Nobody said it would be easy

Friday lesson: better than I thought it would be. My teacher listened to me, for one thing. Not just listened, but he attempted to implement my suggestions immediately. That felt good. Being heard always feels good.

Weird incident, though. Don’t know precisely what happened, ’cause I was reading along in the book. But this other student, this guy (emphasis on that word because he’s a real character) must have touched or groped the female teacher. She almost jumped out of her chair. Bitched him out and told him to move, that he couldn’t sit next to her. He ignored her. Maybe it was an accidental graze. I really don’t know. What I do know is the dude in question is questionable; he’s always angry and makes no bones about it. And he stares a lot. At me. With a look on his face I can’t quite pin down. Hate? Lust? Both? I’ve found it unnerving in the past, and in future I’ll find it more so.

Nursing a big lump of angry disappointment. Heard from Bolton; suddenly they’ve modified their terms and conditions. Now a script can’t be more than 700 words. 700 words! My blog posts are longer than that. Why the fuck didn’t they say that up front? Don’t know if I’ll write something for them now or not. I can shit 700 words out pretty quick. But I’m still kind of angry. So I guess I’ll just wait and see how long my irritation lasts.

On the up side: plenty of places to send to. Writing up a synopsis (UGH) and updating my CV. Think I might have something that’ll work, so I’m in down mode now. Give it 24 hours before I read it again. Otherwise I’ll just go round and round – very much the proverbial dog chasing its own tail.

Stepping up research on the next script. Still do not know the name of my main character. I want to use real names, but I’m taking full artistic license with the names I choose. This is for an American audience, and if there’s one thing I know about American audiences, it’s this: give them too many Russian names and I’ll lose them. So I want to choose names with simple and familiar diminutives. Right now, she’s just ‘the new girl’. She’s already a pilot, and a little cocky about her skills. I’m getting a sense of the other women, too. How they react to this newcomer. And the men. The slurs, the set-ups. Letting my mind wander through these ultra short scenes. I need to pick and choose the best. Hone it down. Make it run on a limited cast. And figure out how – or IF – I can write a scene while the women are in their planes. Can’t expect them to have big sets. So it’s gotta be lighting and sound again. Hm.

Doing my best to keep up with a gym visit every other day. Not easy. When I get in that groove, I want to push every day. When I’m not in that groove, it’s a pain to just put my shoes on and head over there. Trying to do what’s best for my body – day on, day off. Meh. If only my body and my head would mesh better.

Still find myself just snapping at my brother once in a while. Why can’t I apologize to him for that? I should. Instead I ignore it and privately vow to do better. And I do better, for a while. Then I mess up again.

*sigh* I guess nobody said it would be easy.

Ik Sta Op

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Eight hours sleep. Better. My head’s been thinking again. Had this crazy idea to just quit smoking outright, fuck the irritation and withdrawal, just DO IT because Heike really fucking freaked me out with her ‘time out’ shit. I keep hearing Yoda tell me he doesn’t think that’s a good idea, and I don’t want it to be a good idea. I WANT to keep smoking. At least my wake up J and my sleep time J. The rest I can cut out with ease. Those last two are gonna be hell.

Put the smoking aside for a minute. Can I? It’s become as big an obsession as food once was in my life. Either thinking about how much time I want to pass before I smoke again OR just thinking of delaying a bit longer, hold it off, don’t smoke it down so fast.

I apologize if this has become repetitive. Then again, you’re not doing this, so…well, fuck off if you think it’s repetitive. Get your ass into my shoes, do it, deal with my body and my problems, and then we’ll talk about fucking repetitive.

Christ I’m fucking irritable when I write. Wonderful.

No news is good news, and I’ve had no news for 48 hours. Usually I’ll deal with the times my brother likes to watch news by getting out of the room or hunkering down to play games. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Concentrate on killing zombies or finding that hidden treasure chest. I’ve been ‘bad’ enough lately that he’s not watching news while I’m around, and I’ve not gone out to any news websites to ‘catch the headlines’ because invariably I end up seeing something that pisses me off. My RT icon on my computer has over 90 unread stories at the mo. I wonder how far that thing will count up. I might just find out.

This morning I’m envisioning my next appointment with Heike, and it looks much, much different than the last. I am dressed better, a bit less grungy. My hair is done and looks good. I speak calmly, sitting back in the chair. My arms and legs and crossed because YES! I’m keeping her out and away from me. The little girl in me wants to pout and not talk at all now. We were honest, we let it all out, and we heard almost the exact words come out of her mouth that have fucking haunted me since I first told my mother that I didn’t see any reason to live. I’m angry and closed off. Shut down. Saying fuck you with my whole body, not just my middle finger.

It’s very tempting. Part of me thinks I’ll ‘teach her a lesson’ if I shut down on her. Punishment. Revenge. Yep. These are the wonderful lessons I learned at my mother’s teat. I know it; I have a bitch sister that mirrors the same fucking shit and I know HER games all too well. And I know it’s the wrong thing to do. It will get me nowhere, and the outcome is likely to be ugly.

I still want to do it.

Five days to talk myself out of it. Five days to calm down. I’m figuring I’ll resort to writing it all down again. Fuck it if it works for Heike; it works for me. Get it into simple black and white language. I’m cold, not hot, with emotion. So chances are I’ll be able to get some of it translated into Dutch. Great. It’s good practice.

Dutch, Dutch, Dutch. *sigh* The good news is that some of the past tense verbs I now know are exactly the same as English. The bad news is that I’m really beginning to confuse myself with it; I’ll start to say the right word then I’ll stop and wonder if I’m not just trying to use an English word with a Dutch pronunciation. And yesterday I uncorrected myself on a word pronunciation; first time I got it right and the second time I fucked it up. I’m at that stage: second guessing. Doubting my own knowledge. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I always get here and stumble a bit. That’s a sign of too much pushing. You wouldn’t think so; it’s not like I’m doing lessons every damned day. But it’s always around me, on tv, on radio, on stranger’s lips in the stores and streets and metro. I’ve been trying to actively listen. My apologies to the general public for eavesdropping, but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Trying to catch normal conversation. It’s tough. And it’s sure as hell not easy when people like the receptionist at Addiction Central prattle on to me in very fast Dutch when I ask where the bathrooms are and the ONLY thing I catch is a slightly sarcastic ‘Can’t you READ?‘ because I didn’t know that ‘bezoekers’ marks a bathroom in Addiction Central, not the usual WC or universal icons.

I’m gonna bitch to Heike about that. I ended up asking my teacher if it was a Dutch thing. I’ve been in places in North America where bathrooms have gag names, like cowboys and cowgirls. Sometimes I’ve stood outside the doors and waited for another person to come out or go in because I can’t figure out which is the women’s. So, you know..I thought maybe ‘bezoekers’ was one of those. Nope. My teacher looked confused over the whole thing. ‘Bezoekers’ means guests. It’s done in private buildings rather than the usual clear, simple, and universally understood WC. The crack about my not being able to read was way the fuck out of line.

Funny how standing up for myself is pretty much the same thing as being honest. Saying what I think and feel rather than smoothing it over. I didn’t connect those two before I began this journey, but now I understand. I get it. I know why I’ve been accused of dishonesty in the past. It’s right here: I didn’t speak my truth or stand up for myself.

Move aside, everyone. Ik sta op.

You Want It; You Got It

Yesterday’s count: 4

I am so very proud of myself for getting thru Saturday without becoming a chimney. It gives me hope; if I can sit at home in the rain all day long and only smoke 4 J’s, I can tackle this. Eventually. It’ll take some time, but I can do it.

Ran around yesterday doing 20 minutes of this and 30 minutes of that. Did a lot of things half-assed; the house got cleaned – kinda. Hoover, dust, did the mirrors and sinks – but all quick. Didn’t reach too hard to get rid of that dirt. I thought ‘good enough’ even as I zipped through everything. Bored, bored, bored. Tried computer games 4 or 5 times. Managed to get about half an hour each time before I thought ‘this is stupid’ and went on to something else.

The triple B threat: Bored Beyond Belief
The triple B threat: Bored Beyond Belief

My up and down and back and forth was the reason my brother suggested we go to a museum today. Been here over a year now and I haven’t really gone to any museums yet. Just money, you know? That €24 for the both of us to get in buys groceries for a week. But, being b-day month AND having a few extra bucks in the checking account (I don’t know how my bro managed it, but he did) we’re heading off to the Kunsthal today, which is the big museum in Rotterdam. As long as my feet don’t poop out on me, I’ve got a potential 6 hours there today. 6 hours safely away from smoking. Six hours just rambling, looking at art installations. Love it.

Find myself getting angry at the counseling center a lot. Find myself telling them in my head they can all fuck off for blithely stating I must get off marijuana for 30 days before beginning with them. That what they did is no way to build trust. That they really need to get their heads out of their asses and THINK before doing this to another person. That they know jack shit about me, and to make a knee jerk reaction statement like that is ludicrous. I expect my temper to simmer down a bit…got more than 30 days ’cause as we all know, I haven’t quit yet. Still….I have to see my GP about that referral letter, and I think she’ll hear about it. She doesn’t deserve my anger, so if I can’t say it calmly, I won’t say it at all. But I need to raise objections NOW. I’m not sure what the thinking behind all of this is, unless it’s that smoking CAN actually help with all my problems/symptoms, and they want to see me as un-medicated as possible to really asses me. If they’d said that, I could deal. They didn’t. They just intimated that smoking was bad and I needed to stop. And this from a society that’s cool with it. Hells bells.

My personal choice is to be so high all the time that I never come down. Any shit anybody wants to throw at me about how smoking makes you dumber or less active or WHATEVER – I can counter. Maybe it works that way on the average monkey. It doesn’t do it to me. Dumber? Explain my IQ results – all tests in the last 10 years have been taken while imbibing. Less active? Oh, honey! I NEED to be less active most days and can’t achieve it. Poor memory? Fucking test me. I’ll blow you away. Covers up emotions? HA! I WISH. I’ll cry a little less, rant a little less on marijuana but I’ve never STOPPED. Weight gain due to munchies? Please, sister, that’s simple mind over matter and I tackled THAT one 25 years ago.

The only valid reason in MY book to stop smoking is to help with my health: to lower my allergic reactions, to ease my non-stop sinus problems, and to prevent future lung disease. Don’t talk shit to me about anything else. Grrrr.

Apologies…nothing focuses your mind on one thing like trying to abstain from it.

And I gotta say…quitting while NOT beating my body is quite a juggling act. Once again, my saving grace is my brother who is keeping a close watch on me (What did I do to deserve him? I don’t know. Must have been something good, as the song goes.). Doing my best to listen to his suggestions without snapping his head off…which is getting hard. I was told to take it easy yesterday, to not tire myself out, because of the planned museum trip today. And I had a mini-aneurism while working on spreadsheets; just couldn’t get the formatting to work properly and I blew up. The LAST thing I have right now is patience. If I thought the world moved too fucking slow before when I was high, it’s NOTHING compared to it now, when I’ve cut back. For fuck’s sake! At THIS rate, when I stop smoking entirely you’re not even gonna be able to SEE me without a slo-mo camera shot ’cause THAT’S how fast I’ll be going. Goddamn! I’ll become a humming-bird: you’ll hear me humming some inane tune as I whip by, but you won’t see me moving.

Fly, my pretty!
Fly, my pretty!

Paradoxically, sleep hasn’t been too bad. I’m able to stay down for 7 hours and sleep pretty well. Not great; still waking up multiple times to look at the clock and see if it’s time to get up yet. But I can doze off, that’s for sure. And I know what will be said, the same thing the docs have said to me all this fucking time: IF I CAN SLEEP 7 HOURS I’M NOT MANIC. Yeah. Right. Come live in my fucking skin for a day. Feel what it’s like to want to crawl out of it. No concentration. No fucking patience to even contemplate fucking concentration. This isn’t some form of mania?

Getting to the point of saying WHATEVER, which in my book is another way of saying FUCK OFF. I’ll go to the fucking addiction clinic (whatever). I’ll talk to my GP (whatever). I’ll get off marijuana for 30 days (whatever). I’ll go to the REAL fucking counseling clinic (whatever).

And they’re all gonna have to deal with my fucking attitude. Cause, reaction. Simple equation, people. Piss me off and watch what happens. Maybe that’s what they want. Maybe they want to see me on the edge. They ain’t gonna like it. Hospitalization may be suggested. There’s a fucking good reason I’ve been smoking as much as I have been for the last fucking 30 years of my fucking life. If you want to see THAT come out, well, you’re doing all the right things. Just keep on triggering me. Go on. I fucking dare you, motherfuckers.

For the past few months I’ve been feeling pretty good. I’ve even passed by watching horror films for lighter material (in my book, even serious dramas tend to be lighter than horror). But I’m feeling the need for mayhem and death, and I’m guessing horror is gonna become a regular thing for me again. Nothing pumps me up like a good Romero zombie film or one of the Alien films…or Resident Evil films…So many good horrors! To both fight the horror AND embrace it at the same time…That’s where I’m at. One fucking bad-ass warrior.

Try it….just try it.
Try it….just try it.

You want it; you got it.