That might explain it

I am here only to bitch and moan and scream. All those things I’d like to do on other social platforms because that’s where it gets triggered. All those things I don’t do on other social platforms because I don’t want to deal with the back-talk, the trolling, or the other unwanted fucking bullshit.

First up: women who support 45. *ahem* Go and kill yourselves. Quickly. It will save me from murdering you, so look on it as if you’re doing God’s work, which you seem SO fucking concerned with even though your God makes you an outcast for your sex, your God MUST be called “Lord” or “Him” or “He”, your God of course had to send down a son because daughters are fucking worthless (right?), your God who is a man first and always and will never, ever let you forget it. Get down on your knees and suck Him (and that ‘Him’ stands BOTH your male Gods including the one in the White House) off. You utterly disgusting whores, so eager for a pat on your head from your Daddy or your husband that you’ll give up every ounce of decency in you just to have it.

Second: England. Congratulations on confirming in my mind, at least, that you ARE the pedophile capital of the world. The amount of ‘adults’ who engage in this behavior in your country is fucking staggering. And it’s pretty obvious that all your women are lying whores who deserve to be raped – or at least that’s your attitude. You’re letting the worst serial rapist in your history out of jail. Free. Guess his victims just don’t fucking count. They all wanted it anyway, didn’t they? Just like those kids you fucked. Those kids wanted it, too. They dressed provocatively, didn’t they? You just couldn’t help it. Your dicks got hard and, well, you’ve got to find SOMEPLACE to put a hard dick, don’t you? And, after all, that’s what women are made for – even if the ‘woman’ in question is only 5 or 6, or really a boy who won’t fight you too much because they can’t.

Third: the 1%. The day is coming, people. Your throats will all be cut. You will be left penniless. The masses will wake up to the fallacy of ‘divine right by birth’. You take, you keep, you hoard, and you laugh at the rest of us when we complain. You have no rights to what you claim is yours. Contrary to popular belief, the old idiom of ‘you can’t take it with you’ still holds true. If you can’t take it with you, you don’t own it. So no, you don’t own your land or your homes or your car or the workers whom you treat as slaves. You don’t own the government, or government officials, or the stock market. You are greedy fucks who stop up the progress of the world. You are the WORST of this terrible parasitic species called human, and on my list you’re number one to be shot even tho you only show up as my number three gripe this morning.

Fourth: the U.S. My only answer is this: napalm, and lots of it.

AAAAAARGH!

…I am frustrated and anxious, thus you get a tirade this morning. I know it. Continuing to hold smoking to a lower level despite feeling so homicidal. Have not yet gone off on anyone. That statement makes it sound like I expect to go off, and I guess I do. It’s my pattern. A pattern I’ve tried to break for a long time without success. I consider that a personal failure. …I must be at least a bit crazy, because I keep trying. Even tho I know I haven’t done it yet, even tho I don’t even know HOW to do it. Breathe, they tell me. Hell, I’m breathing! Sometimes damned hard from my anger. Can we get something a little more concrete to work on? Telling me to breathe just doesn’t cut it. And putting on that sanctimonious attitude and telling me it’ll all be okay if I just breathe only makes me want to shove breathing up your ass so far you’ll be belching from your sphincter for the rest of your natural life.

*big exhale* Yes, I’m currently smoking. I said I was keeping it under control, not quitting, and if anything serves as evidence of needing to calm the fuck down, it’s my post first thing this morning.

I’ve been diligent this weekend. Worked steadily. My homework is done. I’ve finished the latest Dutch book I was given to read. I’ve prepped up an article to share with the class. This morning I’ll conjugate irregular verbs while eating my oatmeal. In addition, I’ve watched Dutch programs or films every day to reinforce hearing the language. Also managed to clean up the house, finish off laundry, check on times and routes for Tuesday, SMS’d S about Tuesday, sent a message off to my insurance company about the increased coverage I need, sent a note to the theatre group telling them I’m done with the story and ready to share it, and even got to the gym. That’s diligence!

I should be happy as a clam (tho why clams are so damned happy, I’ll never know). S assured me in her message that I’m always welcome in her home. That warmed my heart. She’s been caught up in last minute homework projects, so we haven’t had a good chat yet. But looks like I’ll head up there on Tuesday so she can do my make-up. I’m sitting pretty with language, having done all that work. Should do just fine in class today. I’ve got what I need for Tuesday: the outfit, directions, back-up plans, and money on my OV chip card. My back isn’t hurting me, and my jaw pain is very low to non-existent.

One weird thing. I’ve got two sets of bite marks on my shoulder. Too big for an insect.

Maybe an angry imp bit me at night while I slept.

That might explain it…

Advertisements

It’s right there

Stayed up late so I did NOT have a repeat of my 3 a.m. wake up. Made it a whole 6 hours. What the fuck?! I know I’m more tired than that.

FB: Hit the delete button. So far, no fall out from it. My bro, T… First he wanted to hound the guy himself. Start leaving niggling comments on HIS page. Then I mentioned I was just going to delete it…and my bro apologized. Apologized to me. I’m sorry, he said, I just wanted to mess with this guy. But if it bugs you that much, yes! Take it down! Promised if the dude comes back at me, my bro can let loose with whatever he wants. Before the block goes up.

Happy news: the film group is getting together on Friday to see the finished movie. Can’t wait to see everyone. Can’t wait to hug everyone. I’ve missed them, and posts on FB aren’t the same.

Received notice that Taman is in the system and available to view. Fabo. My name is up on a permanent, long term site as a playwright. I be legit! Guess I should start on that LinkedIn page.

And I’ve got a PDF copy of Fire and Fury on my desktop, curtesy of a friend. Skimmed a couple of paragraphs. I’ll probably never read it. The subject matter makes me want to vomit. Brings out the worst in me: the angry, violent side. I consider it interesting information, but that’s all. I don’t need 45’s handpicked people to tell me 45 is a fucking idiot and sexual predator. I already know that.

Watched an excellent Dutch film last night. It was so good, in fact, that I had difficulty sitting through it. Because there but for the grace of the Goddess go I. The basic story was a woman leaves her husband after getting undeniable proof that he’s a bad guy – gangster, criminal, thug. But the guy who played her husband -! Oh, I hope he won an award. He was so good I’d be nervous if I ever met him. Controlling. Maniacal. Manipulative. The story did not include spousal abuse, tho everything else was in place for it. And on the heels of my recent posts, saying I don’t want to relive the past because of the nightmarish quality of so many memories…there it was. Full color. Full on, in my face. Had to look away from the screen on several occasions, remind myself I wasn’t there, it wasn’t happening to me. I remember that fear. Being hunted. Stalked. Every move watched. No way to get away. No safe place. No one to help. The absolute and utter control by one person over another. …I find it more disturbing than any slasher film out there. In slasher films, at least the cops believe you. Someone tries to help, even if they get killed for it. In films like the one I saw last night, it’s too real. No one helps. Everyone turns away. No one believes you.

Sometime during the film I bit down hard on my teeth because…pain.

Think I will suggest including more Dutch programming during telly time. The first words out my mouth this morning were Dutch. Can’t remember what I said because I was more than half asleep, but it was Dutch, and grammatically correct Dutch. Excellent. I can go into class today and honestly say yes, I’ve been working on the language. Right now, everything depends on the speaker. Clear speaker: close to 100% comprehension. Mumbler: give me subtitles. I don’t know the words well enough to fill in the missing parts when I heard a mumbler. Hell! I’ll hear an accent faster if they at least project their words. But mumblers? Enunciate!! (Btw, I’ve the same gripe in English.)

Two things on my mind that just won’t go away. One is to get my shoes fixed. The other, is to talk to my doc about seeing a therapist or whoever about anxiety/bipolar/whatever the fuck I am. Both are the best things for me. My feet need my orthopedics to be good. My brain needs to stop winding itself up. Determined to make a start this week. Pick up the phone, get thru the Dutch, and make an appointment to have my shoes adjusted. Go the doc’s and make an appointment with her to begin that long process. I…need to allow myself to be happy. To let in success. Thought I was doing well, but proof is proof, and TMJ hitting me when I’m over the moon… Well. I’m just not there, am I?

Finding it difficult to get back to my exercise regime. Finding it difficult to get to the gym. Took advantage of some rare sunshine and walked outside. Something different. Probably needed the fresh air. But I don’t have that drive, that oomph right now to power push my way thru a real work-out. Telling myself it’s okay. Just off the morphine. That’s a real drag on your system. Give it a few days. Keep walking. It’ll come back.

Sounds very much like the mantras I repeat when I’m depressed. I will feel happy again. It’ll come back. And it does, eventually. I always find my biggest challenge is not harming myself too much before it returns. Same with the body. I’ll get back into it at some point. But in the meantime, I’ve got to monitor the daily stuff. The sugar desires. Cakes and goodies. Sitting for hours even tho it’s bad for my back. If I can keep that shit under control, it’ll be that much easier (and that much faster) back to a good mindset.

Feels like what I want is just over there. Just out of my reach. So close, yet so far.

…So, stop stretching. You said it yourself just a few days ago: stop trying so damned hard. I find that thinking counter intuitive. I want to reach all the more because it’s right there.

It’s right there.

Lay bare the new

Sent out one of the longest emails I’ve ever written. To my theatre connection and support in the states. It included notes on the trilogy, and PDFs of the script. It’s not their submission period. I’m probably a bit out of line with even sending it. But…and…I just couldn’t let A put in a submission for Blue Whale yet again with this group without informing her of the entire work. So she’s got it, with full explanation and disclosure.

I’ll admit it… I hope I get an email along the lines of ‘I just couldn’t stop reading it. It’s fabulous!’ Truth is, I’m not sure I’ve got my point across in the three acts. I’m hoping people get it, but you know how that goes – people can be insanely dense sometimes. Guess I need a little outside assurance on the whole thing.

Still no whisper from the local director. He’s had the full monty since New Year’s. Hello? Do you like it? Hate it? Are you on vacation somewhere and haven’t even read it? No idea.

Thinking about writing. How often I’ve seen or heard that old (and arrogant) phrase meant to encourage newbies: writers write. What a load. I heard that at 20 and didn’t understand. I heard that at 30 and thought I was doing what I needed to do. I heard it at 40 and got fed up with everyone, told them to all go fuck themselves and they’d never read my stuff again. I think I’ve finally got it. When you get to the point where you can churn out 1000 words on nothing and make it interesting, you’re there. Then, all you need is a story. But if you sit in front of your computer thinking, not knowing what to write, not knowing how to start…get writing. Everything. Every day. Make your damned shopping list into something interesting for me to read. My advice: tackle the small form first. Hone your skills on short material. The longer stuff will write itself. The story will spin and weave at its own pace, and suddenly you’ll realize you’re onto something.

In other words, stop trying so hard. Stop trying to be interesting or original.

Gods, I wish I could say that to J about his writing! It is what I think he’s trying to do: be very original and create an entire world. Kudos. We all do it. But…it’s too much. *sigh* Still don’t have my notes written out for him. Still haven’t finished reading his story because that’s how little it interests me.

Ach, if I ever teach, fantasy writing will be banned. Nope. Write in black and white before you flesh in those chroma colored characters.

Small victories: no pain in my teeth. Yippee! Still brushing cautiously. Another day at the gym. Not so yippee. Had a back spasm near the end of my hour’s walking. Still having pain in my hip area. And really! I feel like I’m not even using the gym if my heart rate doesn’t go over 140. But I’m doing it. More Dutch films. Hearing more. More understanding is coming back to me, getting the gist of the spoken Dutch before reading the English subtitles. Good. Better. Should invest time in reading my Dutch book, but it IS officially still my holiday time…

Heaving a sigh of relief. Received a letter from the government about my bro’s company. My bro was in a dither, but trying really hard not to show it. I felt immediately it must be some sort of mix-up or crossed wires. We just got everything cleared. So my bro met with his native Dutch speaking friend, and popped downtown to talk to someone. Yes. It’s a mix-up. Some paperwork somewhere along the line didn’t get put through even tho it’s there. Whew! Did not need another 6 months of running around like mad eejits.

Purposefully avoiding a lot these days. The news. Climate change. Equality. Seems these topics are in my face 24/7. I expect a lot of people feel that way. Every day, there’s something new. The biggest storm. The stupidest tweet. More sexual allegations. When I couple the news with the knowledge that nothing is really changing yet, nothing seems to remove certain people from office no matter what they say or do, I lose heart. Totally. Always comes down to fantasies of me with a gun in my hand. Those are ugly thoughts, full of anger and rage. I guess a part of me feels that some people will never change, and the world really would be a better place if they were just dead. Doing my best to find understanding, but that’s damned difficult. It’s difficult because people always have a choice. They can be assholes or not. Simple as that. Everyone gets hurt. Everyone has issues. Some people think that gives them the right to shit on others. Those are the people who need to die off. Accidental shitting on someone, or doing it and then regretting it…I understand making mistakes. But setting off to destroy someone with your words, your lies? No. Kill them. And all their spawn, because they’ve taught that to every single one of their children.

Speaking of parents and children, been thinking about a very harsh punishment system. One that punishes the family of criminals. If you’ve raised a criminal or a psychopath, you should be responsible for what you did. Don’t sit there and looks stupid, or hold your hands up and say you don’t know what happened. You knew – or should have known – about this. You chose to have this person. You took responsibility for feeding it, giving it a place to sleep, teaching it your ethics. If your experiment created a psycho, you should pay. …Harsh, right? I know. That’s a reflection of my anger level.

…Put that aside now. It’s Saturday; time to clean. High time for a good scrub all around – including me. Scrape off the old, and lay bare the new.

Swallow the damned medicine

Began by cleaning up my desktop. Folders for accumulated story ideas, finished scripts, bio attempts, publishers and theatres. Moved onto the big visual stuff: garbage, recycling, hoovering, dishes, laundry.

Amazing, sometimes, how much I can do before noon.

Still not eating breakfast. Don’t want anything that isn’t sugar or coffee for the first six hours of wakefulness. I’m letting it pass. Figure I’ll settle back down into my routine over the next several days. If not…well, it’s a new year. Change is in the air.

Finances are tight. When have I not said that? Bills from my dental emergency, letters from the government wanting more expenditures in the business, computers on the fritz and a broken recliner. Somewhere in there I’ve got to eek out enough funds to cover the grey in my hair this month. Ye Gods. I soothe myself with dreams of less financial restrictions someday.

Given up on the US theatre company. It’s too late. Obvious I won’t be getting good news. Wish I could be celebrating right now, but truthfully…the new version is better. And I cheer myself by making the semi-finals, by the support and enthusiasm of the artistic director. I know my next submission to the group will be taken very seriously.

Used to the freedom from deep thought now. But I find I’ve too much time on my hands with very little to keep me occupied. Nothing satisfies my hunger for entertainment. Running a film while simultaneously playing video games has become a habit. Keeping it at that for a bit. I need to turn my mind back to language. Even as I type that my head screams. What a drudge. But I need that mastery, so the work has to be put in. I’ve just got to have enough boring stuff around me that it drives me to work where I need to work while still giving me enough down time to rest so I don’t drive myself nuts. That’s difficult to achieve.

Meanwhile, I’m fidgety…

Need to get back to body maintenance. A bit of pain in my back today. No more putting it off. Back pain is the last thing I need at the mo.

Ugh. And it’s not like I feel like going to class again, or getting back to chores or exercise. But I feel inside like your stomach does after too much cake. A little sick physically, and definitely zero desire for more cake. I’ve had too much time off. Too much down time, too much mania, too much. I need that oatmeal and 5k running goal life again. It’s kind of a mental cleanse.

Part of me wishes I could vomit at will. I’d just puke everything up right now. Get it all out of me. It would be awful, but then it would be over. And I’m not ever sure what I want to puke up. My feelings? The little amount of food I’ve actually eaten? My brain noise? All of it. Just…clean it all out. Let me start fresh. Everything feels old and worn out.

Sadly, my body’s the type that clamps down and does everything it can to not vomit. I think my mind’s the same – hanging onto shit it should really just let go.

What I need is some full strength mental, physical, and spiritual ipecac. Hm. Better watch it; the Universe is apt to give me what I ask for right now. Um…a gentle ipecac? I’ve already made great strides. I’m just having a little trouble letting go of the last of the sludge in me.

Fuck.

…So I’m clearing obstacles. The chores, first. Start with a clean environment. My body next: to the gym, get it back on a normal sleep/food schedule. The mind will fall in line.

You know what’s next.

Swallow the damned medicine.

Try, learn, and do better

I really must learn to stay off social media.

Found a FB post from my eldest bro. He left a comment on his own page – not tagged to me, not sent to me – saying ‘happy birthday to my little sister even tho ya don’t give a fuck about yer American family’.

Do not want to admit it, but my heart is beating damned fast right now. And my angry replies are bubbling to the forefront – “listen, you sexist racist bigoted mother fucker…”.

Wish crap like that didn’t affect me. At all. Wish I could have seen it and coolly just moved on. Still want to defend myself, lash out, blame, make them SEE. Since I know going direct to the source is a waste of my time, I came out here. To be safe. To say what I needed to say.

Ow.

Odd how, even knowing what a piece of shit I’m dealing with, I let it affect me. I guess that’s programming at its basest level.

Here is my flaw: I want too much to be loved. And I’ve been made to feel that it’s my fault that I don’t get what I want from my family. They were never wrong. They ARE never wrong. It’s me. My fault for wanting, my fault for feeling, my fault for thinking and hoping.

I have met strangers who were kinder to me than you. People who wanted nothing from me, and gave me everything. And you dare to call me family? You dare to approach me with guilt and shame, bullying and controlling tactics? You hurt me, I walk away, and I am accused non-stop of being a child, being wrong, being whatever it is you call me in the depths of your oh-so-perverted mind. Fuck you ’til the end of time. I hate you. With every fiber of my being, I hate what you are, what you stand for. Your ignorance, your total disregard for anyone other than yourself, your fixation on money, money, money, your blatant LACK of caring on the most basic of levels. You have no right to shame me, you piece of shit.

…My oldest brother will die before hearing from me. That’s his punishment. And maybe some people think I’ve no right to mete out my own punishment. Maybe that’s even true. But I’m tired of waiting for the Universe or some Goddess to make things right. I don’t want to strike out; that will be detrimental to my own psyche and THAT is what I’m concentrating on. Not him or his “feelings”. I’ve no time for the latent incest-ridden fantasies my eldest brother holds.

And yeah, that shows a distinct lack of character on my part. I’ve witnessed people stand in the midst of an emotional storm and keep their balance. It can be done. Those that have done it have earned great respect from me. They’ve shown me what can be done, if you stay centered and grounded. I want to be like that. To be able to have my say, take the backlash, smile sadly and turn away without hurting anyone.

I ain’t got enough drugs to make that happen.

So I protect myself and everyone else by staying silent. I say nothing, again.

You know…I should at least give myself credit for having the strength to do that. To walk away, rather than engage.

Good. on. me.

In 20 minutes, I need to begin verb conjugation. Write out the irregular verbs. Again. Try to mash them into my brain one more time. I will get this. I will get this!! Try, make mistakes, learn, do it better next time. That’s the level I’m reduced to. No grand schemes, no lofty goals. Just try, learn, and do better.

Yep. That’s a good motto for today.

The spread of my mind

The spread that takes over the dining room table as I work on Dutch is immense. Homework, two dictionaries, past sheets on verbs and grammatical rules I’ve collected, and a large language book that often references exactly what I need when I need it. I can rarely get thru a sentence without turning to at least one of these tools to check a definition, spelling, or conjugation. It’s a pain to haul it all out, set it all up. Even more of a pain to work that way, tossing one book to the side for another, scribbling down two words at a time, and consulting so much I sometimes forget what the hell I’m working on.

Does not help that the other day I couldn’t remember how to spell “could” in English. It didn’t look correct to me, and I sat and pondered why the hell there was an ‘L’ in it in the first place. I realized the three famous rhyming English words – could, should, would – are strange animals in language. They imply shame. You could have done more. You should have done more. This wouldn’t have happened but for this or that. They are nags over the past, blame throwers. They imply things would have been much nicer if only this screw-up hadn’t occurred.

I think a lot can be learned from languages. Not just communication, but culture. It’s the idioms that give it away. Growing up with only one language, one communication style…you get blinded to it. Or maybe I was just ignorant of it right up to the point I began working on Dutch.

American English uses ‘look’ a lot rather than ‘listen’. They mean ‘listen’: look, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this… or look, we’ll be okay. When you take a step away from it, it sounds funny. It literally makes no sense to use ‘look’. But American culture (if there is such a thing) places value on speed. Get it done and get it done quickly. Their use of ‘look’ rather than ‘listen’ emphasizes that. Your eyes can take in far more than your ear can in the same amount of time. So, looking is quicker than listening, ergo, look. They ask you to understand it instantly. They do not want to waste time convincing you or debating the merits of their statement. They want comprehension. NOW. Similarly, in American English you ‘run the risk’, while in Dutch, you ‘walk the risk’. The difference is speed. Americans do everything faster.

Speed is not an indicator of value.

I was weaned on ‘could, should, would’. Weaned on speed. Do more, go faster, be better, work, work, WORK, you damned workhorse! And honestly, I don’t know my limits. I go until I become such a raging bitch I grow unbearable to be around.

I have never gone ’til I drop. I don’t where that limit is.

That…haunts me. Feeling like I have more in me, if only I could (there’s that word again!) control myself.

Here it is Sunday, and I have not yet begun my writing that’s due on Monday. Too many hours fiddling with homework sentences, conjugating verbs and trying to learn every single word. I feel behind, yet I know that (so far) every week I’ve been the only one in class to hand in every single bit of homework every time. My brother thinks my teachers are searching for my limits. They want to know how much is too much. I want to be Miss Polly Perfect, so I’m sweating. More time, every day. No time for English. No time for my scripts.

I feel myself nearing that anger edge, which is where I don’t want to go. Keep me busy, keep me challenged – yes. But drive me mad? No.

And here’s the crunch: I know that if I work hard now to capture this, it’ll be easier. Right now I spend about an hour of my time on every sheet of homework. Give me 8-10 sheets, and there’s my regular work rotation every day. Add into that writing stories and memorizing irregular verbs and you’re encroaching on ME time. Oh, and I’m forgetting reading. I’m supposed to be reading, too. But…if I was doing this in English, I wouldn’t spend even half that time on it. And I want to get there with Dutch. So either I work hard now, or keep struggling.

My American side is screaming for quick fix. Some leap-frog pill or hypnosis trick that’ll get me over this hump. Bought some fish from the vendor outside for dinner last night. Listened to a conversation in Dutch. Heard SO many words from my homework – recognized them immediately. But I still struggled with the meaning. My head was three steps behind – oh, that word…what does that mean again?

How do I get myself to learn?

Pure repetition is a recipe for madness. As is more work. I’ve got to get it into my writing. Pick up a verb and use it, in all its forms. Maybe I’ll ask my teachers for some of that. Or maybe I’ll just start to do it.

Thinking I might abandon my written homework this week in favor of my little story. It’s not really on target subject-wise, but the object of our written homework is to get us writing, and it IS writing. Plus…it’s what I want to write. If my teachers give me leeway on subject matter, they won’t be able to stop me writing. That is, when I have an idea. I don’t expect that of me every week. I think it’s the one area of my life I’ve managed to totally eliminate the ‘could, should, would’. It’s impossible – even for me – to come up with decent story material every week.

Once again, I find my comfort in the written word. Doesn’t matter these days if it’s English or Dutch.

I can slow down to tell my stories.

It’s the spread of my mind.

My writing speaks for me

Whirlwind. The dust bunnies are settling (no, I didn’t get to them) now that it’s over. What was the reason? One day of massively concentrated writing.

Taman is essentially done. A couple of typos I caught on the last read thru. But the extra scene, the additional dialogue to spin out enough time so it didn’t seem like everything happened in two days, and a few references to modify the tone here and there…that’s done. Finito. In a few days’ time I’ll take the pdf from the system and wipe it from my page.

Good on me. Good on me for thinking ahead. Had some time after the gym yesterday (never really feel like taking on a big project post workout) so I buzzed around the internet, searching for theatrical props suppliers. Wanted to know what sort of costs I was running up in the thriller, asking for a gun and prop knives. Found some articles that made me think we might not be able to get said props here in NL. Asked the group, and sure enough, it’s a big hassle. Toy guns are okay. Prop guns are not. I’m assuming at this point that prop knives are just as big a hassle. What I’ve been reading seems to indicate that.

So, knives are out. Oh, sure, maybe we could find a rubber one, but I wanted retractable knives to stab. Just wouldn’t be the same. That makes Act 2 tough: how do the two siblings kill each other? I’m thinking poison, voluntarily taken… Sad to think Act 3 might feel a little cheap using a toy gun. But I gotta have a gun. I’ve thought and thought about it, and the gun is…it’s poetic. It’s poetic and frightening and terribly sad all at the same time. The last scene just wouldn’t be the same without it.

Sat in my chair last night during telly, half watching what was on, half listing out all the ways to kill someone without using guns or knives. I like electrocution. It carries the possibility of a good scene. But it implies forethought, and these killers do not think ahead. They just kill, using whatever is at hand. Beating someone to death is basic – and I’ll use it. It will take more physical acting than I’d anticipated – I’ve got a fight scene, but not a fight to the death. Most importantly, tho, I don’t want to double up on deaths. I don’t want everyone to die from gunshots, or stab wounds, or strangulation. I want variety. Total variety.

Gotta say, spending my time looking at all the things in a room I could kill someone with is…weird. I feel a little weird doing it.

….Hm. Too bad nothing I’m writing is near water. Drowning is always a spectacular death…

On land, without forethought, I’ve got strangulation, suffocation, poisoning (a little forethought there, but I can make it work), beating to death (body), pushing their eyes into the brain (difficult to pull off without FX), pushing someone off a height, hitting them over the head hard enough with an object… There’s always variations, too.

And there’s a thought! Can we get break away bottles to use rather than the guns??? I could make that work. Easy. Make a note to check.

…Now that I think about it, I could write a drowning scene. It only takes a few inches of water to drown someone. It can be done in a sink. Hm.

Rather morbid thinking for 7:30 in the morning.

When I’m done rambling, I gots Dutch to do. Meh. Not looking forward to it. I’d rather sit and pontificate on paper. But I need to look at those verbs, and write out my homework. It gets two hours of my time before class. No more.

My bro’s been proclaiming (loudly): Don’t forget to say ‘you’re number two’. I think he’s put that in my brain at least a dozen times since my crying jag. Still don’t know how to properly say it in Dutch; suppose I should try and look it up. The idea behind it is that I’m a writer. I write. Do not ever ask me to give up my writing. Ever. For anything. Because everything comes second or lower. This is an idea I need to communicate to my Monday teachers. I enjoy being challenged – but do NOT grill me or act disappointed when I say ‘I was writing’ and didn’t study. You do not come first; you are second at best. Third, if I’m honest, because I’ll blow off all my Dutch including my class to act.

And I do not want to hear ‘you’ll never get the language if you don’t stop using English’. I’ve heard that nugget of donkey shit already. No. I’ll take longer to learn to the language if I keep using English. It’s not fucking impossible, and I won’t believe it is.

And you know what? I’m cocky enough this morning to say that I’ll eventually get the writing side of Dutch enough to do my thing with it. Maybe I’ll never speak like a native. I think I could live with that, if my writing passed the mark.

I’ve never been real good at off the cuff. I can do it, and if it’s a subject I’m knowledgeable about, I can be intimidating. But…ask me how I’m feeling, what I’m thinking at any one moment… Then I stumble. Then I say things poorly. I can’t seem to find the words to explain myself clearly; I’m too caught up in the jumble.

Which is why I write. It gives me time to think. Time to lay out my ideas – as much for me to see as for the world. Once I’ve done that, I can be as bluntly honest and quick on explanation as anyone. But not before. My verbal communication has never been strong.

My writing speaks for me.

Dead from the belly-button both ways

Your brain isn’t broken. It’s not! It’s impossible, so just stop saying it.

Do not know how long I worked on Dutch yesterday. I can tell you I began before my brother came out for breakfast, and finished just before dinner. Several times walking away in there; I kept telling myself I’d done enough, stop, take a break. I’d get up, walk away for half an hour…then come back and do more. Couldn’t stop. Don’t know if it was guilt from not doing enough last week or just stubbornness.

And I looked up every word I didn’t know. Wrestled with every sentence to fully understand the little turns of phrase. I even bloody well wrote my little story for next week, keeping it short, keeping it simple, and doing my best at every turn to use our current homework words.

Determined to make notes on what my instructor tells me today, but not necessarily change my answers. Last week she let four mistakes slip by her. She’s not infallible, and unless I really understand her corrections I’m not making them. Better to learn from my mistakes than give a wrong answer she told me to write down – that just frustrates the hell out of me, because I have no justifications or logic behind my answer other than ‘my instructor told me that was right’, which is NO justification at all.

I DID take the time to read part three of my thriller trilogy. Just enjoyed it. Think I want to expand one scene, add a bit to it and give one character a few more lines. Other than that, it’s ready to go. It’s tense and creepy (just what I wanted) and other than having to buy a prop gun for the finale, it doesn’t call for much in the way of props.

Also took the time to walk my agenda out. Gotta light a fire under my ass. Time is slipping away from me. To make my commitment to the group and present them with a finished draft of the trilogy, I’ll have to write non-stop over Xmas. So, this weekend I have to start correcting Taman. Can’t put it off any longer. Need it done and off the system so I can move on.

Trying to stop saying ‘I’m doing my best’. I’m always doing my best, but it’s beginning to sound like an excuse. I’m one of those people who always did well at whatever she tackled, so it’s difficult for me to accept my errors and mistakes. Trying to make sure I always AM doing my best: putting in the time and doing as much as I can without driving myself insane. Or making myself ill.

Feels like I have very little me time. Which is silly, because everything I do I do for me, but… I guess I’ve grown accustomed to having ample time to sit and think. About stories, about the news, about my past, about life. That’s the time that’s disappearing. While I agree I need a balance – time to think AND things to do – I don’t know where that balance is. And let’s face it: I tend to overdo things. Exercise? I have to go run myself into the ground. Dutch? I want to master everything overnight. Writing? Days lost in a concentrative trance. I don’t do things on a small level. So I’m naturally worried about overload. That side of me that bites and growls, that side of me that people stare at…

And there’s my problem. I lost in for a short time in Monday’s class, and one of the instructors shot me that look. If you’re a person who loses it on occasion, I’m sure you know the look I’m talking about. That startled deer in the headlights gaze: frozen in surprise, with just a hint of fear showing somewhere around the eyes.

I have made an oath to not do that kind of thing a million times. And a million times, I’ve broken that oath.

That’s what’s bugging me. I did it again. (Can you smell the blame?)

Fuck.

Maybe I do need medication. Lately… Let’s just say I’ve had this small stream of people’s facial reactions run in a loop in my brain. Those startled looks I get, all piled up, one after the other. I feel wrong. It’s my fault. My fault that I do it, my fault that I’m too fucking chicken shit to go thru the whole process and find a medication that works for me. And I just think, you really never feel this way? It’s hard for me to grasp. No. Not just hard; impossible. I can’t imagine it. Can’t imagine being so balanced, so calm, so together that I never lose it.

Where’s the bloody passion? It just makes me want to grab people and shake them. Shake them and shake them and shake them until their eyeballs fall out of their sockets. Feel something, damn it! React! Wake the fuck up!

I realize a society based on passionate people would be very chaotic. But sometimes it feels like I’m the only person awake on this planet. Everybody else is asleep. Busy in their little worlds, with their little dreams. They see but don’t see, hear but don’t hear, care but don’t care. And while I can blissfully experience that kind of distraction while obsessing over something like my work, I cannot fathom being there 24/7.

To quote my dad, you’re all dead from the belly-button both ways.

I’m not gonna stop

*sigh* Where do I even start?

I got the contract copy from the theatre group. There it was, number 4 under the clauses: absolutely no videos, filming, audio recordings or any other recordings of any kind ever under threat of absolute torture. Iron clad, clear as a bell. It also stated it was the theatre group’s responsibility to add that notice on all public displays, playbills, and advertising – which they didn’t do. They also didn’t adhere to the two shows listed in the contract; they ponied up two more shows on there without admitting to them. That’s the group’s karma, frankly – and I added in that note to show that no, they’re not exactly on the up-and-up.

But the video clause was a problem. Because my bro has been putting in around 50 hours this week trying to compress audio tracks, clean things up, make things visible, and put titles on everything he spent three days filming and talking about getting out to the public (and not one of the theatre board members bothered to correct him at any time). And I – I got to tell him. Tell him that all his work was for nothing. Gee, thanks you sat up babysitting your computer for half the night while it tried to process these vids. Thanks you listened and re-listened and brought down all the coughs and sneezes and interruptions so you can hear the dialogue, which you compressed several times to get the best sound you could. But you can’t release them to the public.

Did not go down well in brother land. I had to hear loads of bad comments on the group, their abilities, and them as people. I had to hear about all the time and work and effort. I had to hear about how his attitude was now ‘Fuck them; I’m not sharing any of it. They’ve got the rough footage. They can look at that. They don’t get to see my work and take it for granted – not when they couldn’t even say hi to me.’ He rounded out his tirade with ultimatums – he’ll never put that time in again, never film them again, never come multiple nights again, never again put up with everything he felt he had to put up with. I think I heard ‘never’ at least a dozen times.

And I made the mistake of teasing the group with upcoming vids. Now I have to explain. Again.

I do not like making excuses for my brother. I do not like tempering his words and anger into a palatable message for the world. It puts a lot of stress on me.

On the other hand, I sure as FUCK don’t want him around the group anymore. Not with that attitude, and not with his life-long ability to hold a grudge.

I still want to use these people to get my work out. Yes! Maybe for the first time in my life I have a slight ‘hidden agenda’ – though, to be honest, I’ve made no secret of it. Because I’m not someone who can go into a situation like this, pretend to have some fun – pretend to enjoy myself – while really not liking any of it, but sticking it out because I want something from the people involved. I’ve tried. Tried to be underhanded and sly. I can’t do it. Just like I can’t sell something I don’t believe in. Tried.

I have to come from a place of honesty.

Took me over an hour after my bro left the house before I could fashion a short reply to the original message. I didn’t want to just say ‘okay’. I wanted to let them know about the work my brother’s done – all the time he spent for no reason because they didn’t make a public announcement. All that time lost. I did make mention of it, but it wasn’t really acknowledged in return. No ‘gee, sorry he spent so much time’ or anything. Just a small justification, and a rather cryptic repeat of ‘we can share it amongst ourselves’, which I take to mean he’d like to see the vids my brother put in over a week of his own time working on. Thing is, they have the raw footage. They don’t need to see what my brother’s done.

So, here I am. Facing my brother’s anger, which is righteous and just; he should have been informed. Facing this idiotic and unthinking response from the group, who seem to expect stuff to just be done for them. And me in the middle. Soothe my brother as well as I can, be empathetic and understanding because I’ve stood in his shoes. Explain to the group as well as I can, be gentle and kind because I don’t want to ruin the possibility of working with them in future.

And keep them well apart.

Which throws a real wrench into the thriller trilogy. Oh, I had grandiose plans to use everything at my disposal! The sounds were going to be many, and richly layered. Now…Now I’m looking at taking it all down to the minimum. Stripping it as far as I can, so my brother is involved as little as possible. Even thinking about just doing the sound myself. It would take longer, and be a big burden on me because I’m just not as fast or as competent as my brother at engineering, but I could do it.

Telling myself maybe it’s a good thing. I was creating something I was capable of doing…but not everyone could do it. This should create a script more people can do. I hope.

Still, I’m sad. Sad because now I must curtail all my communications with my bro. Not mention the group, or the thriller, or any of it, because it’ll set him off.

And I’m sad because my brother won’t be as involved as I wanted him to be.

I like working with him.

But I’m not gonna stop.

It be jammie-time

Een, twee, drie…

AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaargh! Fer frickin’ fuckin’ goddamn it all hell!!

After achieving a certain ‘I got this’ feeling about Dutch, or at least about carefully conjugating verbs, I’ve been corrected this morning on pronunciation and conjugation until I feel like my head is going to fucking explode and I’m far, far more stupid than I thought. Dialects. Don’t think too much about it in English, or at least not American English. A Southerner doesn’t correct a Northerner to ‘y’all’ or other regional idioms and pronunciations. But damn it to hell! Just when I feel confident on pronouncing something, I get corrected. Then next time I get corrected by someone with a different dialect. Well, which one is it? Who do I listen to (or, if you want to get nit-picky with English, To Whom do I listen)?

Grumble, grumble, bitch and moan…

Somewhere in my brain is a piece of information that says Dutch has somewhere around 300,000 words. Don’t know if that’s correct or not, and I sure as hell don’t know if that includes every possible conjugation or not. What I do know is that I’ve been here 3 years. To master every damned word by this point would be… Well, a dream for me. Some people can do it, I guess. Or I’m being made to feel like some people can do it. I’m doing the best I can. Feeling a little overwhelmed by the amount of homework and sheer listening I’m doing these days. So when I say I don’t know a word, I don’t fucking know a word! I don’t know if the stem of the word contains two e’s or not, and since every single person I encounter seems to say things a little differently, how the FUCK am I supposed to just pull this out of my ass? Seriously?

And, by the Goddess! It did not help that I found myself, once I decided to treat myself to an in-town coffeeshop visit and smoke, writing in bleeding Dutch. Handwritten? Dutch now. It’s in my fucking fingers from all the homework. The sentences are probably for shit in a million different ways – wrong verbs, wrong grammar, wrong sentence structure – but I couldn’t help myself. I was frustrated in Dutch, and it came out in Dutch.

This isn’t even counting my frustration over occasionally being ‘reset’ in my brain, and having to go back to the basics on ‘oo’ vs. ‘oe’.

Overload. That’s where I’m at. I recognize it. Turn the damned Dutch off. Stop writing it, stop reading it, stop listening to it. My brain is all hay-wire.

And I got so much writing to do in English!

Two needles today. One taking blood, one giving medicine. Going to have bruises from both. Loverly. So hate when that happens.

…And, ya know…I feel like a damned pincushion. Not just from the needles, but also in my brain. Feels like all sorts of stuff got shoved in there, helter-skelter. Poking here, poking there, rip this seam out, pull the stuffing, and viola! A mess, and a good analogy for my head.

Slept like shit last night. Pain in my back no matter how I positioned myself. Just a low, dull ache. Nothing you couldn’t sleep over, but nothing you could totally ignore, either. It feels better today. Or I’ve blocked it enough that it’s no longer registering. Never really know which it is. I AM the person who’s repeatedly injured herself without noticing. Done all sorts of shit I should never have done. Guess all I can say is, I’m thankful for whichever ’cause it ain’t bothering me right now.

Tomorrow I sit. And sit, and sit. Have to wait for my injection delivery. It’ll probably come in the afternoon, but I don’t know for sure. Hope to get some work done on Taman. Really want that off my desk so I can give whatever brainpower I’ve got left over to the thrillers. My brain’s been plotting too much as it is; it should be concentrating on the re-writes I MUST do. *sigh* Alas, no. Thinking far, far too much on the thrillers. Determined I’ll go ahead and write the third before re-doing the second. The third is very nailed down; certain things just gotta happen. But the second…that one is fluid. Flexible. Pliable to my needs. Modes of death, dialogue, scene set-ups…all of that can shift depending on the first and the third sections.

And I want…more with the second. The set up is predictable: a small group of people in a cut-off location. While what I’m playing with isn’t predictable, there are elements that seem obvious. A little too obvious. So…what else can I do? Can I set up an audience member to scare? Maybe, in the dark, touch him/her with a creepy hand? Limitations are always an issue. Money, man-power, skills or lack thereof. But there’s gotta be something. Something outside the box…

There I go again! Off on the Great Thriller Trilogy I’m currently fucking obsessed by.

For now, tone it down. No challenging myself with more Dutch. Gotta cool those engines. Game playing is top of my list. Zone out. Think of nothing. Nothing. Just a big blank nothing. Calm.

…Yeah.

A storm is moving in, the darkness is gathering, and I’m beginning to feel safe. Go on, wind! Take my anger and frustration and whip it away in your fingers. Take it far, far away. I don’t want it anymore.

Think I’m gonna go get in my pj’s. I need to take care of myself. And even tho it’s barely three in the afternoon…

…It be jammie-time.