bookcase in the hall. I gotta say it, because my bro is too wrapped up in writing mania to acknowledge it. I understand; been there often myself. Feels a little lonely, tho. The only conversation I get is about his book, his writing, his graphics. Wears thin after a while.

Well, now I know what it feels like…and next time, I’ll try a lot harder to pull my head out of my ass when my brother talks to me as I write.

*sigh* But I need concrete, real stuff right now. I need people contact, and laughter. I need things to look forward to. I need my appointments and classes, my weekly and monthly routine. Feels like my dreams are pulling away from me; all the old comforts I told myself for years and years don’t offer the same protection as they once did. Realized I still dream as a 20 year old. The only difference is now I dream with the sole purpose of escaping my worries. I don’t really think any of it will happen.

It would be nice, though.