Feels like a Monday

Meetings, paperwork, questions, look it up, more paperwork, more meetings. Ugh. Pulling together the new application for residency. Horrid shit. Hate having to fill in the blanks myself. Hard to believe anyone with “knowledge” of this process charges thousands to do just that, but they do, which is why I’m dragging myself through it. Gods. Nothing like sweating every little stroke of the pen to make you fuck up. I could write those answers out a thousand times on a blank sheet of paper. Doesn’t matter. When it comes to committing my answers to THE FORM, I freeze and make mistakes.

Strained my knee at the gym earlier in the week. Nothing bad, but had to take some days off. I’ve had knee problems, and I don’t want them again.

Watching tv. Reading ‘Perelandra’ from CS Lewis (again). Doing my best (per my bro’s request) to stay calm. Not working well, obviously. Here’s another five a.m. I’m seeing.

I’m tired and I’d like a break. No time! Next week begins my language lessons. Have I tried to wrap my tongue around Dutch lately? Hell, no! Have I run thru my lines for the upcoming production? Hell, no! Feel kinda bad about that, but only kinda. I did have my shit down cold before the break. And language…well, that’s a constant struggle. But hey; I deserve a holiday, too. Maybe I can’t go anywhere or do anything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve simple time OFF. Time to fuck off and do my own thing.

Kept the words of my excellent rejection in mind over the past few days. I’m a good writer. Keep telling myself that; it’s difficult to cut through years of feeling like and being told I’m a loser and actually grasp that truth. Of course, even my best intentioned thoughts are tinged with negativity: being a good writer is no guarantee of success. And I noticed certain family members who insist on commenting on everything bleeding thing I do (generally using subtle to not so subtle put downs in the process) have managed to stay quiet about the feedback I got on my script. Oh, got nothing to say now that someone has something NICE to say about me and my work? Well, no worries. It IS still a rejection, after all. You remain top dog in your own pathetic little world.

Gods, I hate my family. I mean really, really dislike them. A LOT.

Have not committed myself to anything just yet. I’ve more stories floating in my brain. Stories that pop up in the middle of watching tv, or on a walk. Letting it all be right now. My last script taught me that I can write off a strong outline no matter what occurs in my own life, and I trust myself enough now to back off a bit. Let those ideas rest. I’ll start to commit to paper in a few weeks. Ideas, sketches, characters. There are two strong contenders for my next project. Which one is chosen will probably depend on how full the outlines become. I suppose I should check on submissions calls; what people want, how limited the cast sizes are, etc. But I’m feeling like I just want to write. I’ve got a handle on most limitations, and it’s never a bad idea to just have stuff ready to send out.

…Checked out a couple of ‘playwright’ web pages. People who claim to be professional playwrights (don’t know and can’t say for sure, because I never heard of their works). Found one woman with 25 scripts to her name. I was impressed – until a deeper look revealed five of those scripts to be 10 minute affairs. Really? Isn’t that like a jingle writer claiming to be a song writer? Maybe I shouldn’t be such a bitch about it. Just take a look at one of these so-called 10 minute scripts. Not sure what kind of a “story” can be told in that short of time. …And then there was the rest of the so-called 25 scripts. Included a lot of shorts. A lot a lot. Very few full length pieces. By the end, I wasn’t impressed with her “credentials”. Though, DAMN! She listed a lot of awards.

Does humanity really suffer from ADHD? Seems so. Anything more than 500 words on a blog post is just asking to be ignored. Tweets have become the norm for communication – even from the American presidency. Ten minute plays, flash fiction – short, short, short! Is the illiteracy rate really so high? Seems so.

And you know…it doesn’t matter if I’m in the right on this issue. Doesn’t matter one bit. I’m the odd one out: a person who reads. There’s an old saying that a seeing man would be king in a world of the blind, but I don’t believe that’s true. I think that seeing man would be shunned, belittled, cajoled and ridiculed into going along with the mob. Because that’s the true nature of humanity: mob rule. Think differently and risk everything. Oh, maybe in ten or twenty or a hundred or so years the rest of humanity will catch up with you and then they’ll say ‘oh, gee, that person was such a genius!’ but I HATE the Van Gogh effect of dissing and ignoring artists and thinkers until long after they’re gone and then holding up their work, proclaiming it’s wonderful, and isn’t it a shame we didn’t give this person props when he/she was alive.

I mean really….fuck off! I hate this so much that if I actually get enough money together to bother with a damned will, I’ll write in a clause to reject ANY award given to my work post-mortem.

…Why, oh why, does it feel like a Monday?


Pacing Myself


Two days of mild, sunny weather. The bird shit is mostly gone from the balcony. Mostly. I can’t answer for the gang of birds who gather ’round midnight for a coo and a dump. I can say I took out a small bag’s worth of guano (had to shovel it. literally). With luck, we’ll get some more pigeon scarers out there before the week is over. And I’ll just make the balcony part of my cleaning rotation. Maybe if they don’t SEE huge piles of shit, they’ll be less likely to spend a penny themselves.

I swam. I walked. I was OUT THERE, baby. Figure I might as well enjoy the weather before it gets too hot for me. And for right now, I’m not having pain. At least, nothing that stops me or even gives me reason to pause.

Sleep is going to summer mode. Later nights, earlier mornings. Oh, joy. It’s not even May yet. By this rate, I’ll be getting 4-5 hours a night in June. If I’m lucky.

Woke up thinking about doctors and Heike and Addiction Central. Actually, my thought was very specific. They [Addiction Central] should have my phone number. The entire last phone call to the place replayed thru my head and buzzed around my annoyance over the receptionist’s inability to (1) understand much English and (2) get my phone number down correctly. I realized what a load of shit that was. As soon as my name, birthdate, or BSN gets typed into any computer, ALL my info comes up – including my damned phone numbers. So harassing me over my phone number was unnecessary. They already had it.

Just one more wind up from the Universe.

Also telling myself to GET OVER IT and go see my huisarts. Allergy season is here, complete with sneezing fits, coughing, and filling up tissues at a rate that makes me think my brains are leaking out. I need something to help. And I’m dragging my fucking feet because I’m still angry and embarrassed over the last visit. Every time I think of seeing my huisarts, the girl pipes up from the back of my brain: Like HELL I will. She also absolutely refuses to seek out a new huisarts. So she’s keeping us stuck. Gonna have to talk that out with her.

Been trying to find a new pace in life. Still active, but not so frenzied as I was in my 20s or 30s. Yes, it’s nice to get dishes done every day but the world doesn’t END if I don’t do them (Absolute 100% guarantee on that. I’ve tested it). So when my days get full or I feel tired, I don’t bother anymore. Used to push to ‘keep up’ with housework, which when I was already hurting or pressed for time only served to irritate me. These days, if I can’t take my time doing it I don’t even begin.

For the record, yes, I’m smoking “too much”. Big fucking quotation marks around THAT phrase, since it’s pure perspective. I’m probably back to the same rate I was pre Addiction Central, though it’s now on a lower grade marijuana than before. Overall, I’ve taken it down. Things are also working for me right now so I’m not gonna fuck with what doesn’t need fixing. And I’ve had some success on making life safer for me; I find times when I don’t WANT to smoke before going out into the world. Language class is a good example. I’ll take a few hits an hour before class begins, but I won’t stone. Same with heading out for errands. I want that edge taken off me but I don’t want to float around the stratosphere.

That’s progress.

Found a fantastic station on my tv system. ‘Round about the 800th channel the tv switches to radio service. A private radio service on the smart tv system. I’ve got 150 channels of non-stop, no talk, no advertisements, genre-specific music to listen to. And I’ve found my home: channel 900, The Chill Lounge. For the past several days I’ve had down tempo psy trance playing in the house and it’s UTTERLY RELAXING. My brother and I are both into it. We’re smiling more, talking more, relaxing more (even during this springtime manic phase). I like it SO much that I find switching to broadcast tv a bit jarring. The sound is harsher, people are talking (SO unmusical!), and the adverts! Ugh! I’m finding there’s very little on that makes me want to brave ‘live’ television. Let me record it so I can edit out all the stuff I don’t want to be exposed to. Spent 20 minutes just listening to The Chill Lounge last night while waiting for The Daily Show because Family Guy was on prior, and the east coast nasal quality (GRATING!) of the voices was just too much.

Less than two weeks before J comes to visit, and there’s still much to do. I want my hair done, for one. That’s always a production for me; walking in, using my Dutch to ask for an appointment, getting thru trying to describe what I want to the stylist, and just sitting there being unproductive for over an hour. Nothing I really look forward to. Maybe when I have more of the language it will be different. I’ll be able to chat with everyone.

*snort* Like I don’t find THAT an irritant some days.

Trying to stay focused on the bigger picture. To remember that it won’t be sunny days from here on out. Every once in a while I may have to suffer a hail storm. Bad days, triggers, frustration, anger – none of that is ‘behind’ me. The trick is to not let them STOP me. So I’ll continue on at a slower pace. Watching the road signs. Remembering to consult my map. Stepping back. Waiting. It’s okay to give myself time to think something through before acting on it. And it doesn’t matter how much time I take.

I have all the time I want.


Ready to Deliver


Hmmm….I’m rolling my morning smoke and eyeing up my bag. Either I got up in the middle of the night and decided that a snack of fresh bud was a good idea, or my brother inadvertently rolled from my bag. OR…I really have smoked that much, in which case, bad on me! But I swear that’s not how I left it last night.

And HMMMM again! The tobacco pouch is practically empty! The plot thickens! Someone was smoking last night, and it wasn’t me. That leaves my brother or Santa Claus. And it’s not Santa’s season.

Last night I experienced a period of time when I didn’t think about smoking. Full out didn’t need it, didn’t want it. I found I was perfectly fine just watching tv without toking away. Last night’s 5th J was less than half smoked when I shuffled off to bed. I’m getting close to taking myself down to 4. Maybe I’ll experiment and see what that’s like today. No pressure. If I do it, great. If I don’t do it, great. But I sure as hell will be listening to myself, and if I don’t need it I’m not smoking it. Even if there’s a J waiting in my ashtray.

Yesterday didn’t include much to talk about. In fact, my afternoon ‘job’ was to watch a film on our digital recorder and delete it. We’d filled it up again to 98%. So that’s what I did: relaxed, watched a film. It felt like my engine was cooling down, and sleep hounded me for the rest of the night. Kept dropping off and jerking awake until my brother laughed and said I’d better just get myself off to bed. I got in 9.5 hours – that’s a record in the last 5 years at least, maybe 10. Maybe more. I don’t sleep well.

Getting pulled in twelve different directions this morning. Imagining myself tackling my dusty shelves, getting studio work done, my sit-ups, squeezing in a walk, and deep conditioning my hair. Plus I’ve errands to run outside: my lotto ticket, pick up more smoke because (ugh) I just emptied one bag, finally make that hair appointment. My head says go, go, go and my body says no, no, no. I’ll never get it all done. Frustrating old woman with RA body! Really ticks me off that I can’t keep up with myself.

Fly, fly, my thoughts. Winged creatures circling above me. They dive in and peck at my brain, sparking some idea that has nothing to do with anything, then leave. Fuckers.

Sometime today I’ve got to squeeze in 20 minutes of Dutch, too.

Whoa! STOP. Right. the fuck. now. I’ve ‘got to’?!?! No I fucking don’t! I’d like to, I want to, but I sure as fuck don’t ‘got to’. I don’t GOT to do any fucking thing if I don’t want to. It’s my choice. I can sit in my jammies and play games and toke up all my bud if I WANT to today. Stop using that language!

Right now, I honestly think the most important thing I could do for myself today is to lay down flat in the corpse position and try to reach that zen place. All the rest is secondary. All the rest will be EASY if I reach zen. My still point.

Don’t think I can. Don’t think I can reach it today. Too fast, too much. Don’t want to be here. My head…my head! Chop it the fuck off! Stop up my ears with headphones and blast some damned music so maybe it’ll drown out the incessant chatter, chatter, chatter.

Maybe that IS what I need. Music immersion. I’ve been avoiding it because turning on my music and the visualizer means toking, which I don’t want to do. But I feel like I need it today, smoke or not. If I really have toked up that entire 2 gram baggy in slightly over 24 hours I’ve got some deep shit going on that I’m not acknowledging. Something I can’t bring out, which would then be the driver in my racing thoughts. FUCK! Goddamn mother fucking BULLSHIT! I thought I was beyond hiding things from myself!!!

…So fucking frustrated with me right now…I’d choke the living shit out myself if I could.

Deep breath. Where is it? What is it? Surface crap, surface crap. You can’t kid me, baby! That’s not enough to send us off like a rocket. What’s wrong?

Silence. That question shuts my head up. Can I trust myself enough to say okay, maybe it’s hypomania or mania or just being jazzed up. Jizzed up. Whatever. Don’t know. I’ve hidden things from myself in the past. Nothing more world-tilting than having a repressed memory surface. Throws everything into question. I’ve only had two experiences of it, both from childhood and both remembered as I became a teenager. Is there something more? How could I even tell?

I need to get out of my head today. Get my hands dirty and tackle real world stuff. If there’s something cooking back there, it will eventually surface. That much I can trust on. If I try to push it out it’ll just sink further in and be harder to access. Let it go. Damn! I’m all tight in my spine right now. Fucking fuckity fuck.

Fine. That’s the title of my new song. Only it’s all in caps: FINE. Because that’s the way I generally see it when I say it – I’m FINE. Yeah. It’s pure sarcasm. Maybe it’s time to get that little gem going again. I’m in just the right frame of mind to give the lyrics a go today. I want this piece to capture my anxiety, to give listeners the same rushed and slightly overwhelmed feeling I get. It’s all got to come from vocal delivery..And baby, I’m ready to deliver.