Why am I here again?

Why so difficult?

Why must I suffer distain filled comments given to me in a scathing tone? Because I dare to disagree? Because I dare to have an opinion all my own? Seems that way. And because I don’t want to sit and defend myself all fucking morning, I cave. Go ahead. Watch what you want; even that asshole whom I hate, who gives me fucking ulcers, who has nothing of import to say. Go ahead; what does my morning comfort mean in comparison to your whims?

And, wow. This blog went from quite a few likes during the week (quite a few for me, anyway) to zip by the time I asked for help. Um…okay.

Sent a message to a source I respect. Crossing my fingers that I actually get a reply. Questions, questions…and here I am, wanting a short-cut. Please. Don’t make me go through thousands of nonsense airy fairy sites spewing the latest new age fad. I just don’t have the time.

Have a feeling I’m gonna give up on the book on Russia. It’s interesting, as a time period study. But damn! It just goes on and on and on. One of those books you really can stop at any bloody sentence and just pick it up again from there: no narrative, just paragraph long spews on Russia and Russian culture. Must set it down and pick up my Dutch again.

The sun has finally broken through the clouds, tho the rain is still here. It almost feels odd to see blue in the sky; I was so used to iron grey.

Problems settling down last night. I did my usual: telly, night-time rituals of teeth brushing and facial lotion, reading, lights out. Then I tossed and turned for at least an hour, my head going so damned fast I just couldn’t stop it. I do not appreciate it. My thoughts were all about my writing. Great! Super-duper. But I’m not getting up past midnight to write. Forget that. Not after a long day. And especially not when I plan to do something the day after. Kept telling my head that, but it did no good. Spin and spin it went until I finally dozed off.

Feeling…off. Can’t say my happiness meter is registering above zero. Conversely, I can’t say my depression meter is registering, either. I’m just blank. Kind of tired. Almost in a trance-like state. *sigh* I don’t like going out in public when I’m like this. People – even my shrink – take this as depression, but it isn’t. I’m just quiet. And damned tired for ten in the morning. Don’t want to take off 2 weeks in a row from class, tho. If I must, I’ll beg off by saying still feeling a bit ill. Most people accept that reason when I offer it up for these moods. Not true, naturally. But it’s the easier answer than explaining everything from A to Z.

My bro keeps looking at me to see if I’m done blogging. He’s had some coffee and isn’t such a crank now. I can tell he wants to spew at me, giving me his opinions on the morning news and his non-stop fucking SIM game that I wish to Goddess he never found.

…Why am I here again?


It’s Saturday

Internet problems. Is it our older equipment? The foggy drizzle that is so thick it always seems to screw up the WiFi signal? Our server? Our provider? Who the hell knows? Discussed the possibility of switching providers. My bro told me his friend did that and suffered from no internet access for over a month as the first provider cut him off the moment they received the notice but the new provider dithered around and didn’t hook him up for weeks on end. Neither of us wants to go thru that, and our fear over it happening ‘helped’ us decide to keep sticking it out with our current provider.

Managed to sign onto the theatre website, all set to change the pages and update the blog. But the internet problems drove me insane. My blog post went up with a picture but not the 300 words I’d sweated over for close to an hour. Everything froze up on my computer. In the end, I had to do a restart. Also found 3 new people had signed up for the newsletter; I’d only received notification of one. Two long messages out there, as well. I actually felt guilty for not checking the site over the holidays, which, considering how we’re getting dicked around by a few Dutch companies and their very laid-back approach to work, I find amusing.

Ah. Nothing like the Universe throwing you supporting evidence out of the effing blue. Found a BBC article this morning about British passive-aggressive communication. Guess where most in the theatre people learned English? You got it: they took a year of study in England. I’m dealing with double entendre and no-speak, for sure. That sets my teeth on edge. I end up dissecting everything said and done during every encounter, wondering if I’m missing some hidden message.

Here’s something I’m learning, and I find it worthy to note about Dutch society. The people here have a reputation for bluntness in public. They’ll up front call you out on your behavior, scolding you and taking you to task. However, there is an inverse equation at work. That only holds true when they don’t know you, when it’s simply a group of strangers thrown together in some circumstance. The more the Dutch know you, the less up front and blunt they’ll be. As you gain entrance into their acquaintance and friend circles, they become far less forthright and tend to use allegory and ‘communication pussy-footing’ (as I call it) to get a point across. This is absolutely opposite of my instincts. I tend to be more circumspect with strangers, and I grow more and more frank and blunt with people as I learn to trust them.

*sigh* Great that I figured that out. Now I just have to figure out how to navigate through it.

Went out to eat with my bro. It was a good break for me; as we walked through the mall, just taking it easy, I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d left the house. Picked up some San Pelligrino at AH, the only store in the area that carries that brand. Nothing really exciting, other than the fact I got fresh air into my lungs for a few hours.

The weather continues being grey and drizzly. Wind warnings out for today. Lately I’ve had the feeling that the weather is holding its breath while I write. No idea where the end to this story is, so no guess as to how long it may take me. Sorry, Rotterdam. But if you really think about it, we need the rain.

Still having headaches every day. I think it’s eye strain, but I’m not sure. May need to make an appointment with the doc.

…Well. My bro’s at the comic shop. I have a film recorded that I’d like to watch. The house is relatively clean, so I don’t even feel the push to start work.

It’s Saturday, people.


Don’t fucking tell me what I should be offended by.

Had an earful from my bro about sexism. He just doesn’t get it. I could never really expect it from him; he’s a man. He may be enlightened enough to realize that the way women have been treated is less than fair, but in the end he’s a man. When he feels I’ve gone too far with my feminist ranting, I begin to hear about all the ‘poor men’. Rape in prison, male on male brutality. I’m not discounting any of that. But it ain’t the same. And men have NO fucking place in this discussion. What ends up happening? The conversation gets skewed into men’s problems. My bro can’t even sustain a full conversation regarding women’s rights. I find this to be pretty basic in men: they don’t get it. Maybe it’s their testosterone.  I’ve even heard: yeah, you’ve been bitching about the same thing for decades. Um…millennium, actually. Women have always been used and abused at the hands of men. So, no. I won’t stop talking about it. Not until you men shut the fuck up and just say ‘yeah, you’re right; the way we’ve treated women has been really shitty’.

My bro got angry after my latest rant because I turned to Poldark for entertainment. Talk about sexist shit! he exclaimed. I retorted that it was historical, and the sexism portrayed is truth. I have no problem watching that. It shows me and reminds me where we began. And women fought within the confines of their roles; that’s why we became emancipated. I find historical time period stuff very interesting for these reasons. But, no. I’d set him off with my feminism and he had to trash something I enjoyed in return. Why? Frustration. A refusal to own up fully to the bias and sexism so prevalent in society. He felt hurt; he must try to hurt me.

Now, this morning, I hear a man on tv complain about his ‘free speech’ being curtailed. Again, I roll my eyes. Oh, poor man! If you’d lived as a woman you’d know that every other thing coming out of your mouth gets criticized: Ladies don’t say that. Are you on the rag? Stop being such a bitch. It’s truer than ever that if a man and a woman say the exact same words in the exact same setting, the man will be called ‘forceful’ or ‘dynamic’ or ‘strong’, and the woman will be called ‘shrill’ or ‘whining’ or ‘bitchy’.

Fuck. all of you.

I am sick to here of hearing about men. Oh, you poor damned snowflakes! You little shits. You just have an excuse for everything, and as is typical of male dominance, you use every fucking opportunity to turn it around and blame women. Shut the fuck up and accept it: you’re shits to women. Overtly and covertly.

The next time you jack off to porn, imagine that’s your mother groaning on the bed or table or wherever. The next time you slag a woman off, imagine saying that to your mother. Imagine someone raping your mother, hitting her, sodomizing her. Because that is, in essence, what you’re promoting. If you see some of us as whores, we are all whores – including your fucking sainted mother. She’s a whore. She opened her legs and fucked like a pig with your father.

Are you getting it yet? Have I touched a nerve? I sure as fuck hope so.

Women, for forever, have suffered in silence. Why? Because our ancestors learned long ago that anything coming out of a woman’s mouth is discounted. Better to say nothing than to incur the wrath of men brought down on our heads; we’ve all seen it happen.

Now that we’re finally speaking up, our children’s children are finding that old adage still holds true. Gee. Did you really think machoism was going to disappear under your angry stare? We all did that. We all got angry. And most of us were man handled and or raped. Deal. Same for your mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmother. It goes back to the beginning of fucking time.

And if you’re wondering, no, I don’t have problems with individual men. A man can be reasoned with. A man can be taught to think and act better. Men, tho, are stupid. Ignorant and hormone driven. Thick; all the blood rushes to their penis and as they’ve told us ad infinitum, when that happens they can’t think at all. It’s a fact, not a judgement. Their dicks get hard and reasoning goes out the window.

I am of the opinion that reverse discrimination is needed in this case. Men, as a whole, don’t learn the easy way. They must be made to learn. I think maybe six thousand years under the yoke of women might teach them. No, that’s not an exaggeration. I’m estimating here; we know we’ve had several millennium of them using women. They need at least an equal amount of time under our thumbs, and preferably, more. We must kill off all men of a certain mindset. My vote goes to killing every man and just starting again from the sperm banks.

Harsh? Yes. I’m that angry. Please stop patronizing me.

Notice I said please.

… Get it out of me. Vomit, if necessary. I don’t want this anger. I never wanted it. But it’s been thrust upon me, just as it’s been thrust upon every woman. Stop making excuses for yourselves. Stop denying the truth.

And don’t you dare fucking tell me how to feel.

It just is

“Financial independence.” For some reason the words stuck with me yesterday. So let’s address it.

This two word phrase is an oxymoron. You cannot be financially independent. The value of said financial wealth is completely dependent on the market, ie, other people. If they don’t want your paper money or gold or oil or whatever it is you’ve stockpiled, you’ve got nothing.

No one and nothing is ‘independent’. Everything hangs off something else; this is a living, breathing eco system and that’s just the way it works. Taking money or wealth from one place and moving it to another is not an independent move, it’s totally dependent and takes it from somewhere or someone else. We’re dealing with a pie chart, people. Literally. And there’s only so much pie to go around. Pretending we have an open and unlimited supply of ANYTHING is bullshit economics. We do NOT live in an open system. It is CLOSED. Only so much clean air, clean ground, clean air. Finite. Use it up and that’s it, assholes.

Rule One in Basic Econ should be stated as: We live in a closed and finite system. Most economics go off immediately on theoretical bullshit (much like beginning physics classes). They’ll ignore certain aspects in order to ‘teach’ the basic equations. My theory is they teach nothing but ignorance by doing this. We have loads of people out there fucking with the world after only one or two econ classes. And what have they been taught? Open market theory. Infinite supply; in their world, everything hangs off of demand. Demand is the capitalists’ God. They worship it every fucking day. And it’s a demon god; they use certain tactics to get you to buy their shit. No one says ‘brain washing’. No. They now call it ‘marketing’. In truth, it’s the same fucking thing. Same techniques are being used. Repetition, coupled with fear or desire images and ideas to reinforce the idea. Buy this or else no one will love you. Buy this and get a woman that looks like the one we’ve used in this ad. Buy it. Do you remember the name? Most marketers will repeat it 5 times in ads. Watch them with an open mind and see it. Three is the rule, actually, to get someone to remember something. But modern marketing leaves these programming bits down to 10 or 15 seconds, so they load it up to get their money’s worth.

There is no economic model that actually is accurate. They don’t have all the variables included. No economic model on this planet takes into account the environmental impact of industry. Most won’t even take transport costs into account until you get into higher level stuff (or micro econ, which breaks things down into smaller components).

Most of all, tho, is that we need to remember that any economic model currently spouted as ‘the right one to follow’ was designed by the 1%. The slave owners. The people who can squeeze everyone else because of some ‘god given right’. And yes, they’re still out there. They will never develop a true model of the world because they need the models they show us to support their dominance over us. They are the ghost hunters looking for ‘proof’ that supports their position. They will discount anything and everything that does NOT support said position, and skew what they do get to convince the rest of us that yes, it’s somehow right that only a few people have anything and the rest of us are fighting just to exist.

Do I have the answers? Hell, no. The equations we’re talking about are BIG. But I do know any ‘widget’ should include certain costs that they currently don’t. Costs like how much it’ll take to clean things up after the company is done polluting the environment. Don’t act like it doesn’t happen. It’s happening everywhere right now. Nine times out of ten the company walks away and is never even fined. The communities, the people, bear the cost. And the risk.

And there’s another trick of the 1%. Any talk of taxing companies means consumers get those taxes. They’ll roll it out as a company tax increase, something that industry needs to bear. But no industry will let that pass. They’ll increase costs and cut their workers in order to make money. Who pays? Not those at the top. Not those with the money; they have money because they do shit like this. We will pay. Increased costs everywhere.

Tax increases always come back to the populace. Always. While industry ‘pays’ a bit of tax (technically; the payments come from their accounts), it’s always the consumer who pays it in the end thru increased costs. So there’s another oxymoron for you this morning: industry tax.

…An older and very cynical part of me is present today. This is the person who studied accounting, finance, and economics to learn what was going on. She’s not happy. Never has been. All she does is tread thru layers of bullshit and lies to find the truth.

*sigh* And she’s been blown off by lots of people. People who never completed the type of in depth study she did. People who, as is very common today, simply slagged her off on a personal level in order to shame and discredit her.

I really hate people who question my intelligence. I usually just point them to the correct reference material to prove my point. But I’m finding idiots are just as apt to think everyone is similar to themselves as I am apt to think everyone has the ability to put 2 and 2 together to get 4.


Someday, maybe, I’ll write that book. The Big Book of Real Economics. Do the research, site my references, put those graphs together that every fucking editor wants to see, and release it. Shake things up.

For now… Ye Gods. If you can’t see it, I won’t explain it. I can’t explain why 2 plus 2 is four. It just is.


Asparagus. Need I say more? Had a lovely dinner of thinly sliced smoked ham and asparagus wrapped in French crepes and topped with Bernaise sauce. YUM! I was reminded how tasty it was last night and again this morning while peeing. *sniff, sniff*

The theatre board is talking about meeting. Nothing set in stone yet.

The newsletter arrived in my mailbox this morning. I’d asked M about it; he thought maybe we should hang onto it until we have something concrete to say about our own group. I agreed we could do that, saying I only wanted to make sure it gets out before L’s other performances so we can give her a good plug (um…marketing plug). That was last night, and today I have the newsletter. Maybe M is feeling that ‘gee, guys, ARE we meeting to talk about this?’ like I am. Just happy it’s out.

Surprised my bro by doing the shopping the other day. He was running around, getting stuff printed, doing errands. Ah, nothing like doing something unexpected like that when I’m down. Get loads of praise for it. When I’m up I won’t hear that so much. But I was thanked profusely, and grateful for it.

Feel it’s time to clean. Don’t know why I always get that feeling after a major bump in my emotional road, but I do. Organize, tidy, put it where it should go. I think it’s me trying to put me back together again.

Finished my book last night. Just reading thru the last chapter that includes definitions of specific words and reference materials to look up. Gee. Give me those definitions after I toughed out the meaning while reading. Thanks. I might have put that chapter first, not last.

But that’s me. I’ve also thought about doing ‘Dude’. A playscript using only one word: dude. I’ve heard entire conversations go on using only that word; many people in the area I grew up in made a game of it. That’s such an American concept. I wouldn’t be able to even BEGIN explaining such a script to Europeans (they love The Big Lebowski, but they can’t do it). And however much Europeans claim to love the US (and they do, particularly New York City, a fact which puzzles me mightily), they don’t want to adopt US talk-speak. For that, they’ll fall back on the British English. I saw it. Gave them an American script, with American settings, characters, and curses. They were changing it left and right, unable to adapt to the American setting. Never mind about doing the accent correctly; they can’t even deliver an American string of curses correctly. Totally wrong inflection. They can’t do it. Ask them to say ‘a load of bollocks’ and they’ll do fine; give them ‘goddamn mother fuckers’ and it sounds totally silly coming out of their mouths.

I’m so much happier not doing my script. Yeah, I said it. It was stressing me out majorly. I saw some members ready for it: great performances. Others…not so much. Still not happy over the perceived dissing I received during the process. Decided I will begin to give tit for tat; if I get teased about being short or American, I’ll point out that the director has a beard and everyone speaks like they come from Britain. Oh, I’ll say, I thought we were pointing out the obvious…

Mostly, I just want to pick up and get going on the next project. Make a decision and go for it. It ain’t that hard. C’mon people!

Have more Ghost Adventures to watch this afternoon. I’m loving the arrogance and idiot moves of those guys. So funny! Episode after episode, they’re absolutely laughable. No idea what they’re doing, and they like to pretend they’re tough for going into a place for one night. Zak, in particular, is funny. Just watching the first few seasons I’ve learned he’s scared of: heights, dolls, paintings, mannequins, toys, bees, rain and thunder… Seems like every episode he reveals another phobia. Things you’re guaranteed to hear every episode: This is creepy, I’m pumped, Oh my God!, I swear to God, I feel strange and Dude! In some episodes those phrases make up 90% of the dialogue. Bleeding hilarious!

Gonna tidy up today. Get my personal space clean and see where my mind takes me. Maybe I’ll write, maybe I’ll just fuck off.


…You know the kind of clouds you’ve seen in recent disaster films? The ones that stretch horizon to horizon and have a depressed ‘mouth’ of a large tornado forming? That’s what’s outside my window this morning. Somehow, I feel it doesn’t bode well…

Still nothing from the group. We didn’t meet last week and nothing about meeting this week. Suspect others are discussing options without me; they all work together at the same place. No proof, naturally. Other than my gut instinct. Have decided that if I hear nothing by this evening I’ll send out a FB board post asking ‘Is the board meeting this week?’ Not including myself automatically. If they want me there, they’ll tell me.

Regardless of that, I need to return M’s camera to him.

The newsletter has not been released. That’s the other part of the equation. Yes, the person I passed it to might be busy over the weekend. Yes, there are more than a hundred reasons why it hasn’t gone out yet, none of them to do with me. Still. It puts me on edge.

Sort of vacillating. I get a little panicky when I think the group’s gonna kick me off the board before it even becomes a real thing (the paperwork needed to file with the gov’t is currently sitting on my table). Then I imagine my life sans the group: more time for me, more time for my writing. Even given thought to starting up a theatre group on this side of the city, near me. I’ll run it, or try to, and we’ll concentrate on my works. That calms me.

But…DAMN. No one will even consider looking at my work until it gets produced. In this game, agents come to you (supposedly). Can’t get my work out on any platform until I have representation, and no one will represent me without a production under my belt. I’ve heard nothing from the US group that wanted to do my stuff. So much nothing I’ve been reluctant to bring it up because I feel like it’s in the same place we were: it’s right on the edge. Me talking it up could curse it to death.

It all feels damned discouraging.

Does not help to see all those fucking articles on-line, either. The ‘I was a sex slave, now I’m a nobel laureate’ things. You know the ones: they’re supposed to be inspirational but when you’re already down it just comes off sounding like ‘why can’t you do this?’ Fucking hell. Nothing more discouraging to someone my age than hearing about wunderkinds who are smashing all records at the age of 17.

Decided I’ll need to go back to the trilogy and do some tinkering. Make sure I have the scripts set for the stage the way I want, then modify them for sound recording. I know I’ll need to change small things for a sound-only production.

And you know the worst of it all? Facing all those people who already know about the production. Fielding those questions about it. Telling them it’s over, we’re not doing it. It’s like I have to relive it over and over. There’s one of the reasons I backed out of class for 2 weeks in a row. Today I return to my lessons. Meh.

Pleased, at least, that my system is calming down. Sleep is getting back to normal, as are my morning bathroom visits.

Haven’t given a damn about my waist line. Still getting bakery treats every time we go downstairs. This week: cherry pie.

Thought regretfully over the lack of support from my family. Yeah, that still gets to me on occasion. More than ‘on occasion’. Often. Every time I hear about someone being supported by their family when they grew up. That is the biggest fantasy scenario I know of. It’s so far outside my experience that I can’t even properly imagine it. And yes, I’m jealous as hell of everyone who had it. Sometimes I think if I had ANY support from my family things might have been different. I may have been able to like myself. Found something to do that I could do and liked doing. Made something of myself. Instead…instead, it often feels like they cut away part of me. Like I’m missing some vital component ‘normal’ people have. I feel disabled by it. Disabled by my inability to trust people, disabled by my poor social skills. It puts me at an automatic disadvantage.

Trying to not think that way. Maybe my family is to blame, but now it’s my turn. It’s my choice. How I react is how I react. Not easy, though. I know my early training moulded much of my personality.

Fuck, I’m down. Think I may have forgot my happy pill yesterday morning. Hard to tell from the pill packet. Made sure to take one today.

Just… trying to get by. These sharp ups and downs… I know it’s probably still the back-lash from the manic adrenaline dump when I spoke to D. Dr T said that would screw with me for awhile. But DAMN I’m down. And finding it hard to keep going. Part of me just wants to turn away from the world, curl up into a ball, and sleep the rest of my life away. Why even try? Nothing ever works for me. No one cares. I mean, when your family doesn’t even give a shit about you unless it’s to be their whipping dog, you automatically develop a shitty sense of self worth, you know?

Bah. When in doubt, remain silent. Don’t talk much. Stay quiet.

I may not even get that message out asking about the board meeting.


Pulled myself together yesterday. Said: you can either be part of the problem or part of the solution, and realized that statement was dead-on.

Powered thru the newsletter, including the opening. Began the with the title: Good-bye 2018! and followed up with the announcement that we’re not doing my script. Then it was breezy assurances about December theatre and the fun we’re all having. It read well to me, so I sent it to M who then sends it on to everyone who’s signed up.

Did more research on scripts, including signing up at playscripts.com (good site if you don’t know about it). They’ve got a search engine that includes cast size and composition, genre, type of theatre – so many parameters I didn’t use all of them. Found something I think sounds really good. It’s a full length comedy about 4 women who open an underwear business to save their town after the factory closes. I mean…the premise alone promises to be lots of fun. Skimmed thru a few pages on line. The dialogue felt natural and bright. Going to head out and give it a thorough read today. I’ve got the time.

Noted that by the end of the evening last night a lot of worry fell off me. A better part of myself must have been talking to me, and I finally heard it. I was just sitting in my chair, watching tv. But suddenly I realized – fully – that I’m not to blame for what happened. The director canned the first actor; I didn’t want that. The last actor left because of his own problems. The only thing I could ever be held accountable for was D’s leaving. One out of three. That’s not 100% blame. And I don’t even think that I’m fully responsible for D. She was the one who wasn’t going to take direction. She was the one who wasn’t trying. Not me. And although I’m not thrilled by my hide-in-my-shell knee jerk reaction, I did manage to snap out of it and turn it around. The newsletter might feel a bit light and fluffy, but that’s okay. It’s December. And I’ve found a viable solution. A script we can use whether or not everyone currently on the cast participates. It’s even in our price range.

I’m ready to head to a board meeting with a smile on my face. A genuine smile.

Now that my head is free of anxiety over my story getting ruined, I’m ready to make other plans. I can still grab video footage of the behind the scenes fun. I can still take pix and talk things up. Keep the newsletter going and update the website. In other words, I’m ready to be the PR person in total for the group.

Today I want to clean up the website. Put up a short announcement about my script and keep it up; we still have flyers out there pointing people to my work. Time to take down the synopses and the marketing blurbs. And time to put up Issue 1 of the newsletter.

It’s good to feel un-guilty. There’s my lesson: find a solution. If you feel responsible, help find a solution rather than just sit there feeling guilty. Feeling guilty does no one any good. It doesn’t move anything forward. Think! Apologize if you feel you must, but be ready to offer a solution. Every leader fucks up, but great leaders can turn it around and find solutions to their own messes. I get that now.

Hoping the board will get together this week.

I think I’ve earned an invitation.


I dream of cutting her cheek. Sharp knife in hand, downward motion with slight pressure. Break the skin, watch it bleed. Cut again, same place, a little deeper. Then again, deeper still. Go until I cut through flesh and open up the wound to her mouth. Screaming. Screaming. Begging for release. No mercy.

Just one of those pleasant imaginings I’ve been having about D. I’ve also seen her disemboweled, throat cut, and just beaten the shit out of her (including strangling her with her own hair).

Yeah, that’s my mean streak. That’s my angry side. That’s the part of me everyone is afraid of, and it merits their fear.

In a few hours, Dr T will hear this. No doubt his laptop will go clackity-clack as he tries to take down everything he sees in me. He’ll also hear about my migraines and the ice pick that slides into my right temple. I am at such a loss as to how to handle any of this.

Wrote to my friend/bro, J, spilling it all. Naturally he’s in my corner. Ready to break some knee caps for me (if only he was here in Rotterdam, rather than in Minneapolis). He referred to D as ‘girl’, which was helpful. She acted like a five year old; calling her a ‘girl’ is only fitting.

Paranoid over the rest of the group. Worried D’s poison has spread too far. That maybe I will have to leave the group because the damage is too much. Determined to not let it play that way. If they want me to leave the group, they’ll have to find the courage to outright tell me.

Don’t like this hateful part of me. And yet, I do like it. I do like imagining the blood run across D’s face. That’s horrible of me, isn’t it? I feel like it’s horrible. Like a normal person shouldn’t imagine those things. And they certainly shouldn’t feel so happy about those imaginings. Right? But I am happy imagining it. I am happy imagining all the hate coming back to D and biting her in the ass. I’m happy seeing her lose her job, lose her relationships, and fall apart totally. The only thing I don’t want her to do is die. Once she’s dead, she can’t suffer. And I want her to suffer.

Every time those thoughts come up I tell myself to let it go. Eventually, I do. But they keep slipping back into my brain.

That’s the honest truth. Now, tell me how to fix it.

What I want is an anti-anger pill. Mellow me to the point where people can treat me like shit and I don’t get ruffled. Please. Because people always seem to treat me like shit. And standing up for myself only receives more derision.

No word from anyone. No ask for the group to gather, to see what we’ll do next. It’s all just sitting there, unfinished.

Like me. Unfinished.

The Death Knell

My brother announced yesterday that I’d spent quite enough time sitting inside, thank you, and it was high time I get myself out of my chair and do something. His proposal was a meal at our favorite Indian place tied with some early evening entertainment shopping.

The weather cooperated. Everything cooperated, from the moment we left the house. Got to the metro station with the train pulling up in 1 minute. Headed downtown, missed the afternoon shoppers because we were a bit late and there were zero evening shoppers out. It was almost as if we had the city to ourselves.

Hit the used DVD shop first, before they closed. The two of us went thru every rack, pulling thru the DVDs, looking for anything that might entertain us. When you pay full price, you’ve got to pick and choose what you want. But when everything falls within the fifty cent to 2 euro price range, you can take some chances. Yep, that looks entertaining enough to spend a euro on. Get it. 

Off to dinner: the owner/chef knows us by sight, so we walked in to a loud and warm welcome. We ordered our favorites, eating our fill and getting the remainder wrapped up to take home (the food is ALWAYS too good to leave any scrap behind). Kicked back with cups of chai tea and chatted with the owner after eating.

Headed over to Pluto for a smoke; too early for TrefPunt to be open. Again, luck was with us. Pluto’s a small place and one of the most popular coffeeshops in Rotterdam because it’s decorated and plays cool music. In fact, Pluto is one of two ‘Amsterdam-like’ coffeeshops, by which I mean tourist coffeeshops, in Rotterdam. Most places here are bare roomed nothings, you just walk in, buy your smoke, and leave. This is Rotterdam, bitches: we don’t play to tourists like Amsterdam. But Pluto (and The Reef) are two exceptions. Decorated, dimmed lighting, good music, the full monty. I don’t go into them often because you have to buy their smoke and a beverage from them before using their smoking rooms and they’re always overpriced. And since there’s only 2 tourist smoking places in Rotterdam, they tend to be full almost all the time. Last night we walked in and found a free table for the two of us. Just hung by the window, watching people walk by as we toked. It was very relaxing.

Off to MediaMarkt to look at the bargain racks. Again, take chances with some stuff. I always figure just about anything is worth 2 euro to me. One view pays for itself. If I watch it twice, I’ve more than used the money I spent on it. Picked up a few more deep discount DVDs.

Home. I’d barely changed into my jammies for the eve and put my new slippers on when my phone went nuts. Eleven messages before I could open it up. F, the actor in act 3 playing Ted, is out. He’s from Ireland and can no longer stay in Rotterdam (I suspect it’s because he hasn’t found a job). Well. That explained his poor performances in rehearsals; he was distracted. Wish he would have mentioned this months ago. Not sure why he was so eager to sign up with us when his own situation was so precarious.

Our Board chat on FB went nuts, too. Everyone chiming in: this is the end. Boom. Current plans are to call a meeting with the actors left and see who’s into trying to do something else this year. It’s got to be an all-female cast; we’ve lost all the men. And we’ve still got to find a script to do. It’s possible. Just like doing my stuff was possible. But I’m not holding my breath.

So the newsletter is gutted. I’ve no idea how to fill the 2 pages I was going to use for cast interviews. I’m not working on it for now. Hoping to have something positive to add before I have to release it saying: we’re not doing the trilogy, everyone was a total shit hole, forget about us for a year while we work out who’s an ass and who isn’t.

My bro and I discussed taking the trilogy to podcast form. What we would need to do for it. T’s on board so much he’ll even pay for some sound-proofed room time to get good recordings. Definitely want to use some of the theatre people. They’ve put the time in and really have a good handle on the story. Some of them. Seeing as I’m director of any podcast project, M won’t be playing Val because she sucked shit. Everything coming out of her mouth had an upward inflection like a question. I pointed that out to her, saying Val was more self assured and she’d make more statements. But M never really got it. She’s in D’s camp: I’m a controlling bitch for asking the actors to play the roles the way I wrote them. Same with G; I won’t put up with her shit. I’ll find someone else, or do an accent and cut my voice oddly so it doesn’t sound like me. My way, or the highway.

Tomorrow I see my shrink. Lots to tell him. T keeps coming out from his room and saying stuff like: Don’t forget to tell him about your headaches, or Remember to mention that to your doc. I’ve gone crazy, Dr T. Do something about it.

Lots of nothing on my plate. Might go out and search scripts for all female casts just to see what’s available. But even that may be a waste of my time. We’d have to push performance dates back if we start on a new script, and not everyone committed to our first dates. We may only have three people willing to do anything.

One thing I’ve learned: L is a driving force in this group. She’s on top of messages, venues, coordination. I’ve learned to appreciate her skills on many levels. And her kindness to me. And if it ends up just the two of us willing to do something this year, we can. We’ll find something. The two of us could learn our lines and be ready to perform something new within 2 months.

Waiting for the director to send out the final word. The production is dead. Dead, and gone. The death knell tolled.

Ah! Relief!

Received a long FB message in the theatre board group conversation. It was from the director. He’d apparently been taking stock of the production yesterday, too. Took him some time to type the damned thing in on his phone. Give him credit where credit’s due.

Unknown to me, three actors are now shaky on their commitment. All claim to have problems with the selected performance dates; all said ‘I’ll let you know’ to the director weeks ago and they still haven’t committed. We’ve found no one to step into the vacant agent role, which I find unsurprising. Late asks and no prior notice means no one shows. The venue flaked on us, promising us Friday and Saturday then not getting back to us for a few months and finally telling us they can’t do Fridays at all, so we’re hanging right now with a Saturday and possible (ugh) Sunday performance. Even from the beginning this thing had problems: our autumn time slot got away from us and we didn’t get started when we should have. Add into that the announcement of a new pregnancy for one of our actors and we had a very narrow time window to do it. Now it’s falling apart. Totally. The director wound up his message by saying that he really enjoys the script and what we’ve done but he’s worried about getting everything done. And he pointed out the amount of work behind the scenes, saying he didn’t want to work that hard and have it all fall apart anyway.

My phone was on silent all day, so I don’t really know when that came in. I replied around 7 in the evening.

I really appreciate everyone, and the fact you were all willing to give my script a go. But this production has felt a bit cursed from the start.

The director later replied with a: Cursed! Good word; it has felt like that.

There it was, evening, tv on, my phone vibrating like mad while the board conversation took place on FB. We’ve decided this week is the deadline. The actors must be pressed for a ‘yes’ on all performance dates. We have to find a warm body for the agent, even if it’s L promising to take the roll with a wig on.

The director is ready to kill it. And I’m ready, too.

First thing I felt wasn’t annoyance or anger or sorrow. It was relief. RELIEF. I think I took my first deep breath in weeks last night. All the anxiety, anger, everything just slid right off me. I have no beef with the core group. In fact, all I have is praise for the core group. For their solid work, their great performances in rehearsal, their wonderful attitude and support. If I could take the entire thing down to just 4 people I would because then the board could perform it without outside actors. But the outside people, that’s where the problems came from. The total lack of respect towards me. The shit attitudes and complaints. The lack of commitment.

I’ve already written off this production. I still have the US premiere to crow about. And this group is very interested in taking one of the acts to a theatre festival coming to Den Haag. Our core group can do one act, so I feel assured of that happening. Plus, it’s been a learning experience. Not a great one or a fun one, but I have learned. I’ve learned how stupid some people can be. I know that sounds silly but I really have a difficult time grasping how stupid some people are. D taught me a whole new level of stupid. Difficult to believe she’s got a PhD and a career; I peg her IQ somewhere around 100 to 105. Maybe less. But even working with stupid people can teach you how your words are interpreted; I’ve learned where and how to strengthen my work to convey what I want. I’ve been excited over some great performances, I’ve watched things unfold and work or not work, scene after scene.

Talked to my bro. I feel confident now that I can turn the scripts into audio podcasts. I’m more than half-way through my thoughts and work with the sound, and it hangs on that in many places. We discussed the possibility of recording the actors I want to record, getting better actors for the roles I feel weren’t done well, and putting it out on the ‘net. I think it would be a good showcase for his company, since he’d do all the sound (well, we’d do the sound; he’d get the credit). It can help our online account on YouTube get enough followers we can switch it to an income account with ads. Get some money. Plus, that’s me directing it. Me telling the actors how to deliver their lines. Me firing people if they don’t play nice. I wouldn’t have these problems, trying to juggle everyone’s feelings. You dick with me, you’re off the project. Got it? Good.

Didn’t go to class yesterday. Felt a migraine trying to break through and I just wasn’t into sitting in a too bright classroom with that kind of head pain. Good choice. I was fighting it most of the day.

Hm. And there’s no hint of that pain in my head today…

Even tho we’ve all given it ’til the end of the week, I think we all feel the production is closed at this point. We’ll wait it out, like we said we would. Thinking I may suggest the board get together before Xmas to regroup. Discuss what our next move may be. I’d like to look them all in the eye and thank them personally for trying. Then I want to leave it and just be a happy member thinking about what we’ll do next. No doubt in my mind it will be another comedy. I saw the problems with my heavy story line in rehearsals: it was more difficult than I anticipated for most actors to play those serious roles. Nope; time for some fluff for the good of the group. L suggested once that we do a resurrection of Are you Being Served? Apparently live actors re-enacting long cherished British sit-coms are all the rage right now. Maybe we’ll look at that.

Naturally, this leaves me two pages in the newsletter to fill. If we don’t do the production, we’re not doing those interviews. I don’t know what the hell to fill it with.

Thinking about the online spin, too. Feel I’ll go with the whole ‘cursed’ idea. Push the fact that we had scheduling problems right from the start. Feed into my own mythology in a way; maybe I can put a positive spin on it. Oooo! This production is so real creepy things happened when we tried to do it. That can get some notice, too.

Just happy I’m not upset. A bit surprised at my reaction, actually. I didn’t anticipate it. I knew it was causing me a lot of stress; I just didn’t know how much.

Ah! Relief!