Moment to moment

Morphine. Mark the day. I’ve avoided it as long as possible because there’s nowhere to go from here, other than more morphine.

Saw my GP this morning. She took me seriously (thank the Goddess; I’m too scarred from docs ignoring me for years). Wanted to know the pressure points – I guided her hand to them with my eyes closed. Far too familiar at this point. Had blood tests to check on a nerve infection. Results were negative, for which I’m thankful. I don’t know what the treatment might have been, but the normally passive face of my doctor was very concerned when she spoke of this possibility. Now I’ve another appointment Monday morning, to discuss the situation.

Pretty sure I’ll hear TMJ. Damn. Should have been a diagnostician. Could have rocked that career. Not sure what it will entail. Maybe a mouth guard. From what I’ve read, they think it’s due to people clenching their jaw while they sleep. The nerve eventually seizes up and the pain is unbearable.

What’s blowing me away is that this occurred at a moment of high success and excitement, not horrible devastating loss.

Does this mean I can’t take success?

I said it was tough to take the compliments. Being acknowledged as a role model. Admired. Loved. All of it.

Am I so screwed up that I can take every rejection and pain without blinking, but love me and I seize up?

Oh, dear Goddess.

I don’t want to accept that. But I can’t deny the possibility of it.

…And the morphine pills have a refill.

Fuck.

I am thankful for the pain relief. Still a dull roar in the side of my head, but I don’t have to hold it or pace in a crazed manner.

I am also thankful for the dull, grey day outside. I don’t think I’d like it if the world looked happy and gleeful when I feel like this. It’s a visual reminder to curl up and take care of myself. My brother is cooking easy to eat, healthy food. Can’t eat much, but at least what I do eat is very healthy. Don’t want to sit too long. I know what can happen to my back. But I’m fairly buzzed. Hoorah. I like buzzed, especially after days of pain. So, walk? Mm. Not today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have my morphine legs, and walking on the treadmill will be okay. Right now it seems too much.

Watching Downton Abbey. Beautiful fantasy.

Don’t know about school next week. We’ll see how I feel. Don’t know about later today; ditto on that.

This is moment to moment living.

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Behind the door

Bah. Back to pain. Something else is wrong. I’ve had root canals and tooth problems; this ain’t that. This is an ice pick inserted at my temple and turned round and round for 2-3 hours at a time. This is my ear feeling full and sore, pain radiating down my neck, difficulty swallowing. And sleeping! Twelve to 16 hours a day has become my norm. It’s backing off slowly. If Sunday hit a 10 on my pain scale and Monday/Tuesday were 8, I’m around a 6 to 7. I can sit when it hits – most of the time. But I’m thankful for sleeping so much so I don’t have to be aware of it all the time.

Have an appointment with my GP tomorrow. Will take her thru it, including all the hot spots under my ear, in front of my ear, and at my temple. Don’t want to eat because that’s what seems to set it off. Even now – been eating mush. Really don’t have to chew, just move it around with my tongue and swallow. That’s still too much. Two hours later, I’m pacing and holding my head. Just willing myself thru it until it eases off. Then I’ve got to sleep.

Gods, there are moments when I’d like to just rip my entire face off. Yank all the teeth, cut off my ear and ear drum, rake out my throat. Anything. Even tho the level of pain has dropped, its persistence is driving me nuts.

Looked and found info on a condition termed TMJ, and that’s what I think is going on. My jaw doesn’t click, but other than that, I’ve got all the symptoms. I know docs hate patients who self-diagnose, but I also hate docs who don’t see the obvious, so I’ll mention it. I have to live in this pain box; I know where the limits are. You can think I’m being overdramatic, if it’s just a tooth. I know. I also know what it’s like from the inside, and let me tell you, your diagnosis is wrong. Don’t know what can be done. As usual, I’ll have waited too long. Had I seen my GP earlier, there’d probably be no question. But now some of it is backing off – mostly because I’m not moving my mouth at all, not talking, and barely eating or swallowing anything. I spend hours managing the pain that comes from what little mouth movement I do. And I sleep. I can’t go to my classes, I can’t go out, I can’t really do anything. Hell! I can only sit long enough to write this because (1) I already took a pain pill, (2) I haven’t eaten anything and (3) I lit up a J as soon as my eyes opened.

Too much.

No desire to sit on this thru the holidays. No desire to put up with it for one more day. Don’t want to eat anything today. Fuck.

Taking old ativan tabs. My brother had some left over. They’re 2 years out of date, but he’s kept them in the cool and dark, so they’ve still got a some potency left (and honestly, I didn’t care if I poisoned myself just so long as the damned pain eased off). They do seem to be helping, and if I’m correct about it being TMJ, they should help. Knock me on my ass, tho. Which is fine – I can sleep right now because I’m relaxed rather than being worn down by pain.

My appointment with the dentist isn’t ’til the 28th. Hoping for two things. One, that my GP backs up my suspicions on this TMJ thing, and two, that the seizing is long over before I have to crank my mouth open for an extended period of time. Right now, brushing my teeth is tough. Keeping my mouth open wide enough and long enough for work to be done…ugh. I don’t even want to think about it.

One thing has happened with all this sleep: the bags under my eyes are at their lowest level since I was 40. I knew I was tired most of the time. But several days of 12 hours plus sleep…that’s real tired. Maybe I need something to help keep me down on a regular basis.

Doing my best to stay positive. Telling myself that even if my GP does nothing, the pain is slowly getting better. I just don’t want to invest months in this. Barely talking, sleeping so much, dealing with it, dealing with it day after day even when you think ‘that’s it! that’s the last pain!’ but it never is… No wonder I’m so fucking exhausted.

Sent a text to my language teacher yesterday ditching class. Can’t talk or concentrate. All I’d do is rock back and forth in my chair holding my head. Why bother?

Planning to sleep to tv today. Have to take my pills, so I have to eat something. Ow. I’ll put that off as long as possible. Will take an ativan half an hour before eating. Maybe that’ll give it enough time to relax the area so it doesn’t seize up. Get thru the inevitable bout of pain post eating; I’m anticipating it now. Then sleep. Probably all day. Try to eat in late afternoon so the pain hits in the early evening. Shitty, right? Plan life around when you want the pain to hit. But that’s where I’m at. Get it done early enough that I can sleep by nine at the latest.

There’s very little left to life when you’re compartmentalizing agonizing pain.

I’ve got pretty good at it over the years, tho. Sad to list it as one of my special skills, but, there it is. I’m pleased enough to sit here without feeling the need to nurse my head. To breathe in and experience little pain.

The big pain sits behind a door marked PAIN. And that’s where I want to keep it.

My kind of Monday

Pain. Let’s talk about it, because yesterday it was my entire world.

Started having trouble on Saturday. Pain in my right upper jaw. I’ve got a tooth up there that hurts sometimes – like when I get sinus infections. So I wasn’t too worried. But it got worse. And worse. Spread to my whole jaw, and my ear.

By yesterday I couldn’t sit still. The pain was too much. I also got a bit woozy and light headed from it, but I couldn’t stop pacing. Wanted to try to make it to Monday before seeing someone. Couldn’t. Called the emergency number for my dentist and made an appointment.

Now, my film friends got their wish. We had snow. Real snow, with real accumulation. And on that one day of winter white-out, THAT’S when this had to happen. Had to travel in slush and cold, deal with delayed metros, the works.

They were late getting to me, naturally. Everyone must have had dental problems at the same time. Waited for an hour and a half in agony, pacing the floor, holding the right side of my head, and occasionally wincing.

Abscess? Nope. Cracked tooth? Nope. Infection pocket somewhere? Nope. They did full 360 x-rays of my mouth – absolutely no frigging problem anywhere. He tested my teeth and got zero reaction other than a normal one. But then a wave of pain hit while I was in the chair, after he’d injected me with numbing agents. It took me right back up on my feet, and the dentist was worried. That shouldn’t be happening, he said. A few more tests – this time, he hit a spot that almost made me jump through the roof. Yep, that’s the one. But I puzzled the dentist. He finally chalked it up to an irritated nerve that wouldn’t stop hurting.

Emergency root canal. Yeesh. You can hardly find three such intimidating words to string together. I was bloody shaking in my boots – not only was I in agony, I was terrified three times over. I hate dentists in general, and here it was a damned emergency. But at that point, I didn’t care if he pulled all my teeth. Just make the pain stop.

At first, it was fine. After the wave of pain left me, the area was numb. He began the procedure. Drilling: no pain. Start the work: no pain. It was the last bit, the final nerve and cleaning that was pain personified. I held up my hand as he’d asked me to – Stop! It hurts! He gave me about 10 second to catch my breath before continuing. And I squirmed. Tried not to squeal or cry out. It hurt like hell, and he kept saying ‘almost done’ for what seemed like forever.

Finally, thirty very long minutes later, it was over.

The head-splitting agony I’d been going thru was done. I could sit still. I could walk without feeling like I might pass out. And for the first time that day, I felt hungry.

Now I must make an appointment with my regular dentist and get the temporary filling replaced. Heading there this morning. Sad because I was going to go up to the film set and see everyone, turn in my expenses, and pick up the lights. But the echo of the pain I experienced is still with me. Eventually, that will fade. That happens. You kind of forget HOW bad it was – and that’s okay. For now, I remember all too clearly. And I just need some down time. Time to heal. Time to forget, if I’m honest. I don’t want to remember the last 48 hours.

HERBAL INFO TO REMEMBER: Chewing raw garlic for tooth aches works. It is horribly nasty, and you can’t swallow the garlic or the garlic oil in your mouth (stand by a sink and get ready to spit a lot, because raw garlic will really get your saliva glands going). And it’s temporary. I chewed four cloves of garlic yesterday afternoon because the pain kept returning. But damn! It gave me relief for 30-40 minutes at a time, and I was very grateful for it. Kept me from going completely crazy.

Someday, when I’ve left this flesh and moved on, they’ll open up this body to see what made me tick. And I hope to hover above the table, or sit in the corner, just to hear them say ‘Aha! Look at that! So that was her problem! That was why she had this pain, that was why she didn’t respond to this medication, that was why. She was wired differently.’ And they’ll take their notes and pictures, and maybe in the long run it will save someone else from going thru what I’ve gone thru.

Or, maybe they’ll just dump me in a trash container.

Happy thoughts. See why I need a little mental break?

It might be a pj’s all day kind of day. Just call the dentist (even confronting Dutch on the telephone isn’t as scary as what I just went thru). Watch films and cartoons. Play. Baby myself a bit. No scripts, no homework, no guilt over not making it up to the set today.

My kind of Monday.

Thank you, me

Time off is a good thing. It gets you out of your rut, changes things up, adds a bit of excitement to your life. It also screws mightily with your schedule.

After more than a week off from hard exercise, I was a bit worried I’d find myself slow and weak at the gym. While I admit my arms are like a baby’s – more flab than muscle, so they ARE weak – the rest of me was more than up to the test. Took it easy; still have a performance on Friday. But I fell into my run/jog on the cross trainer, falling only a little short of 3.5 km in 30 minutes, without a hiccup. Kept an eye on my heart rate (at my age, I feel that’s a public service more than anything: make sure the old lady doesn’t keel over from a heart attack). 120, 130, 140. Then a push and up to 150. Yes! Seems that’s the magic number for me. The sweat pours out of me and the endorphins must kick in because it – all of it, from the sweat to the burn in my legs – feels good.

*sigh* The full force of my addictive personality really leaves me feeling bummed. But I guess I should pat myself on the back; at least I’ve found an outlet for it.

Today is a physiotherapy visit. Haven’t seen my guy in a while – busy with the play and too poor to pay for a visit. Think I now know how to handle my visits. I can keep a good 8 weeks between appointments as long as I keep active. However – wait; I should say HOWEVER – if I have more than 2 days down due to illness or injury, I need an appointment. All it takes is 2 days for the pain to creep back in. The flip side of that is that all it takes is 2 days of movement to make me feel better. And that’s good…great, in fact. But there are times when 2 days of movement is beyond me. Hence, my need for physiotherapy.

Besides, do I really want to give up an occasional visit to the cutest guy I know?

Nope.

Got through half my Dutch homework. Still have 4 letters to write. Spoke up in class when yet another ‘you’re having a party, write a letter to your friend’ homework task was handed out. Can’t we please do a letter to someone else, about something else? How about a complaint to the electric company? Something like that would be more useful. So I got an extra 2 letters for my outspokenness. Good. I do well with homework, and usually have the time. May I have some more, please?

Something has clicked in my brain with Dutch. Was aware of it last night as I watched tv. I like Dutch tv; they run plenty of English programs with Dutch subtitles. Right from the start, I read the subtitles (or tried to; they go by fast for a beginner reader). Doing that has helped me figure out the meaning of many words, particularly when watching a cartoon or program for younger audiences. I see words repeated, hear words repeated, and pretty soon it becomes evident that this word means thus and so. But some sentences have always confused me. Too many words, too many ‘je je’ or past tense verbs or other things I just don’t understand. Last night, though, it was like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle were slid into place. Suddenly no sentence seemed too much: here’s the subject, the verb, the modifiers, the helping verbs. Instant recognition, even if I saw a word I hadn’t encountered before.

By jove, I think she’s got it!

…My mood has improved. Obviously. That’s two references to favorite childhood films.

Thank you, me, for going to the gym and working so hard. Thank you, me, for sweating and pushing through the wall. Thank you, me, for being so committed to our health that we get to the gym in the first place. Thank you, me, for listening to our concerns, taking them into account, and being careful with our body.

Most of all, thank you, me, for trying so damned hard.

Fill it up

Saturday. Summer heat is here. Nights are still blessedly cool, but you can tell the dog days are coming: the shady areas under trees are no longer colder than the sunshine. The earth doesn’t have to suck up every bit of warmth to wake up and get the day started. It’s warm already.

There are a very slim few weeks after the bitter cold leaves and before the real heat sets in when I feel GOOD. That time is now. Taking advantage of it by walking outside in the sun with no jacket on. So pleasant! To not shiver when a breeze blows; ach! That’s a slice of heaven.

Began a bit of research for my next writing project. Reading what’s available on the web. Taking notes. Not really believing it because, well, it’s on the WEB. The web is not an accredited source, which is pretty evident once you begin taking notes and find that just about everything out there contradicts some other information.

Working to get the hate out of my heart. And oh, how I hate these days! There are more than a few people I’d gladly kill. Blow them the fuck away because I think the world actually would be a better place without them.

I’m not the fucking messiah. I can’t turn the other cheek (it’s black and bruised and torn). And unlike Sting, I can’t write an upbeat pop song about it.

Woke up and realized I’ve decided to tell my long term FB pen-pal he can go hang himself. Haven’t done it yet. Haven’t decided on the exact wording. But I can’t be friends with someone who voted to destroy the environment, illegally withdraw human rights from millions of people, and restore male dominance over a woman’s body. This decision goes against my people-pleasing. It’s hard to tell him to fuck off. But…I just can’t imagine continuing any discourse with this person. I don’t want to tell him anything about myself. He’s violated my trust, as surely as if he’d raped me himself.

Hm. Maybe that’s how I should put it. Think he’d get it?

Reading Dutch now with little hiccups. Still many words I wonder about. Do my best to catch the meaning from the sentences. I think I’ve read enough to get a flow going. My inner voice speaks the words out (sometimes VERY slowly, especially if it’s one of those 36 character compound words the Dutch love so very much). Not sure I’m pronouncing some things correctly – syllable emphasis is everything, and when I’ve got four or five syllables to choose from…well, YOU tell me which is correct. And naturally, being a story, it’s all past tense verbs. But my grammar is improving. That was evident in Friday’s language lesson. I heard less correction from my teachers, and saw more nods and smiles. Maybe my Thursday teacher doesn’t like me – I don’t really know, and probably never will. But there’s no reason for me to feel like an idiot. I’ve been studying with volunteers in a haphazardly taught program for two years and I’m doing pretty well. Yeah, the book I’m reading is “only for teens” and maybe the way I pronounce some words does reveal my American roots (two comments from Thursday that are still bugging me), but I’m making progress.

That’s good. Think of positives.

Smoking less. That’s because I made hash brownies. Still. It earns a check mark. Getting fresh air and regular movement. Not my heavy duty work outs, but maybe that’s a good thing, too. Pretty much pain free. Can walk, bend, turn, lift, and use my hands without wincing. Definite positive. Still got great hearing. Ignore the ringing; ignore my stray thoughts that make me wonder if I’m hearing all the life getting sucked from the planet. I can hear, and hear well. Positive.

Now all I need to do is fill up my time…

Take the flag

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It’s a hell of thing to be sitting somewhere in public, waiting patiently, minding your own business, nothing at all wrong, and then, when you try to stand, you freeze with pain. Don’t know what sound escaped my mouth or which facial expression spasmed across my face, but I can tell you this – it caused five grey haired pensioners to gasp, get up, and try to help me.

Gods!

Must not have looked too good.

Spent yesterday morning growing ever more paranoid during my language lesson. The other student was present again (surprise), and I noticed my teacher took ten to fifteen minutes to catch up and chat with her but far less to chat with me. Now, I know I’ve surpassed the other student in language use. I’ve come to lessons regularly, worked hard, and made a lot of progress. So it’s only natural that the teacher would try to draw out the other student more than me. Get her talking again. …Right? I was careful to note the teacher’s body language. Not too skewed, but she did seem to lean a bit towards the other student. …Does my teacher not like me? *sigh* What have I done now?

I guess that’s the risk anyone takes when they choose to not be a milksop. Have opinions, state them. Have energy when you communicate! For pete’s sake, don’t talk to me like it’s the closest thing to death; deadpan and distracted. Look at me! Fire up your soul! Maybe we’ll come to loggerheads but at least we’ll know we don’t like each other. But don’t hide yourself. Don’t say ‘uh-huh’ to everything, never offer an original thought, never let anyone see anything of the real you. …That’s my opinion, anyway.

But I’ve been told I can be a poor communicator. Not because I’m unclear or uninformed; just the opposite. Because I’m too clear, too informed. I’ve been told many people don’t like to discuss big issues in life. It makes them uncomfortable. But big issues is where my head is at. Big issues were what I discussed at the dinner table as a kid.

After 50+ years of big issues, I can say that there are a whole lot of people out there who don’t like discussing them. And they don’t like me because of it.

That always makes me feel bad. I don’t mean anything improper about it. Just the opposite. I want to know where people stand on this stuff. I want to know their reasons for their choices. So I ask. And people get put off, or offended, or feel so uncomfortable around me that they choose to not hang out or be my friend.

It’s the risk I take, being me. Because for all the disappointment and lost possible friendships, every once in a while I find a real gem out there. Someone who fires up just as quickly as I do. Someone with a magpie mind fast enough to keep up with me.

That ain’t my Thursday teacher. Nor my Friday teacher.

Not that I expected either of them to be my friend.

…Well, I can move freely enough today – so far. I’ll try going to class, but I’ll take my heavy duty pain pills with me. Or maybe I should just take one now. Get a jump on the stiffness and pain. Probably the smart thing to do.

This ain’t gonna stop me. Not the pain, not the stiffness. Not the idea that my teacher doesn’t like me. Not the embarrassment over forgetting words I knew a few weeks ago. Not my slight dyslexia that always makes me screw up numbers.

Feels like I’m gearing up for war. A war on everything that’s going to try to stop me. I know what my goal is. I know what I need to do to get there.

Time to take the flag.

 

Zombified

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Yo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Tall Order

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Saturday, and I can’t sleep. Up after seven hours. Up because my side hurt. My sciatica hurt. I felt everything in my ears shift and my left side kinda got blocked again. And I’ve a ghost of a headache that won’t stop haunting me.

Getting older sucks.

I’m obsessed with radio script format. Began work yesterday with five items open on my desktop so I could view all the notes, the template, my original story, and the file I was working on, all at once. Slow going, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. Roughed out an outline with a min of eight scenes to get the story told properly. Keeping in mind that those eight scenes should stick within the 3-4 page range, since I’m shooting for a 30 minute finished piece. Thinking of casting requirements, and which roles can be doubled up. Figuring out how to write proper sound notes. Most of all, I’m working out how to tell the story sans narrator. Might have to fall back on some narration if I can’t get the script within 30 pages with all the dialogue needed to convey what simple narration can do, but I’ll save that as a last minute thing. I know it’s  a stronger story without voice overs.

Did not get to the gym yesterday. All good intentions setting out, but by the time I returned home after my language lesson I was so wound up by one of my teachers I just couldn’t head over there. Worried I was a bit of a bitch in class yesterday; had to call said teacher on what I considered a real mistake: he made the claim that ‘ankle’ and ‘heel’ are the same thing. Hey; my Dutch isn’t great, but your ankle is your ankle and your heel is your heel – two very different things, no matter what language you’re talking. I felt berated by said teacher over a new word, which my Dutch to English dictionary defined as ‘stationery’. As a Midwestern US expat, ‘stationery’ is very specific to me: it’s a printed letterhead. Here, it’s pens and pencils (what I’d call writing instruments). But no. I was told I was wrong. I was needled over my answer. I explained myself. I was told I was wrong again. I asked what the correct answer was, and was told to guess yet again. This is the behavior I get on my Friday lessons, and it drives me UP THE FUCKING WALL. I don’t guess my least likely answer; I give you my best informed choice. Don’t keep asking me to throw out words AT RANDOM to try and figure out YOUR idioms. This is CLASS. Fucking TEACH ME. And this was on top of him disagreeing with my Thursday teacher and telling me two of her answers were wrong, then bashing her a bit by asking ‘who is she? a professional teacher?’, like HE’S a professional teacher (he’s not; he’s a volunteer) or anything special.

*GROWL!*

… Just a wee bit pissed off about that.

So a few days after posting a notice on FB, the theatre group has sent me an email reiterating the dates for auditions and providing a link to the script text. They’ve also asked for my preference on audition dates, and I think I’ll go for the latter night. I’ll show up the first night, to watch, to listen, and to ask a select few if they’ll join me on my own script reading/workshop project. But I’ll leave the actual audition for the second night. You know how it goes: people are more apt to remember the last couple of acts than the middle five at a big show, and the same thing goes for auditions. Plus, I want an opportunity to see how other people interpret the roles, I want to hear what the members of the group say for feedback or suggestions, and I want some time to figure out if I’m really going to audition or not. These people have yet to convince me they’re not all dicks.

Has my brother somehow been reading this blog? I have no idea. I can tell you he’s been extra supportive of me lately, and even listened to me when I talked about the radio script I’m writing. It’s a pleasant change to hear supportive comments rather than the same blow-offs I’ve had recently. My guess is he’s feeling the pressure is off him now regarding our immigration situation. I hope that gives me reason to hope (note: it’s all going down on the coming Tuesday).

Forgot to make an appointment to see the doc about my hearing. Putting it on my calendar for Monday, along with getting my roots done at that student hair salon. That’s setting up Monday to be a wash, with little to no time for my own work, but that’s the way it’s got to be. Maybe dishes won’t get done. Somehow they’ve magically been finished every day, neatly cleaned, dried, and re-stacked. That fairy might take time off to write a few lines in her new script.

Meantime, there’s loads to do. Move, so I’m not in so much pain. Write to make my deadline. Saddle up and do a dust bunny drive. Hit one of my last three big cleaning jobs and get it done. Most importantly: don’t freak out, don’t hurt myself, and try to keep my smoking in check.

Ye, Gods! That’s a tall order.

On, Teb

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Good or bad, my new script is out. Hard to stop beating myself up; the place I sent it to had an on-line submission page, and only allowed one PDF file to be uploaded – yet it asked for the script AND a cover letter, two completely different things. Couldn’t make it work any other way; I had to go back to the on-line software I’m using and insert a cover letter at the beginning of the play text. It’s not where a cover letter should sit, and that’s bugging the hell out of me. But if anyone knocks me down for what I did, they can suck the balls of a donkey. It was the only way to give them everything they wanted. So, that’s California. Now I’m haunting the website of a New York theatre, waiting for their submission period to open. Gotta keep checking online, too: never know when a new notice will be posted.

Still really fucking scared. I get moments of heart stopping anxiety. My body goes cold, the never ending pit to Hell opens up in my stomach, and I completely leave my body. Those moments are less frequent now than a week ago, so I guess I’m making progress. Can’t say it feels like it.

I’m probably making progress on losing weight, too. But again: I don’t feel like it. My body looks (to me) as wide and as fat as ever before. Lately I’m at the gym for extended periods to prevent me from smoking all afternoon, not for weight loss. Two hours a day should accomplish both: no smoking and loads of caloric burn. Yet somehow my smoking level remains fairly constant (according to the butts in my ashtray the next morning), and my body is still flabby and thick.

The sciatica pain is better. That’s something.

Hearing: same. High end ringing and fizzy popping like you just opened a can of soda and put it right up against your ear to listen to the carbonation bubbles – all the freaking time. Get up, that’s what I hear. Go to sleep, that’s what I hear. It’s at a low enough level I can hear most other things as well, and in noisy situations I can’t make out the ringing or the fizzing popping, but put me in a quiet space and it’s the first thing I’m aware of. Bass frequencies are difficult or (in some cases) even missing from my audible range. High end frequencies cause all the fizzing popping to get even worse, and I’ve found some music on my iPod tweaked too high on mixing boards; it hurts me.

Handled a bread knife yesterday doing the dishes and didn’t think once about cutting myself.

Experiencing fear and a bit of amazement over the idea of being able to reach out and make things happen in my life. Case in point: been talking about getting a read through of my first script since I began writing it. Now – BOOM! Have two English speaking and reading volunteers, and a possibility of using the comic guys’ new shop one evening if nothing else pans out for me. Suddenly it’s become real, and not just a stray thought. And I find myself shy about doing it. Scared. Nervous. Worried, even. How can that happen so fast for this one thing, yet so much of my life involves waiting around for months at a time?

Going on six weeks now with the local theatre group. Still waiting for that announcement that’s “coming soon” for auditions.

Speaking of waiting, I was treated to a rejection email the other day from a publication I sent a piece out to over a year ago. Gee! Like I couldn’t figure out you didn’t want to use my stuff after not hearing from you for thirteen months. But thanks for the standard automatic reply.

I am flying blind, and terrified.

Still. On, Teb.

A harsh woman

The morning has been derailed. How and why? Two well placed words; that’s all it took. Two words connected with (again) one of my uncle’s emails: Sarah Palin.

As if I want to hear anything that person with a vagina has to say! (SP is not a woman in my book; SP is a man with a vagina or womb, just like the word “woman” implies.)

The why of it all escapes me. Perhaps it was just to rile me up; people tend to find that shit funny. Like me getting angry and passionate over something is fucking funny. Ha, ha, ha! Look at the female getting all upset over women’s rights!

Some things are good. I find it good that I don’t live in the states anymore. I find it especially good that I have zero access to guns (great temptation this morning, and if I still lived in the US and had access to guns – which I would have IF I lived in the states because guns are fucking everywhere – I’d start killing people).

Some things are bad. My sciatica woke me up this morning, despite the exercise I’ve been getting. I’m disappointed in myself to not be able to ride out the latest tide of bullshit from my family without losing it.

Looking forward to my bro going to the comic book shop today. Good! Get the fuck out of the house!! Let me work on MY writing for a change. Feels a lot lately like my life revolves around my brother’s. Help him do his stuff. Make sure the kitchen is clean so he can cook dinner. Tidy up when he’s out of the house so it’s not a mess. Been trying so hard to make sure his life runs smoothly that my own is getting left behind.

Not that I have much of a life to live.

Things I don’t understand:

  • I don’t understand women in videos who get real excited and start screaming when one of their children announces they’re going to have a baby. Do. not. get it.
  • I don’t understand how so many people on tv shows can get involved in community projects yet remain such shitty people.
  • I don’t understand what’s taking so fucking long with the theatre group. All they need to do is set a date and announce it.
  • I don’t understand people who lie to make themselves feel better. Lying out of guilt I can understand. Lying because you want to hurt the other person or put them down, I don’t get.
  • I don’t understand anyone who supports 45 or any right-wing politician. Talking to those people is like hitting my head against a brick wall. They’re all ignorant. You can point out every hypocrisy in their agenda, and the followers all just nod their heads and say ‘yep’ like it makes sense.
  • I don’t understand men who think rape is funny, or something to be streamed live on Facebook, or something to be excused because they have “a sexual emergency”. Cut all their dicks off.
  • I don’t understand why I have such a hard time keeping it together.

…Right. Popped a codeine pill for the sciatica. Smoking a J to calm the Sarah Palin anger. And screw you if some judgmental crap just came up for you in your head; I’m fucking dealing with it in my own fucking way and fuck you if you don’t fucking get it.

I’ve been called a harsh woman, and I guess that’s true. Cross the line with me and you’ll never make amends. You can’t. My “line” goes pretty far. I’ll take a lot of shit, a lot of pain from people before I cut them off. But once cut off, that’s it. And if it seems a surprise to you, if you’re one of those people who turn around to look at me with a shocked expression on your face because up to that very moment I haven’t complained about you bashing me around every single second of your existence, then my response is simple: you have no human decency. Not even the concept of it. If you had any inkling of decency you’d understand your behavior is unacceptable. Hurtful. Wrong. But no. You try to make me feel I’m wrong. I reject that.

But I will mirror your behavior back to you. Laugh at rape and I’ll call for all dicks to be cut off. Treat me like a second class citizen and you’ll find a full scale revolt on your hands. Belittle me, hurt me, ridicule me – it will all come back to you in spades. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But never mistake a passage of time for the idea that I forgot what you did to me. I didn’t forget.

And I am a harsh woman.