Bow, wow!

And so…

Went to the appointment for my shoes. Talk about trepidation! I know they’re built for me, but my orthopedics have caused me so many blisters and so much pain I grew scared of putting them on. Haven’t had them on all summer, as a matter of fact, because they’re leather, and ankle boots, and hot. Plus, aforesaid problems. Tried the shoes on before my appointment and GOT them on, which proved to me once and for all that yes, my feet swell up during summer, it’s not my imagination. Had a bit of luck at the shoe shop; not all shop help are created equal! Some know their stuff better than others. Got someone who really understood shoes (and my terrible Dutch with English interjections) and in less than 20 minutes I walked out with shoes that no longer hurt my feet. Glorious! Better still, I made it to the first corner on the street without pain. Yippee! Then the rain picked up, so I quickened my pace – still no pain.

I wore those shoes all day yesterday without incident one. YES! They’re finally what they claimed to be in the ads.

Made an appointment for my second pair. Asked for (and was shown) softer material. Picked out a sneaker type of style they had on file. Asked for (and was shown) a thicker tread for winter ice. Will I be able to wear these at the gym? I asked. Yes, I was told. They’ll be just like sneakers, only better. In fact, we’ll make them wider right away, so you won’t have any problems, and you should be able to wear them year ’round…

Hot damn!

Chose to NOT run errands in the rain yesterday. Plenty to do, but…I’m worried about my health. It’s cooling down quickly, and people have a nasty habit of continuing to wear T-shirts on days like today because they’re unwilling to give up summer. Then they get sick, I get exposed, and that’s it. My bro understood, and picked up some slack for me. Thank you!

Want to get back to the gym today. Still beat from my all-out on Thursday, so I won’t even try to equal that. But I need to move. Also need to do a full ‘dress rehearsal’ here at home, and video myself. Trying out this new take on my role, and I want to be as tight as I can be on Monday when I spring it on everyone. Plus, I gotta put in some practice time with these false eyelashes. It’s the first time I’ve ever tried them, and they’re a little tricky to put on. And I’m still not sure of my accent, so filming myself should give me an objective view (and hearing) on what I’m trying. Then there’s housework: dishes, hoovering, laundry, and the dreaded (ugh) cleaning of the bathroom.

Been perfectly happy the last 24 hours to sit still and do nuthin. Watching tv, playing games, sometimes just staring off into space. My mind has truly gone blank; I’m not thinking about writing or my stories – at least, not consciously. Who knows what’s being whipped up in that kitchen sink in the back of my brain? Allowing it. The last thriller was only half-cooked when I looked at it, so it needs more time. All the ingredients are correct, and the heat is on low. The chef can take a coffee break.

Feels like I’ve been on a manic streak again. Still got that over-riding positive attitude. My stuff will be discovered and produced! It’s good! I question my own reactions. Toyed with the idea of utter failure (again). Imagined it – the long waiting, the silences, the incessant beating down of rejection after rejection. Can’t honestly see myself keeping my positive attitude if I don’t get a tiny bread-crumb trail of hope. I try to prep for failure, but it’s almost impossible right now. I’m as quick to discount the negative possibilities when I’m manic as I am to discount the positive possibilities when I’m depressed. Doing my best to see all the alternatives and keep my feet on the ground.

…*sigh* And can’t some shrink just read this blog to analyze me? I’d really like some prescription medicine around this time…

Because I’m scared of the fall. I know it’s coming; it always does.

And I do my best to not be scared of the fall, because fear always makes a situation worse. I’ll get through it; I always have. That’s what I tell myself. But there have been times I’ve not been sure I’d make it. Black times, hard times. Down the well with no light times. I’m as scared of that as I am a full blown RA flare up. I’ve lived through both, but I never want to go back there. I mean never. Both extremes had me begging for death.

…Doesn’t help that I know (I know!) this conundrum of worry is a by-product of my mania. It’s not happening now; you’re getting stuck in the future again! Yeah, yeah. But once you start chasing your own tail, it’s difficult to stop.

Bow, wow!

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Distill me

Spent some time feeling pretty down on myself for losing it yesterday. My brother, however, complimented me. He said I was quick to recognize I had a problem, I didn’t break or throw anything, and I came back to my safe space to get a hold of myself. It helped to hear that even tho I still have these episodes I’m handling them a bit better.

Went to rehearsal. Managed to make a joke about my earlier anger, and worked up the courage to ask the director if he’d read my script yet (answer: no, but he promised to read it last night; still waiting on anything – good, bad, or indifferent – from him). Last night was very relaxed. The other couplet couldn’t make it, so it was just me and my partner. We were told the director would get picky. We were told we’d do a lot of stop and start.

We were stopped for direction four times, and done in less than an hour.

Feels good to crow over something I can do, rather than grouse over something I can’t do. And I can act. It’s not just that I was first to memorize my lines, or first to adapt a character to the role. It’s also all the small stuff: the growing physical comedy I’m pulling off. The facial expressions, the body language. I am never at rest on stage.

We be SO good that our scheduled rehearsals might get cut. The director might not be effusive in his praise, but he does give it. Said we were the tightest, best prepped duo in the group. Said he didn’t know how to make it better, or funnier, than what we’ve got. So…

We were asked to come up with a completely new interpretation for next time. Shake things up, see what happens. Experiment a bit. Get loose and lively.

I went to bed birthing a new role. Almost a complete opposite from what I’ve been playing. My current character is a fifty-something introvert with a brash voice and an annoying laugh. She’s completely unsure of herself, and that shows in her clothing style, her hair, her face, and her dialogue. But I thought…what if her insecurities make her put on a ‘show’? And then it was there – a ‘fading flower’ of a woman, dressing too sexy, being overt in her flirting. Her voice is a fake, too. She’ll try to pull something off to make her sound sophisticated, but it’ll slip in moments of surprise or panic. But the key will be the physical humor. Her posturing. Maybe she hikes up her boobs when he’s not looking (this character needs cleavage). I see her wearing something that’s too small for her. And she’s not comfortable, and can’t sit properly because of how tight her clothing is…

Need to get back to the charity shop and see what I can find for a couple of euro.

Also have an idea – a very, very rough idea – of what to do during our long, uncomfortable silences. It’ll take a little set-up, a little special effects…but I might be able to do it. Another thing to add to my list of stuff to prep. See what I can do…

Worked on the next script idea during the afternoon. Had to get some information, and my internet searches led me on a slightly different path. Still the same basic story, but a few key elements have changed. For one, I’m not using the Cassini space probe. Too in the news and in your face right now. I don’t want to be dated. Just go back and watch ‘Escape from New York’ to find out how much dating something can bite you in the ass! No. Fix historical fact in dates, but leave your time line floating as ‘twenty years in the future’. Much smarter for the long haul. So, I’ve found another vehicle (literally; it’s another space probe) to base the story ’round. Now I just have to flesh it out.

Gonna go and burn at the gym today. Probably run myself into the ground. I need it…the endorphins, the time away from thinking about this or that. Sweat out all the crap that’s not necessary – my worries and fears, my inconsequential ideas. Leave me the core of what I want. The very essence of the story and this new role interpretation.

…Distill me.

Pressure Cooker

Anger. That unmitigated, unwarranted ‘hard on for the world’ (as my father put it) anger.

Didn’t help that I had a dental appointment at 8:30, a time I’d rather be sleeping, or playing, or just about anything other than sitting in that fucking chair getting my teeth attended to. Didn’t help that I didn’t see the hygienist, as I thought, but the dentist, for an unnecessary 6 month check-up, nor the knowledge that after three minutes (three fucking minutes) of him looking at my teeth and telling me he could do nothing for my problem area, I’ll probably be charged upwards of a hundred euro. Didn’t help that my brother was glued to his fucking phone when I came home, playing games. Didn’t help that the dishes are piled up, or the shopping is undone…

And people wonder why I have an anger issue.

Fuck!

Also not helping: a standard rejection on my fast-spun, 20 minute lame attempt at comedy.

Double fuck.

The silence rolling through my email – silence from two readers of my latest work – is bothersome, too. What’s wrong now? Did I write something offensive, or is it just so fucking bland both of you have nothing to say?

Fucking hell.

…I am smoking toking this away. Yes. It is barely 10:30 a.m. and yes, I am smoking a big fatty and when it’s done (soon) I’ll roll another. Fuck off.

The whole world can fucking fuck off right now.

I’m moving too fast, and I know it. I always turn into the human pressure cooker. Always. Maybe it’s years between an episode, but sooner or later I fucking lose it, as I am now. Done my best to avoid it. To tame myself, soothe myself, prevent this from fucking happening in the first place – but I only kinda succeed. I succeed in delaying the reaction, but not actually preventing it. Oh, and I feel all high and mighty and damned GOOD about myself when I can delay it! Just adds a bit more fuel to the fire when it all comes crashing down. I was kidding myself. Living that lie. Believing my own fucking fantasy.

I got no fucking control when this is on me.

The best I can do is isolate myself so I don’t hurt anyone, and smoke it down.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And I gotta let it go, because tonight is rehearsal and I’ll be DAMNED TO HELL FOREVER if I go in there this fucking angry.

Shit.

…And no, I’ve no real idea what the fuck happened. A dream, maybe? Something fucking triggered me. I went from okay and feeling good to THIS overnight. One of those tight-mouthed people who tells you from the fast we walk down the sidewalk that we are NOT people to be fucked with today.

This morning is one of those rare times when I agree that yes, I need medication.

…Half way through joint 2 at this point, and feeling it. Beginning to be able to breathe again. Deep breaths. I lose that ability during times of wrath.

Think I’ll just namby-pamby today away. Toke, watch films, play, write if I feel like it. Run my lines for tonight, maybe (don’t really need it). Do my best to reset. Filling up my day with less purpose allows my head to relax. And my soul.

Turn down the heat. Let the steam escape.

And clean up the mess from this morning’s explosion.

Cycle

Things that don’t suck even when I feel bad:

  1. A wedge of aged feta drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with oregano, served with olives, thinly sliced red onion, and fresh pita.
  2. Hanging with my bro.
  3. Looking through comic book bins for black and white weird releases that I like so much.
  4. Walking around in sunshine despite the forecast rain.
  5. Having a metro show up within 4 minutes of walking into a station.
  6. A poorly named but funny as hell film called ‘I Could Never Be Your Woman’ that had me belly laughing.
  7. New comics to read.
  8. Riding the tram.
  9. Playing hooky from language class.
  10. An extra two inches of space around my waist when I put on a pair of old sweat pants.
  11. Being able to zip up my winter coat without having to wrangle it past my fat butt.
  12. My shiny nails after my home manicure.
  13. Finding innumerable English speaking theatre groups asking for new plays from anybody. Even found 8 other groups right here in NL.
  14. Hearing from my friends.
  15. Getting a really good night’s sleep because I found a sleep mask for only €2.50 rather than the whopping €30 they were asking online.

Yesterday was better. Didn’t have much hope it would be when I got up, and when my bro suggested going to the comic shop with him I agreed because I didn’t know what else to do. It was to a part of town I’d not been to, so that was new and different. The rain parted every time we stepped outside. I found one or two weird comics to give a try – my taste is very eclectic. Watched some barge traffic on the river. Had lunch at a Greek place I really like. Walked around looking in the cheap shops and found a couple of things, like my sleep mask. Came home and watched some films I really found enjoyable. Heard myself laughing, then forgot about feeling bad and just went with it.

Still won’t go to language class this week. My mood is too tenuous. Play it safe: gym, shower, a little relaxation, a bit of getting out. Not smoking is getting easier. Had a couple of small hand rolled cigarettes to combat the head pain. Don’t crave tobacco or marijuana, just get headaches. My smoker’s cough has left me.

Sleeping better. Eating better. In fact, yesterday might be the only day in over a week I actually consumed something CLOSE to a normal amount of calories. Which might be a big part of why I feel better. I know. It was the first time I felt I could eat more than a few bites in one sitting.

Out of frustration I did a search for theatre groups just to SEE if there was anybody out there willing to take a chance on a new play. Found more than ‘anybody’. More like ‘everybody’. While I still feel frustrated over not hearing anything from the group I’m trying to get involved with, I do feel a bit less anxious over the whole thing. It could take me six months just to prep and send a play out to all the places around the world that would be willing to take a look at it. And yeah, that’s pretty much my plan. Finish it off, tinker here and there, then send it out into the world. All at once. Oh, I know they say never do that. Publishers are famous for that caveat – only send your stuff to one party at a time, giving each a minimum of eight weeks to accept or reject it. Screw that. Everyone is getting it asap. And if anyone wants “first rights” – well, pay me. You want it for free? Then you put up with the fact that some other little known amateur group half way around the world is doing it, too. And if everybody wants to do it…Well, I’ll cross that bridge only if it presents itself.

Even found plenty of places willing to take a risk on musicals. Hm. That’s got me thinking.

And while I’m feeling better, I still doubt myself. Don’t know that I can pick all this up again and keep going. Don’t know that I want to. Telling myself nothing is mandatory. I can sit here and not speak the language for the rest of my freaking life if that’s what I want. Also telling myself that expecting a one year old child to get every bit of grammar and language correct 100% of the time is silly, and that’s what I am – a one year old child as far as the language is concerned.

I don’t know. Feels like I brow beat myself to within an inch of my sanity and I got nothin’ left anymore.

Including answers.

If I ever had any answers to begin with.

So that’s me. Stripped down of everything. So beaten up by myself I just sit here. Can’t tell you why I did it. It just happened, like it’s happened before.

That’s my cycle.

Kuiper Belt

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Loneliness. It’s beating down on me today. My own damned fault, of course. Just got off Fuckbook Facebook. Looked at all the posts my family and friends have been putting up for the last week. The bullshit memes. The angry declarations. Oh, there were one or two people I checked who were still the sane and thinking individuals I remember them as. But many were not. And it occurred to me that maybe they were never really the sane, thinking individuals I perceived them to be in the first place.

That thought made me feel lonelier than ever.

My first reaction was an old one: rock. I rock in my chair. It’s a comfort thing. Did it a LOT as a kid; I mean almost all my spare time. Tried to hide it as a teenager. Closed the curtains, did it in secret – like I was masturbating or something. Did my best to rid myself of the need to rock. Yet…Yet I still need it, time to time. Still need to hold myself in my arms and bang my back against a chair. Don’t know quite why.

I should be feeling pretty good. Got out on a walk today for fresh air. Joined the gym. Finished formatting the script. Even thinking about trying some Dutch language drills later on.

But I feel like a lost little girl. Like my family has forgotten about me. Like I’m in one of my nightmares from childhood, when my family denied they were my family.

I don’t know these people.

I realize that’s partially my fault. Certainly, I haven’t kept up my side of communications. Then again, I make no secret of the fact that my family often triggers me, and usually it’s in my best interests to NOT communicate with them. Double bind. Talk, and get triggered. Don’t talk, and feel left out.

Naturally I won’t even consider that they should get off their asses and try to communicate with me.

…*sigh* So. The play. Found an online cloud based formatting software for free, so I tried it out. It’s…formatted. To some standards. I’m not sure it’s theatre standards. But it’s something. The formatting took it down to 24 pages. Don’t know if that’s going to be enough. May have to bulk it out. But I checked and double checked, thought, checked some more, and decided I’ve just got to bring it to the group at this point. Find out how long it is with a read through. See what everyone thinks.

And of course I have the play material based on my dysfunctional family on one hand and my real live dysfunctional family on the other. Synergistic disparity. That’s what I’ll dub it. My ability to allow my play family to have epiphanies about their lives – I can’t do that with my real life family. I can’t make my oldest brother understand how disgusted I am over Trump (yes; he supports that asshole). I can’t snap them out of their ingrained, narcissistic reactions. I want to. Desperately. So I take my longings and give them to my writing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change anything in real life. And sometimes I wonder if my flights of fancy don’t feed this unsettledness that creeps up on me regarding my family. If my continued investment – at least in my mind – of “saving” my family from themselves doesn’t keep me stuck.

That rubs raw.

Almost like my shoes rubbing my feet raw. Yes, I wore them out walking. Yes, I warmed them up before I walked and I walked carefully and not too fast or forcefully or anything else that could, in any way whatsoever, make me wrong or responsible for the raw spots on my feet. Goddamn it! My trial pair gave me none of this gripe. I wore them out of the shop the first day and never bloody took them off. But these! From day one, they’ve been hurting me here or there. Wear them in. Break in the leather. Allow them to stretch. I have HAD it. I think after THIS long and so many fucking adjustments to the fucking things that I can say that. Fix ’em, make ’em right. What, did you mix things up and make these for someone else’s feet? Sometimes that’s what I think: that they used the wrong moulds. And naturally it’s up to me to call the shop, get in there, convey all of that without blaming anyone too much or coming off like a bitch.

Fuck.

I don’t like being grown up. Can I say that? Well, tough, I just did. I don’t like having to take the high road. I don’t like having to do things that make me nervous or make me feel bad about myself. I don’t like feeling like I always have to keep putting myself out there, time and again, no matter what the fucking consequences and never lose it, never cry, never give up.

And yes, all of that is being grown up to me. And keys. Lots of keys. ‘Cause grown ups have lots of locks to open because they own lots of stuff.

I don’t have a lot of keys.

And I usually don’t feel very grown up.

…And I’m having a real hard time today. Don’t want to cut myself any slack.

This is the point where I should turn it around, right? Find something to calm myself. Find something to reach for. Problem is, I am reaching. Too far. To Jupiter, and beyond. Can’t stop the manic fantasies. Which unsettle me even more when I force myself to come down and frankly assess my own life. Ugh! The crap I find there!

I’m hanging on. Kinda. Asked a friend to tell me I’m not a terrible person. Telling myself I’m not a horrible person. That I’m a little out of whack because I haven’t exercised properly on a regular basis this last week. That I’m a little fried from writing so much.

Hard to hear when you’re out beyond the Kuiper belt.

Yee-haw

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Mid-day. My brain is busy conjugating Dutch verbs. It keeps working on Dutch longer and longer after every class. Soon I’ll ditch English in my brain entirely unless I’m writing or watching something from the BBC. Looks like beginning September I’ll be in a new class. New teacher, new building, new classmates. And a whole new learning regime. I only hope that my new instructor is as good as my current one. Getting a mush mouth or someone who screws me up isn’t going to go over well with me. In the meantime I’m cramming as much knowledge as I can possible stuff into my head while I still have my current instructor to correct me.

Wish I could feel more excited over this change. I’m not excited. Just apprehensive.

I don’t want change right now. I’m just starting to feel safe.

*sigh* But I guess there’s really nothing safe about learning a new language. You’ve got to put yourself out there, try to talk to people even if you screw up. It’s the only way to move forward.

Part of me already bemoans the loss of my lightening fast communication in English. The only answer to that is: drill, drill, drill.

Meanwhile, in other parts of my brain…

Last night’s telly viewing was difficult, particularly at first. All I could do was count how many men were seen vs women and in what context they were shown. When The Daily Show came on all I could think was that I’d been watching it since the beginning, with Craig Kilborn as host, and if media had fulfilled its lip service to fair representation of women, two of the three hosts The Daily Show has had should have been female. But no. Not one woman among them. Then it was onto a BBC panel show, which had a fairer representation: half women and half men. I cooled of a little bit. Wound up the night with Castle, which I enjoy – yet I couldn’t help but notice that although the main character is surrounded by females, it’s still a man’s show.

I don’t know about anyone else, but for me there comes a time I just have to throw up my hands and declare ‘Men!’ as the only possible answer to this continual conundrum. And that’s NOT a blame statement. It’s just an acceptance of the fact that the opposite sex simply can’t grasp this idea. They’re blinded to their blindness. Just as once the majority of men didn’t see a problem with slapping a girl on her behind or pinching her ass, the majority of men now can’t see the more subtle programming that’s present in every single thing the ‘modern’ world produces.

What I want to know is: what happened. I’m not completely ignorant on this subject. During a certain time period in human history, women were the rulers. Our ability to give birth was viewed as a mystical thing, the feminine essence was worshipped, and at least 50% of the deities prayed to were female. Then came the change. Men came to the forefront. Women were blamed for the original sin. Commandments came down that basically enslaved us.

So who was the woman that took it too far? Who was that one upstart that men felt so threatened by they erased her from history? The more I look at it, the more convinced I am that this is precisely what’s happened. We can see similarities in modern history, at least in the attempt to blot from history certain persons (after all, if those who re-write history are successful, we never find out what we don’t know). The saddest thing is, if I’m right, we’ll never know her name.

Let’s all raise a glass to those women we don’t know, the ones who came before us, who thought, who fought, and who’s voices have been drowned out by the passage of time. They are me, and they are you.

Okay…gonna climb off that pulpit for now.

I’ve got test results to pick up from my doctor’s appointment. The doc just said ‘call for the results’ and at the time I was too pleased that the appointment went well to question any further. Calling..on the phone…*shudder* I don’t think I need to reiterate how much I hate that in English, much less Dutch. I don’t know if I need to speak to the doctor of if someone else can relay the info and set up a further appointment if needed. So I’m not sure if I can just drop by and find out what I want to find out at the front desk. Need to make some sort of decision in the next 24 hours. Just imagining the lifeless voice of the automatic answering service – in Dutch – makes me wince. I’ve tried calling before.

Still. Props to me. One year ago and just going to the doctor’s to ask for an appointment made me break out in a sweat, never mind trying to call on the phone. Progress has been made, and that’s good. …Having a VERY difficult time accepting that. Very. difficult. My speed is just never fast enough, no matter what I do. I always see what I don’t know rather than what I do know.

I blame my mother. And my sister. My moster. Or my sither?

Yeah, let’s crack that brain wide open with nonsense. Just what it needs. Shut up.

Hey. I’m doing all I can to contain that shiver running up and down my spine. Don’t ask me for anything coherent.

In a few short hours I’ll be alone, able to let this madness loose via pacing and talking to myself, probably in tongues. There’s not many things I choose to do solo. But this? This is a one horse horror, and when she comes riding to town it’s best to skedaddle.

Yee-haw.

Sling-shot Maneuver

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Yesterday was unique. I stuck to my plan to give myself a day puttering with sound. And I refused to limit or restrict myself. Ergo, I began over a dozen “songs” that got erased before completion. I also scribbled down new lyrics. Most of all, though, I talked aloud to myself.

I know it’s a sign of insanity. Or so they say. But for me, talking aloud to myself is a calming, relaxing experience. It’s important for me to hear me say the words. To take everything in, from my ears right down to the inner most atom in my body. I don’t want to be interrupted and I sure as hell don’t want to be listened to by anyone else. The planets had that rare alignment yesterday; my brother was gone for most of the afternoon, and I paced and talked and listened to myself for most of that time.

Talking yourself down from the edge of paranoia and panic isn’t easy. For me, it takes repeating hard, absolute facts over and over. It’s not happening today. Nothing will happen at the drop of a hat. I’ve got time to change this. I drill those ideas into my brain like learning a new word in Dutch. It grounds me. It also manages – at least yesterday – to stuff the pooka of paranoia back in its box.

As for what came out of me musically, I can only say it’s ambitious. Big. Everything I tried to write yesterday strayed out of my psychedelic trance genre and into I don’t know what. Pop, probably. I keep writing these damned three minute pop songs that aren’t for my voice. What I’ve got right now is fuzzy – undefined music and unfinished lyrics. Not surprising considering how much work got canned before I even gave it a chance to breathe. While I find that somewhat frustrating – I’m FAR too used to banging something out in one day – I’m letting it stand. Lyrically and musically I wanted to move, move, move. Fast. It’ll probably be a great little piece if I can manage to get it down out of the ether.

Cutting back on smoking is going as you might expect. I’m clock watching. Counting down the minutes before I can roll and smoke again. Reaching and taking a hit is just a habit I need to break. A repetitious pattern I’m used to making when I don’t know what else to do.

Maybe I should buy some gum.

My bro keeps telling me how much he wants me to go to this International Poetry Fest coming up. Ach! Performance poetry is something I did for a rather short stint. I haven’t performed live with it for years now. Yet it obviously had an impact. Most people think it’s the best thing I’ve done. It combines poetry (um, MY version of poetry, which academia thinks sucks), music (ditto, probably), and theatre performance (haven’t been dissed for THAT yet). I like doing it, too. It’s just hard to find a venue. And an audience. And people to help me. *rolls eyes* Anyway, I’ll be going to the poetry fest. I want to see and hear what’s going down here. Maybe someone will be doing what I do. Probably not. That’s good for me; I’ve pulled in more people who dislike poetry readings than any other artist I know (listen to me! geez! some part of me must agree that yes, this is one of them most powerful things I do).

Decisions. Don’t want to make them, don’t want to be cornered into one thing in life. The more people hold onto a one dimensional definition of me, the more erratic I’ll act.

Don’t. limit me.

!!! Okay. Even I didn’t expect THAT to come out of me this morning.

Hm. I guess this is what comes of not talking to myself on a regular basis and then having a whole afternoon DUMP on myself.

Fuck.

I’d like nothing better than to trip off to the Mountains of Kong. That’s an impossibility; the Mountains of Kong don’t exist. Look it up.

Yes, I’m having fun bouncing off every surface in the room. Wouldn’t you? What do you expect? I swam this morning.

..And while I was gone for a mo there a killer song came on The Chill Lounge. Did not get my ass up fast enough to find out what it was…

Gotta find a focus point for this energy this morning. My eyes stray to my musical notes…a ready made project. It’s gonna take massive planning to map this out. Just the kind of fussy, engrossing thing I need right now. HA! Who am I kidding? I’ll jump into it head first. Just start making sound, and HOPE that I can tie everything together in the end. Oh, mania. I have to laugh at you sometimes.

Well. I’m not gonna hurt anyone or anything by going insane on the equipment again. And who knows? Maybe I’ll capture another song. That’s always cool.

There’s crap to do. Always. Dishes. Picking shit up. Errands. All that stuff that gets in the way of and yet is, somehow, life. I don’t want to neglect that side of things. Not too long. Another rotation of the planet won’t mean the end of the world, though.

Pretty obvious I’m still zooming around. I’m at that point of just saying fuck it, fly with it. Go, baby, go. Can’t move fast enough for me right now. No idea where I’ll end up. Probably out by Pluto or beyond. Free flying, out of my orbit. The question is: have I built up enough speed to carry me through the black?

I know it’s a long shot. Still. I’m making that sling-shot maneuver.

 

Fun Centraal

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My feet, Grouchy and Sleepy

48 glorious hours to recoup before I head back up to the city that will dazzle and destroy you – Amsterdam. I think it’s gonna take that long for my feet to stop aching. Between now and then, the only walking I want to do is to and from my bed, the telly, and the toilet. If we run out of food I’m flipping getting delivery.

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what we saw

Yesterday was King’s Day. The color was orange and the word was fun. I didn’t feel strong enough to venture further than the neighborhood shindigs last year, so everything was as surprising to me as to my friends. The Netherlands is setting a record for the coldest King’s Day ever this year: snow in the northern areas, with cold rain and frequent hail by us. Did not stop the yahoos from going out in T-shirts only; I saw them. Mad people. Mad, young people with strong immune systems. I envy them and their casual approach to their health. The entire country (except those areas shut down by bad weather) was open air parties and one huge market. King’s Day is the one day where anyone can sell anything on the street with no permit. About 20% of the population clears out their homes of last year’s stuff, lays a blanket down in a public square, and does sort of a rummage sale thing. Plenty of regular stall sellers, too, but the thing that stretches the market from here to Groningen is joe public. Roads downtown are cut off to auto traffic. Nieuwe Binnenweg (a major crossroads downtown) was a sea of people on the sidewalks and people spilling into the streets – mostly in orange. If you had the strength and fortitude, you could have stocked your house from the ground up with everything: household goods, clothes for every size, knick knacks, cook wear, plumbing, electronics, plants and flowers. Frankly there were only two things I didn’t see for sale; people and hard drugs, and I’m sure SOMEWHERE that was going on, too (tho not condoned by anyone).

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what I want to see

And then there were the parties…I felt too old and weary to attend any of the thumping music venues. Doesn’t mean my smile didn’t widen and my step lighten when I walked past and heard great sound systems pumping out killer techno and trance. Well, they say three’s the charm. Next year will be my third King’s Day, so I look forward to feeling better and doing more.

Today there are two things on the chop block: smoke and play. I’m serious. My brother monitors my fun levels – as well as his own – and he’s declared that if he sees me doing anything other than playing games, smoking, or enjoying a film with my feet up, he’s gonna roll me a big fatty and sit down and make me smoke it in front of him until I calm down. Yesterday morning as I put shoes on my aching feet, I would never imagine that stopping, sitting, and taking a break would be so difficult. It is. I’ve been on a fast paced, active three day schedule and just STOPPING is hard. I’m exhausted but antsy. Keep feeling like I SHOULD be up doing something right now. I may fall back on that lone Ativan tablet I keep chipping away at. Take a bit to ensure I’ll relax. I still have tomorrow to run little errands (like getting my blood work done). Today I do nothing.

Yeah, I’ve wound up into a bit of mania or hypomania. Whichever. Just a bit too fast paced. Part of me wants to keep going with it. Of course! I’m walking all day long and barely eating anything. I KNOW I’m losing weight, pushing my muscles beyond what they normally do. If the pool was open, I’d be in it. Swimming HARD. Good thing for me it’s closed. I’m amazed I (knock wood) haven’t fallen ill since I’ve been walking around cold and damp for three days. Maybe once my friends are on their flights home I’ll collapse into a tired, fevered ball. Whatever is keeping me on my feet and keeping all illnesses away, it’s very welcome right now.

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TrefPunt; the coolest coffeeshop in Rotterdam

If I manage to change out of my pj’s – and there’s no guarantee that I’ll even TRY to change out of them – I’ll be donning my new T-shirt. My favorite coffeeshop, TrefPunt, had a King’s Day special: for 35 euro you got a 5 gram bag of unmarked weed and an orange TrefPunt T-shirt. The grass is not the highest quality, of course, but I’m surprised to find the T-shirt IS. It’s a warm, thick cotton blend with the TrefPunt logo, which is uber cool. Of course, wearing the TrefPunt T-shirt is akin to wearing a shirt with I AM A STONER written across your chest. But I AM a stoner so I wear it with pride and give anyone who even THINKS of looking at me askance one of my wide, all-knowing grins. It’s not a shirt I’d wear to language class or when I have a doctor’s appointment. Any other time, though, it’s fair game.

I think a new game for my computer is called for. Something I can zone into for several hours today. Fun! I’m a kid in a candy store when it comes to buying games for my computer. I got into gaming late in life; I think I bought my first computer game when I was 40. Gaming is now the primary function of my computer. I always feel I could go to the library to write on my blog or answer e-mail, but it’s only on MY computer that I’ve got games I love to play . I don’t need to move one inch. I’m already where I want to be: Fun Centraal.

One Hell of a Ride

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No birthday of mine is complete without a ‘shit! did that REALLY have to happen?’ and I just got the one for this year. My brother still in the states has left a birthday greeting plastered on my Facebook page telling the world I’m 50. My FB page has been 10 years light on my age since I began it; it was originally a marketing idea. So much for that. What a fucking idiot. I swear. The dude doesn’t talk to me for five fucking years and then he goes and does some stupid shit like that. I’ve half a mind to blast him, half a mind to let it go because he’s my idiot brother who just doesn’t know better. It makes me feel tired.

I’m also feeling a bit cynical this morning. After my deep depression last fall, I was determined to go out on social networks and tell everyone happy b-day on their day because even tho I was in the shit last year, reading the b-day greetings made me feel a little less horrible. So I did; I made a point of signing in and at least checking on birthday people. For all that, I got fewer b-day greetings this year than last. I would have thought maybe sharing the goodwill would bring it all around, you know? That putting out positive results in positive back. What a load of shit, at least in THIS instance. Exact opposite happened. So much for goodwill Beeps on social networks. I’ll happily go back to being a grumpy hermit.

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Yesterday, however, was good. I MADE it be good. Rain? I smiled; let it rain. Cold? I just bundled up under my coat and thought how fresh and brisk it felt. Other hiccups like getting the time wrong for the film? Ah, that just means we had time for a cup of coffee and a chat. I was determined to not let anything bring me down, to greet everything with a smile, and for 24 hours it worked.

Nice and easy when you’ve got a day of just fun stuff planned. Not so easy when you’ve got important tasks you need to do or appointments that you MUST make on time. I want drugs – a lot of them – to keep that shit up, but it IS possible. All that’s needed is time – lots and lots of that, ’cause all sorts of shit comes up to delay you – and patience, or a peculiar non-invested interest in all that goes on around you. Oh, really? That’s happening over my shoulder? Hm. Maybe I’ll turn around to look. In a minute. It’ll still be there. – No, it won’t, and you’ll probably miss it but you gotta ACT like it’s gonna be there forever. Or at least I do. As soon as my body starts to feel tight in any manner – I’m gonna be late, what’s that? where am I? – I lose my zen and freak out. I need one of those drugs that you could stand still and watch the blast of an atomic bomb coming at you and all you’d say would be ‘wow, look at all the colors’. That might work.

Today is my computer language class. I don’t want to go; I WANT to stay home and work on that new song I’m starting. But class isn’t about what I want to do, it’s about what I need to do. So I’ll go. For two hours I’ll sit and do something I could very well do in the comfort of my own home: work on the Dutch language program and read Dutch books. My head is sighing even THINKING about it. I’m having a hard time slowing down enough to read English thoroughly. Dutch is gonna be like pulling teeth.

And I’ve GOT to keep my phone by my side; I’m expecting another call from Addiction Central. Wednesday seems to be the only day anyone will make a phone call and if you don’t get the call when they dial you, you just gotta wait ’til next Wednesday. I’m done waiting. The b-day is over: I can come to your office and cry for the first 2-4 hour appointment. That’s all I was waiting for. Let’s do this.

And that’s just it: let’s do this. I want it over with. I want to be past it all already. I want their notebooks to be full of relevant info; I don’t want to have to go through it all AGAIN. *sigh* December’s gonna be one hell of a ride.

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Prove Me Wrong

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Pretty fuckin’ hard to deal when you open up your email, see 113 messages, and only 2 end up actually being for you. The rest is all notifications: you missed this, don’t forget that, check over here, loads of activity there.

Yeah, well fuck you too, world.

My mood continues to be in the fucking toilet and you’re not fucking helping.

The only thing that helps is smoking and Ativan, two no-nos. Or probably both are no-nos; why should anyone want me to have relief from my fucking pain? Isn’t that the fucking point of life: pain? Oh, fuck you. Come over here and deal from MY fucking shoes. I don’t tell you to put down that ice cream or stop drinking every fucking night or cease fucking your partner because ALL OF THAT can be used as avoidance methods and MOST people DO use them to avoid – yet that’s fine. Oh. So I should become an ice cream eating, scotch drinking, fucking machine and all will be well? I believe I’ve said this before, but if you haven’t caught it yet: FUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOU!

“You just need to get laid”, “Sex is such a great natural stress reliever”, “Eating ice cream doesn’t compare to your smoking a joint”, “I only drink to be social” – Go on, motherfuckers. Throw a few more inane statements my way. I fucking need some batting practice. Let me just line up here and – BOOM! Gee, your head makes a great fucking baseball. Let’s do that again. BASH. I’m feeling better, are you? BOP. Why don’t you have any more witty things to say to me?

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Oh, I see. The silent treatment. I’ve got that before. Know what? I talk to myself all the fucking time. Silent treatments don’t scare me or irritate me, they give me a chance to finally say everything on my fucking mind. Hope you’re not one of those pansy assed mothers who can’t stand to hear the word ‘fuck’, because fuck is said a fucking lot. And even if you are, I really don’t give a fuck.

To myself: I know we’re angry to prevent us from being sad. I get that. Thank you. Thank you for doing everything we can to prevent depression again. Thank you for protecting us. Thank you for standing up for us. I’m not even gonna suggest anything different, ’cause we’re doing the best we can right now.

😡😠😟😞😢😖😭

I’m still thankful for this blog. It really does sort out of my head before the day begins. Even if I’m in a shit mood, I can now COMMUNICATE that clearly to the only person in my life who matters – my bro. Much less friction in the house. Much less second hand blame thrown around. I’ll take it. I’ll take that one positive point – can’t think of any other right now.

My bro used my list of things to do as target practice yesterday. He saw I was pressuring myself and feeling like that turd stuck on your shoe, so he held up my list and gave me all the reasons why none of it was important. In the end, only two things remained: buy my lotto card and go and see George. I was really hoping for some ducky medicine, some disaster proof good feeling to brighten my day.

George is gone. I think a new group of ducks – clutch of ducks? what do you call a bunch of ducks? – has moved in. And I think – I THINK – that George and his buddies moved one canal over. He’s easy to spot; he’s a small mallard, smaller than usual. And then there’s his bag of tricks: no other duck does what he does. On my way home I noticed a small mallard swimming in another canal, so I’m hoping it’s him. Bad weather has closed in again this morning. Rotterdam is getting battered with it. I’ll wait for the next break in the weather and go out to see. I really hope it’s him. Kind of silly to miss a wild animal so much. But I do. I miss George.

My leg is still sore from the cramp I experienced in the pool on Thursday. That was a bad motherfucker of a cramp. Trying to ease it out, lots of massage and gentle stretches. Really feel like I got a valuable lesson on too much swimming. Well, I was asking for it. I gotta start to think more carefully about what I ask from the Universe. It has a funny way of giving me precisely what I ask for in an unexpected manner.

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Let’s see…Universe, I’d really like to know about the problems of having too much money. ‘Cause I don’t think there really ARE any problems connected to having too much money. All I can foresee would be easing of my stress. I wouldn’t need to worry about my ability to financially take care of myself. When the apartment gets to feeling too small I can take a holiday somewhere. I could fly to London and Paris and Berlin. I could seek out other artists and people I want to work with. I could get a group of workers in to hang up the rest of the shelves we need here and move stuff around so we don’t hurt ourselves. See? There’s no down side to it.

Prove me wrong.

Lotto draw tonight. I’m ready for lightening to strike.