I don’t suck dick

This is not where I expected myself to be at 5 something in the morning. Not today. But noise woke me up (lorries? a thunderstorm? someone half a mile away closing their garage door?) and suddenly I couldn’t sleep anymore because one thing was on my mind: I’ve got a 45 supporter as a friend on FB, and that needed to change and change right away.

My longterm online correspondence (10 years or more) has ended. I opted to keep it simple – I can’t be friends with someone who voted for 45. Farewell. That’s a kinder message than members of my family received. Unfriend.

I should really go through my FB ‘friends’ and unfriend them ALL unless I know for sure they didn’t vote for the orange orangutang. That’ll leave me with a handful of people. *sigh* Just too lazy to do it. I only post derogatory news items of The Orange One and occasionally cuss on FB. It’s un-cool as a social website. Sometimes I think about just deleting my account, but then I remember the South Park episode when Stan tried to do that.

I don’t want to get sucked into a lame 80s cyber world.

Second dental cleaning yesterday because it was three years since I had it done and there’s just a lot of work to be done. The new hygienist was brutal. Had me spitting blood.

My teeth look amazingly white, tho.

Reason to feel both jealous and hopeful: yesterday’s language lesson found me sitting in with another student and teacher because my usual teacher is off on holiday. And DAMN! I’d really like to permanently switch to this new instructor. She was probably a teacher in real life. First, we had reading to do. Then questions to answer. Then complicated words to pronounce. Then a spelling test. Then simple chatting over our opinions on the story. It was THE most thorough lesson I’ve ever had. I was corrected on pronunciation and syllable emphasis. English was readily swapped to when needed. My grammar was corrected, and sentences were spoken to me slowly, clearly, and repeated until I got every single word precisely. SO jealous I don’t have her as a regular instructor. Also hopeful that I can find a teacher out there who’ll really teach me rather than sit there half bored as I try to read aloud.

Went into overtime using my Dutch when a knock at the door revealed two workers from the local Buurtwerk (neighborhood work) group. They’re out covering their areas, checking in with residents and asking about the neighborhood. What’s good about living here? What’s not good about living here? I stumbled through with my pidgin Dutch. Sure, I made grammar mistakes. Sure, I inserted English when I didn’t know the Dutch. Point is, they understood me and I understood them. Progress!

Inclement weather. The skies are grey, the clouds low and threatening. Please send us a good, ripping thunderstorm! I love thunderstorms. The sheer power let loose strikes me dumb. I just stand in front of the window, looking. And I’m 14 years deprived of thunderstorms; Ireland didn’t have them. So gimme, gimme, gimme!

Preparing mentally to dive into editing mode with this new software. Almost there. I find editing like reading Dutch: I can do it any time, but how well I do it depends on my mental prep. When my head’s there, it goes super fast. When my head isn’t there I spend most of time going over three lines and not being able to get beyond them.

Naturally money is tight. Tighter than tight. Another big bill showed up. Apparently it was a February bill that someone forgot to send to us, and now they want their money. All my doctor’s visits hit at the same time, so that’ll cost us. And the exchange rate is for shit. Goddess! Whatever happened to the idea that the euro was created to be a one on one challenge to the dollar? Thanks, Nixon, for killing the gold standard and hanging all the world’s currencies on the mighty US dollar. Stupidest move ever. Now currency manipulators use their power to create false values to world currencies. Just another slave game by the 1%.

Caught myself last night thinking that there’s a whole part of life I never let myself experience. Family, home, kids, cars, job. That stray thought occurred to me during a car commercial. Not sure what it was about that ad that triggered me. But trigger me it did, and a flood of all I’ve missed came whooshing towards me followed by regret and fear. Was able to recognize I was chasing that ‘grass is greener on the other side’ idea; I was reacting to an idyllic scenario, not anything based in reality. Oh, wouldn’t it be great to be young and in love and have lots of money and be thin and beautiful all at the same time. Fuck yeah, it would! I always thought so. But should we really allow ourselves to lead around by this carrot on a stick that’s only ever available to a chosen few? Goddess! And I’ve heard some of these chosen few espouse the idea that this was their destiny, the almighty guided them to it, blah blah puke blah. Um…it was chance. Luck. Chaos. A roll of the dice.

Or the dick you sucked.

There’s one thing about me that’s always been true, and I guess my life reflects it.

I don’t suck dick.

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.

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?

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.

Tell me

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Six plus weeks of hearing trouble, and I finally have the go-ahead to consult a specialist. Interesting examination with my doc this morning; she put a tuning fork to various places on my head and asked me where I heard the sound and how long it lasted (the best sound I’ve heard in the past six plus weeks). Hm. My spidey-sense tells me ever more strongly that I’m headed for surgery.

Saw my v.c. (very cute) physiotherapist yesterday. Haven’t referred to him that way for a while. He made it clear he was seeing someone, blah-de-blah, and I figured I’d just better get over my infatuation. But he greeted me with that smile of his, and bowed me into his office with the sweeping motion of a gallant knight of old, and my heart just went BOOM! So I’m right back to my fantasies, ignoring what’s going on because I can’t stop thinking about kissing him all over.

Tonight is the first night of auditions for the theatre group. I’m not on the schedule, but I’m going anyway to say hi to people I’ve met and surreptitiously ask a few members to help me with my own read-through. Been rehearsing, and prepping to step up and audition tonight despite being scheduled for Tuesday – because that’s the way my life generally works (prep for one thing, and another happens: in this case, if I prep for Tuesday I’ll be asked to audition tonight, but if I prep to audition tonight I’ll have to wait ’til Tuesday). Am blowing off language class this morning and tomorrow. My Friday teacher told us last week that everyone could bring their kids, because kids’ schools are off for Easter. Kids! Walking germ factories. I’m not exposing myself to that risk just before auditions and just before MY time off to write scripts. Uh-uh. Probably being overly cautious, but I’d rather that than another four to six week illness.

Back to the gym. Can’t say I look forward to it, but I’m doing it. Was appalled at how quickly my mood sank over the weekend. Gotta keep on it. A day off here and there, but no two day break anymore. Not ’til I’m over this mountain of anxiety (which, let’s face it: I may never get over).

No word from any place I’ve sent out emails to. I know my new email works; I’ve received a couple of things in my inbox. Why nothing from the important places? How long does it take to send an automatic response? Wondering how soon is too soon to send a second request.

Meh. And I got a look at my hair in bright daylight. The new color doesn’t even come close to matching my old.

Trying to not feel frumpy. That’s difficult right now. Seems every time I catch a glimpse of myself somewhere, all I see is this horrible old woman. Lines down my face, dark circles under my eyes, sagging skin, fat folds, wide hips, fading skin color…. Yet, I can look in a mirror on occasion and think I still look pretty good. I hate it; it’s like two copies of me. One, the woman I want to be; the other, the woman I’m afraid I am. Can’t honestly say which is the truthful version of me. Maybe both.

…Is my vc physiotherapist flirting with me, or is he yanking my chain? Do I have a real shot at a theatre role, or is it all a set-up with a pre-determined outcome before I even audition? Will these theatre groups even read my submitted work, or will everything I do end up in the circular file?

Somebody, please…tell me.

Zombified

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Yo.

Accomplished: hair, doctor’s appointment, printing of audition material. Still waiting on: submission form and rules for competition, acknowledgement and answer on proposal. Didn’t even try: housework, exercise at gym.

Woke up Saturday and hurt my index finger. How? I used it. I suspect it’s a pinched nerve, running from the large knuckle on the hand all the way to the tip. Several ‘hot’ spots I don’t even want to come close to touching. Not getting better with rest. Use it and it hurts.

My bro says go to the auditions. Try out. Use the group for social contact; it’s my best option right now and until my own theatre workshop materializes, it’s almost my only social contact. Found the director for the upcoming production is the dude who never answered me about my first script. Don’t hold out a lot of hope that I’ll get chosen for a role; I know how that shit goes. If he’s been avoiding talking to me over a script I sent, he’s sure as fuck not gonna want to see me multiple times over the next several months. Also got notice to “memorize” a passage. Seriously? I saw these people rehearse last year. They used scripts in rehearsals right up to a few hours before the curtain went up. And you want me to memorize a passage in a few days to audition?

Have thought (and thought and thought) about the best approach on my story for a script. Worked out each and every version, what works, what doesn’t, what I need to foreshadow and reveal. Came to one conclusion, which sticks no matter what version I end up doing: I’m using a family to tie it together. It’s tight, compact, and offers the best opportunity to convey everything I want to without losing the audience by having too many characters. I’ve got to have an emotional connection with what’s going on, and if I just have random cops, scientists, and kids with no central hub I’m not sure I can achieve that. A family allows me to center everything: one parent a cop, one parent a scientist, and a kid. Perfect.

Seeing my doc on Thursday morning. Would have liked it to be any other time than my one on one language lessons, but I’ll take what I can get. Almost feel like I shouldn’t even bother. I’m old. Hearing fades. Maybe this is it for me. Always having to ask people to speak up. Cupping my hand around my ear in a crowded room to make out a few words of conversation. *sigh* It would be nice to have the ringing stop.

Worried about today. Worried about my future. Worried I won’t die fast enough or easy enough and I’ll fuck everything up again, even in death. Worried people (the theatre group) are laughing at me behind my back. Worried about my hearing, my health, my always semi-poor mental state.

Pushing it all back, doing my best to not think down those paths. Positive thoughts for positive outcomes and all that crap, right? But I feel a bit zombified.

On, Teb

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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.