Goodbye, inertia


Can’t tell if my back is better or if I’ve just taken enough codeine pills to mask the pain. Plan to head to the physiotherapist this morning and beg for an emergency visit. Thursday is King’s Day, and the whole country shuts down to party. I’m trying to make sure my body doesn’t go into spasms the very minute everything closes – like it usually does.

The script is done and my request for a read through is out in the cyber waves. Already hearing from people, including the director of the theatre group who wasn’t signed up to come but wants to come (whoa, nelly!).

Better still, I have an entry form for the radio drama competition. Only took four emails. My real email is a dot com, has been a dot come for over 20 years. But no email program accepts dot com messages as genuine. Everything I send out automatically goes into people’s trash bins. I’m forced to use a gmail or yahoo account; one of those super conglomerates that steals every bit of information they can from me to sell it on for another cheap buck. Uncool. But it got the job done. I have a response. I no longer feel like I’m an idiot writing something for a non-existent competition.

Plus, I got the go-ahead on my proposal to write about the Night Witches. !!!

So in 24 short hours, I’ve flipped from feeling absolutely useless to being pretty damned high.

You know, I try to not be such a yo-yo. I try to keep my head on straight and my feet on the ground. But when I go so low so often I always feel I should let myself experience that high for a while. Feel good for a change. Positive. Confident.

Opened my mouth yesterday and said something that’s been kicking around in my brain for a bit now: perhaps NL has a grant program for the arts that my radio script would fall under. Perhaps my brother’s record label could apply for the grant, and put together the drama for a podcast. My bro was very enthusiastic. Could be a real gem of an idea; now I just have to find out if it’s possible.

Found a trial software program for scriptwriting. It’ll work with my older computer platform and it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. I’ve 30 days to play with it, which should give me enough time to get the radio drama uploaded and see how it looks.

Forward momentum. It’s something I feel my life has lacked. And it’s difficult to get it going. Ya gotta spin your wheels for a while before you get any traction. After all, I am trying to break the first law of motion: a body at rest tends to stay at rest. And I have been at rest for a long, long time.

Goodbye, inertia.


Numb me out


Struggling again. Sciatica pain has stopped me from doing more than just walking (which hurts). Now that I’m close to the end of my radio drama script, I took the time to really look at the terms and conditions on the BBC site. Those lovely terms and conditions have changed. Thanks, Brexit. Now the BBC won’t accept anything from outside the UK or Ireland. So I feel deflated, and like I’m working my ass off on one more thing that will never see the light of day, because of course I haven’t received any reply from the place running the competition….

I’m so fucking useless.

And sure, there’s one or two places out there that will do my hard worked script for free. …How insane have I been lately, thinking a radio script written in English has a chance in Hell as I sit in the Netherlands, surrounded by Dutch? Just about every English speaking country is under some isolationist spell at the moment; don’t even bother submitting if you don’t live here. Fuck.

Right now, I’m wondering if I haven’t made every wrong decision I possibly could have made. Shoulda done this, shoulda stayed there, shoulda said yes to that, shoulda, shoulda, shoulda…

Sundays suck.

Keep telling myself to keep going. Forge ahead. Pull myself up by the bootstraps. Obscurity does not necessarily equal shitty work.

It just makes it damned hard to keep the faith.

I take a little comfort from the fact that the door to acting is still open to me. I worry about my ability to physically get through it; to stay healthy, to keep my back feeling good, to be able to walk and move…these are real concerns for me. But at least I have that chance. I have something that gives me hope, and cements my determination to perform on stage again.

Writing isn’t like that. Feels like I have to beg at a table for scraps. Please, please consider this…please read my work…please, someone, answer me! Wonder who I should be blowing. Wonder if I would blow said person to have that chance.

…Have two weeks vacation. Two weeks, essentially, of Sundays. Gods! Will I even survive it? …Why was I looking forward to this time off?

Oh, yeah. So I could write. Go back to spinning my wheels. Churn out another tale no one will care about. Another script no one will ever perform.

Needless to say, I’m dragging my feet on contacting everyone about a read through. I’ll do it, regardless of how I end up feeling. I said I would, so I will. But I’m dreading it a bit. Dreading hearing whatever they think they need to tell me; the story is bad, the timing is off, the characters aren’t real, it doesn’t read well, I should try doing this or that, change the action – whatever. Can’t imagine anyone saying anything good about it.

Tomorrow I can pick up my refill of codeine laden pain pills.

Just in time. Numb me out.

On, Teb


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.