Working on it

Language class. I turned in the Roald Dahl yesterday. Felt like I was giving up something precious, a well-loved toy. But my enthusiastic review of the book has more than one person in class interested in reading it, so…*sigh*…let them read it. Half the class left at break; next week is vacation and many were leaving early to head off to exotic places. The second half of class was warm. Intimate, even. Our teachers asked each of us what we most wanted to learn next semester, and gave us time to chat away (and get corrected on grammar). They also gave us a verbal review of our progress and work. The one thing we all heard was ‘slow down’. Forming Dutch sentences is difficult. Perfect past tense verbs get split, and personally I find it damned hard to remember the last part of the verb pairing in a long sentence.

I am in the top percentile. No more doubt about it. That terribly tricky article we had for homework was discussed. As usual, I went far beyond most. Most of the class hadn’t even read it through. Fewer still had tried to answer the questions. We tried reading it through, stumbling over those terribly long compound words, getting stopped every other sentence to be asked ‘do you know what this means?’. In the end, the teachers’ assessment was that their top three students found it rather difficult, so they weren’t going to push the matter. And yes, I was included in that top three student assessment.

Ach! They look at me differently. My teachers, that is. I can see it in their eyes. It’s almost an inside joke feel. They know I’m doing the work, they know I’m improving leaps and bounds over the others. My instructions are to keep reading, keep watching Dutch films and programs, keep writing. Had a flash of panic as they talked about my progress; was worried I was going to hear (once again) ‘You need to move up a level’. So I told them I loved the class, thought they were outstanding instructors, but please, please don’t make me go up a level yet because I need more practice right where I am. They smiled. I was assured they weren’t going to make me go to another class, that I was welcome to sit in on these lessons as long as I wanted.

Thank you, Goddess!

Yesterday evening provided me with a good laugh. Just so happened to be online and on FB when a message popped up on my screen. It was from R, my co-star in the film whose scenes got cut. It was totally in Dutch. I understood it immediately, tho I couldn’t reply in Dutch. He said ‘Just heard I got cut from the film. Have you seen the final version yet?’ Now, the job of telling him he was cut from the final was up to S, the director. It was a joke at the premiere that he was dragging his feet on it, and not saying anything to R. My first thought was ‘he finally got around to it’. So I messaged S, telling him I just got a note from R asking about the film. S replied quickly, saying yes, he’d just told R about the film and he didn’t think R was taking it too well. LOL! I am online so rarely and not really connected with my phone, so call it dumb luck or providence, but I found myself involved in ‘The Student Film Scandal’ (which is what I’ll call it, and it gets capitalized because it’s been a running gag for MONTHS now) in real time. Back and forth I went, both R and S online and messaging me.

To R, I did what I told the crew to do in the first place: I played to his ego. My first reply to him was that yes, he had been cut in the final, that it was sad but I also knew he’s a pro and probably had it happen before. That soothed a lot of anger away. He then asked me what I thought of the film. I replied that I think the crew got what they wanted, and when you take into consideration the lack of lighting equipment and tight spaces we were working with, it turned out very well. I also shared with him that I thought I looked terrible due to the poor lighting. He came back quickly, saying maybe it was better he wasn’t in the film if it had such bad lighting. I replied with a joke, telling him every wrinkle on my face was blown up horribly, so yes, it was probably a good thing he wasn’t in it. He ended the conversation with laughter.

Kept S informed of what I saying to R. Admonished him a bit for not doing it in the first place, but hey! S is young. Probably never fired anyone before, whereas I have had plenty of that experience. In the end, my conversation with S was light and laughter filled. Hell! I made both of them laugh, so I guess I did that pretty well.

What I didn’t say to either of them was that I always see myself as unattractive. Never ugly, just unattractive. I’m an almost. Almost pretty. I see it every time I look at myself. Or, that’s what I think. I’m a little too heavy, my face doesn’t have the right angles to it, my teeth are a little crooked, etc. etc. Almost. It takes decades before I can look back at a picture and just see ME. Then, I can acknowledge it: wow, I was pretty back then. I can’t do it real time. So I wasn’t shocked or surprised at all by what I saw on screen.

I’m learning. Slowly. Both the language and a bit of self acceptance.

I know my vision mind is skewed.

I’m working on it.



The first thing I did this morning was reach up to drag my heavy, long hair out of my face. Then I realized – it’s short.

Somehow, I always ask for the impossible. I always want a color they can’t give me, in this case auburn because I went too dark and no hairstylist wants to bleach my already dry and thirsty hair. They did manage to find a nice in-between, a lighter and redder color they added to the roots and brought through to the ends to blend it all. But I did it again with the cut. Brought in several pix of asymmetrical haircuts, which I just love on me; looks so much better than perfect symmetrical cuts. Then it was snip, snip, snip. Several inches hit the floor in the first pass. I went to a student academy, ’cause prices are half what I’d pay in a regular salon. So I had my stylist/student, three teachers, and a professional stylist puttering with my hair, talking about the length, the fall, the curve. Took more than two hours, but it was worth it. My hair hangs pixie-like and free, curving around my face gently to set it off, and falls gracefully a few inches to the right leaving a long lock that winds around into one gorgeous curl.

Maybe I’m the one person in a hundred thousand who still wants asymmetrical cuts. Or maybe it’s because I walked in there with such long, shaggy hair and it was such a dramatic make-over. I don’t know. But, as usual, I garnered a LOT of attention at the salon. Not just from the teachers, but also from the other students who kept watching the process of my new look getting sculpted out of the old. Are you sure you want this? Have you gone this short before? I found their questions funny. I wanted to say yes, I’m 52 and have done everything with my hair before you were born, dearie. Shaved, purple, multi-colored, rat-tails, super spiky short, long curly locks, blond, brunette, and red-head: you name it, I’ve done it at some point.

And oh! I’m not getting rid of this cut anytime soon. I’ll work hard to maintain it, as a matter of fact – which is not something I’ve said in a while. I like it. Brings back memories of my first asymmetrical cut when I was 17. My mother wanted to send me back to the salon (in fact, she wanted to send me back to HER salon, not one of my choosing). C was very noncommittal with me on most things, never showing too much approval or disapproval no matter what. But that hair! She hated it. Really, really, hated it. Nagged at me every time I wore it in a manner that emphasized that off-set cut. Pin it up, she’d tell me. No one will hire you with that hair. Eventually, she wore me down. I got a job in an office, and cut it.

Now, I’ve no one to tell me to cut it differently. No one to nag at me how it’s not normal, or how someone my age or weight or whatever shouldn’t have hair like this. I did not expect to feel so giddy. So free and uninhibited. Nor did I expect to write over 500 words about my hair.

…I’ve a long list of stuff. Things I need to do, things that have happened that nagged at me over the past day or two… But the headlines, of course, are where my immediate concern lies: government shutdown. Not sure how that will affect my brother’s pension, but I don’t expect it to be good. Refuse to panic or worry. There will be time enough for that later. And if something drastic happens…well, I expect a bit of understanding and slack here. I hope. It’s not something I want to discuss much, because that riles me up and gets me worrying. Just noting it’s happening and I’m doing my best not to freak.

Concerned, also, about the premiere. Getting up there, timing, the outfit, finding the place… The list on that goes on and on, too. I will be alone in a not-so-familiar city. Alone and dressed to the nines. At night, and it’ll probably be raining. Need to check with S about helping with my make-up. I don’t want to intrude; sounded like she’s gonna have loads of family at her place that evening. If I do go and get her help, I’ll more likely have time to kill because I’ll want to not step on any family gathering so I’ll be there early. My bro suggested I just head to a coffeeshop to smoke. I just don’t know: me, in fancy dress, with sparkling jewelry and full on make-up, walking into a coffeeshop to smoke weed. It’s more everyone else’s reaction I’m thinking of…not that I make a habit of it, but please! I’d stare at me if I walked in looking like that. Then there’s just the ick factor: coffeeshops tend to be a bit less clean than other Dutch establishments. The bathrooms can be…not nice. And there’s always the concern about burning my outfit from some falling ash. I’ve kept this dress in good condition this long, and I don’t want to lose it because I felt like having a hit or two before the premiere. Similar concerns with getting a bite to eat: messing the dress, smearing the make-up, and dealing with food stuck in my teeth. Um…nope. Drinks? That’s my best bet of staying neat and tidy. Also my best bet at getting out of hand because I don’t drink anymore and a couple of beers will put me under the table. I have this vision of me standing alone in a corner (so I don’t wrinkle the dress), drinking water through a straw (to keep the make-up perfect) for an hour or more in a quiet, out of the way nothing place. Sounds boring.

But I’ll look fabulous.


The more I physically heal, the more anger I feel. Old stuff. Same old stuff. No need to go thru it again.

Trying to monitor this shit for real, ’cause…well, pain. That, and I figure I’ve had enough of it at my age.

Spent two hours on the phone talking to S last night. It’s strange to have a friend who just wants to chat on the phone. But I was happy to catch up with her, happy to feel good enough to talk normally. She made me laugh – hard – when she told me the guy who played my husband in the film got cut. The crew got to the editing suite and no one like his footage or performance. Even their teacher watched his stuff and said ‘cut it’. Now S is ducking the actor because she doesn’t want to tell him he’s been completely cut out of the film. Oh, I empathize with her dilemma! I wouldn’t want to tell him either, tho I suggested to her that she play to his ego and start with something like ‘I know you’re a real professional, so you’re aware that sometimes scenes get cut in the editing room…’. But, you know, in the nugget of perfection on that shoot, he was the sore spot. Things were a little less fun, a little less together while he was there. And he was a lousy actor. Best they could find, and I’m sure he’d work in some situations – but he was bad. Everyone knew it at the time. S thinks she might tell him the premiere got cancelled by the school. She’s also considering sending a special cut with his scenes to him, just to appease him. I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but…it’s funny. If you’d heard him speak about his acting, you’d understand.

I’ve been told I’m on the posters and marketing info. Apparently, my tongue is now the director’s screen saver, too. I be everywhere. And according to rumor, my ass and tits look great on screen. So glad I’m old enough to know the difference between the illusion and me. No worries about trying to look like that all the time…tho, honestly, if I someday find members of the press outside my door, I’ll at least brush my hair before I leave the house.

Received an excited confirmation on Taman. Good golly! Must have really written a great 100 word bio. They don’t know me from Eve. I was apologetically informed my entry was early, most authors don’t get their work in before December 31, and it would take months to sort thru everything and make a decision. I was thanked sincerely for my work, and left with their hope that I would continue to work with them and write about more women. Not what I was expecting. Again, it’s more. More than I dreamed of getting.

Coming to the realization that I’ll need new pages under my writing name and as an actor. Hi, this is the new me. Again. This time, tho, I’m not fluffing things out with nonsense. I’ve already got concrete realities to talk about. Scripts, films, plays, interest and excitement. One more project under my belt and I’ll hire someone to help me on the side. I so hate social media pages.

The morphine is doing its job. Brushed my teeth last night without any electric feeling jolts in my molars. Determined to stay on three a day until Monday. I want this thing down. Quiet. Subdued. A week from today I get my temporary filling replaced, and I want to be pain free for days before going in. Feels a bit like cheating. I’m not screaming in agony any more. I could probably get by on less. But it’s so damned pleasant to not feel pain. I just want a little more of that. And I don’t want the nerve to start up again.

The time is coming. My hair is getting chopped and changed. I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately, a sign I’m well acquainted with. I want to go back to auburn. That color looked particularly good on me. And I think my new cut will be jaunty and asymmetrical. That also looks real good on me. I’m dithering a bit. There are elements of longer hair I enjoy. Mostly tying it back or up. But it’s hard to keep nice. My hair tangles easily, so when I do wear it down and free I always have snarls to deal with. It’s a pain to wash, a pain to dry, a pain to keep out of my eyes. Other than that, I like it. But, new me, new hair. And I’m ready for the ta-da! of a new ‘do.

Hell! I’m ready for the ta-da! of a new me.

Thoughts and thanks

Ninety minutes.

I’m not a big phone talker. Maybe when I was 14, but not since then. Use the phone to make a date or a plan to talk in person. So much better! But last night, I was on the phone for an hour and a half with S, the casting director from the film. Unexpected? Absolutely. But not unwanted, even tho the call came in around 10 at night (she’s a night owl).

I think I might have found a real friend.

Heard about the last day of filming, which went great. Heard how much everyone missed me, which felt great. And then, it was just talk. Talk about life, relationships, self confidence, our past…Well, we had a long conversation, so we covered a lot.

She said I was a role model. That she thought I was brave. I’m a bit stunned. Me? Brave? Maybe in front of the camera, but other than that I know how deeply chicken shit I tend to be. Yet, there it was: I was tagged as brave. I think that might be the first time in my life I’ve earned that particular label. I don’t feel like a role model. But then, I’m older. I’ve let a lot of stuff drop. I used to worry about people finding me attractive. Now I think about being a good person. I used to worry about saying too much, being too blunt. Now I state my opinions simply, without an argumentative tone in my voice. I understand how, as a younger woman, that might look brave and like someone you want to emulate. And good if that’s what it is! If I can take one day off of another woman’s internal suffering because they admire how I deal with life or men or politics or whatever, then I’ve lived a life worth living. I know how long I’ve sat in the shit. I don’t think anyone deserves to feel as bad about themselves as I have.

And I am so tired of seeing women tear themselves down. That shit that surfaces from competitiveness and petty jealousies. The nasty comments behind the back and to the face. The use of male branded put downs, male dominated ideals, male led lives. We have allowed ourselves to be led around the ring by our noses, just like the pieces of meat so many misogynists see us as. And those of us caught in that web deny it: I’m not jealous; she’s just a whore.

Can we be honest? Can we say that a lot of that surfaces because we’re all dick hounds after a good fuck? Because we all want this fairy-tale ideal we were fed from birth, that a perfect life includes a husband who has a good job? Okay, I know I’m ignoring the lesbians (sorry) and the non-sexual people out there. I’m making a point. This shaming of women BY women comes out of competition. It’s insidious, and it’s been instilled in us for forever.

Every time we do it, we play their game. Every time we do it, we support their foul opinions of us. Every time we do it, we kill ourselves and hamper our futures and the futures of all our daughters.

It’s got to stop.

If the only way you feel you can get ahead in life is to tear someone else down, you’re not making any progress.

I guess considering the world these days, that attitude alone should make me a role model. Embrace it, Beeps. You’re a knight in shining armour. Hm. And thus, comes understanding of how roles are thrust upon us. You just…live long enough that you become an oddity. An oddity that people admire, but an oddity nonetheless. And then they tell you, and you begin to monitor your own behavior. You start to become what they see you as, because a part of you doesn’t want to let them down. So you try. You reach for the bigger part of yourself. You keep doing that, keep trying.

And so you become.

That’s not to say you buy your own marketing. Therein lies the problem. I guarantee you that at the base of any star’s suicide is a deep seated belief that they didn’t really live up to their image. Maybe it’s not the ultimate tipping point, but it’ll be in the mix. It’s a big and ugly problem. Because people need those heroes. People need role models, the personalities larger than life to inspire and lead them thru dark times. But it can feel like a lie. I’m not really that good, I’m not really that smart, or that talented, or that beautiful… You need to balance what is and what is perceived.

Tread lightly, oh walkers of life! You never know when you will become. And you never quite realize, from where you are, just how difficult that balancing act is.

So. I have a friend. Admiration. Dizzying amounts of respect. It is as tough to take as the opposite. Especially after years of having no friends, no admiration, and no (or little) respect. And I don’t want to fuck it up. I want friends. I want people in my life. People who are happy to see me, people who are sad if I’m ill. People to share things with, because fun is amplified a thousand fold when you share it.

I am…at a loss. I don’t know why I’m getting this outpouring. I don’t know what I did so right to deserve it; if I did know, I’d keep doing it. All I can do is be the brightest me I can be. Listen, care. Slow down enough to really interact. Share my sense of humor. Hug people when I know they need it.

Waking every day with a sense of thankfulness. It’s totally new. I’ve had it for short bursts, over little accomplishments. This feels big, and solid. Like a river of lava flowing thru my life: huge, encompassing, and burning away all those truly inconsequential things that have been hampering me for so very long.

Thank you.

That’s life

Life has returned. My memories are back in the closet, not forgotten, but filed away. Time to move on.

Writing is going well. Not enough time to do it lately. Seems it’s all run this errand, pick that up, and of course the ever present necessity to get to the gym and move so I don’t hurt so much. Haven’t even cleaned the house in I don’t know how long, and it shows it.

Today I’m keeping to my life commitment. Heading out with my brother to the comic book shop. Say hi to the guys. Hang out. Talk. Be a part of the world. Got to keep in practice with that, at least a little bit, or I’ll forget how to do it.

Been feeling very alone and lonely. The two don’t always go together, but right now they do. In the wake of my reaction to the news about L, I feel friendless. Want to change that, but I find my physical condition works against me. Last time I tried to schedule a get together with potential friends I woke up with laryngitis. Shit happens. Just the excitement of looking forward to getting out and meeting people can make me ill. Do that enough times to a potential new friend and they lose interest in pursuing a friendship. Seen it happen.

And I don’t like this double life I live. The reality is, my health isn’t good. I do fall ill very easily. I’m not strong. But then there’s my gym life: the nods and notice I get while working out. Maybe they’re not all dyin’ to do me, but they do acknowledge I work hard (beginning to think that most of the smiles I receive are ‘she’s a tough old bird’ type of thing). Most people drop out after an hour of exercise. Most people are shocked and think two hours is extreme. Oh, god, I could never make it for two hours! Then they look me up and down, decide that maybe not all physical strength translates into slim, tight bodies, and put me in that ‘healthy as hell’ category, which I do not deserve to be in.

…At least my physiotherapist understands.

Speaking of, looking forward to seeing him next week. Realized a long time ago our sessions are half physio and half talk therapy. Why can I do that? Why am I so open with someone like him, yet so closed if I see someone called ‘therapist’? One of those mysteries about myself I’d like to solve. …I need him on both levels right now. Despite my physical movement, I’ve got some pain building up. And although I don’t know what I’m going to say, I do know I’ll probably bring up L.

Been a few months since I’ve been able to get my hair done. Upshot is, I’ve got grey showing. Maybe for the first time in my life. A couple of silver hairs by each temple. I’ve looked at it closely in the mirror. It’s not unattractive. In fact, I find myself more distressed by the shaggy outgrowth look I’ve got right now than those grey hairs. …Don’t think I should wear my hair this long. It looks strange on my face. A 20 something tousled hair style on a 50 something woman. But what am I supposed to do? That’s my hair. It just looks that way, naturally. Hope to get it all spruced up before September.

Have not worn my orthopedics, despite the cooler weather. Do not want to wear my orthopedics. My cheap tennis shoes (with added insoles) are lovely: they give me plenty of support, and they don’t bite my feet at all. Plus they were a quarter of the cost of my orthopedics. But I’ll need to get back on that. No use in doing it in August; this entire country goes on holidays. Another thing to write in for September.

Bought some cheap eye gel and dark circle remover. Cosmetics that promise the impossible. But I figure any improvement is an improvement. And I’m guessing it helps to just go through the motions. Applying lotions, massaging them in – that’s a form of self love. I care enough about myself to do this, it says. Or at least that’s how I see it. So, I’m doing it, and hoping it will buy me a few years of looking not so tired and worn out.

Have let myself off the hook for tomorrow’s exercise. My bro is on me to read the final chapters in his book, one of the comic book guys leant me a run of stories by George Romero, and of course I have my own writing to get to. Today will largely be shot, between traveling to and fro and all the time spent visiting. Tomorrow is my make-up day: do the writing I should be doing today, finish up those comics, and start reading my brother’s work.

Wish these things didn’t always pile up on me.

…Wish I could just say no like so many people have said to me. I’m too busy with my own shit. Deal.

And that takes me right back to who I want to be. Do I want to be that person who’s always too busy for friends? Do I want to show the people I care about that I care about them, or will I just perpetuate that lip service shit my family gave to me? It always comes up for me at times like this. And I get angry, and pout, and whine that it isn’t fair, isn’t fair, isn’t fair…

But that’s life.

It Felt Appropriate



AAaaaaaaahhhhhhh! I have an entire week to let my feet rest before returning to Amsterdam. If I felt like dancing, I would get up and do a jig. As it is, I’ll say ‘Ah!’ with satisfaction, take another sip of coffee, and lick my lips with pleasure. It’s good to be home.

Our last day in Amsterdam with J was the best. The weather was sunnier and warmer, the wind less biting. Saturday in Amsterdam – ANY Saturday in Amsterdam – is busy. The guys had their fill of museums and gardens and Dutch kitsch, oh my! so we took them off the beaten path and out to Vondelpark. We popped for some more travel passes for the two of them, then hopped the 2 tram to the Rijksmuseum which is just a stone’s throw from the entrance to the park. We strolled through the park. The Dutch were out enjoying the day and the crowds of tourists disappeared. We stopped for a cup of coffee at Blauwe Theehuis, a little kiosk place that’s been in the center of Vondelpark since the dawn of time. With the guys low on cash it was all about just enjoying the time they had left in the city. I was actually a bit glad they were so broke; J’s boyfriend had no manic knee going because he was busting to get out and do something. That frontal facade that you can get in this type of situation – J’s boyfriend didn’t know us before this visit – melted away. He and I spent quite some time dropping social niceties and really talking. I saw his hyper smiling vanish and get replaced by somber, almost tearful memories. We shared some personal pain with each other, and grew closer because of it. We wound the day up with a delicious meal at Sherpa’s, a Tibetan food place that’s outstanding. Then a slow walk back to their hotel, a somewhat teary good-bye with many hugs, and it was time to go. The train pulled out of the station just before sunset, so our short trip was one of gorgeous colors and silhouettes while we rode in style in first class. No, we didn’t pony up for it. The goddess intervened; we were sent a promotional package with some advertising in the mail. The package included two free upgrades to first class within the next 30 days, so we took advantage of it. Got to say it might have done the trick; my bro thinks we should upgrade our chipcards to first class status if it’s not too much more money. Wider seats, more leg room, and plenty of arm rests. Plus not too many people travel first class so there’s always seats available, unlike second class.

Despite my bro at times driving me up the wall (he DIDN’T, by the way, try to buy shoes on the way to the train yesterday), despite the pain in my body from so much walking, I’ve been so happy these last few days. So happy to see J again. So happy to rediscover how easy it is to get around this country. So happy to think that yes, I CAN get out and do things. I CAN shop around Amsterdam for a day and come home. I CAN manage to find my way in the train station without getting lost. It’s been very affirming.

I’ve even been called pretty. I know, I know! That’s completely petty. Still. It makes me feel good.

May has begun and I guess the weather has finally taken its bipolar medication because in less than a week it’s scheduled to be up in the 20s and stay there. There’s just enough time to take a day for our feet, then my bro and I have to kick it into gear and get ready for the warmer weather. He’s on anti-mosquito patrol and I’m on tomato watch. We don’t get many mosquitos here, especially being on the 4th (or 5th, depending on how you count it) floor. The ones we DO get, however, seem a bit dizzy from their journey to this altitude and are doubly determined to get some of your blood to calm down and find their way out. So my bro wants to fashion some mosquito netting around the windows. As for me, my little tomato seedlings are now stout, hardy plants that will need new pots in the next week. My assignment (since I’ve chosen to accept it) is to find new pots and do the transplanting. I’m happy to have the occasion to putter around on a small scale like this. Just enough gardening to give me purpose but not enough to take over my life. Perfect.

Feels like I got a real shot in the arm of sunshine and lollipops just before heading into summer. Great! If it can carry me through the drudge days of heat and sweat I’ll be very thankful.

And maybe – maybe – I’ll get back to actually creating something rather than just talking about creating something. Turn on the studio. Get those final cuts of my new trance. Been thinking long and hard about pans and effects these days. Keep going back to my source of all great trance: Sven Vaeth. First thing I need to do is turn the studio on and play with effects. Make some choices. Then we’ll need to pull apart our lovely living area again and squash our new dining area so the studio can have some breathing room because I already know one thing: I want both mixing boards hooked up to give me maximum room. I recorded in on my small board and was limited to 16 tracks but my recording equipment can handle 24 tracks. That buys me 8 tracks for special runs, edits, punches, and cuts. Since both my small board and my big board have problem channels, hooking them both up ensures I can pick out the best channels to use. I may even be able to do some voodoo wiring and increase my effects channels. Sick.

I don’t usually use that word in that context. I’m not 20. But hey! It felt appropriate.

Have Brain; Will Travel


I slept in today ’til 7:15. That’s a recent record; been waking up between 5 and 6 each and every morning whether or not I want to. Fine and dandy; our artificial planet bobble of daylight savings time is coming up anyway. Gotta train a bit for that. Yeah, I said train. I train for everything. Choo-choo!

Monday has become a day of rest. No swimming, no language class, no commitments or doctor’s appointments. I am free to do whatever catches my fancy today once I’ve gone through the language homework with my bro. Dat’s good. I need a day of rest.

Turned on my computer this morning to find posted a picture of me at Ben’s party. Geez, I’m glad I insisted on getting someone else into the shot. It was taken out on the balcony, on my third beer. I have the HUGE annoyance to deal with this morning of realizing that my dark hair fades away into the background in a picture like that. When I was super blonde, I hated that happening to me in the sun. Now I’m brunette, and it happens in the dark. Can’t fucking win with that one, can I? And I always – ALWAYS – fucking see a picture taken at the right time and in the right lighting to give the impression that I have NO hair because mine is too light or too dark or too whatever to show up in the frigging thing. So there I am, smiling like an eejit (an Irish idiot) and my eyes are all out of whack. I’ve got this freaky thing with my eyes; a very long technical name attached to it, but what happens is this: the pupil of my right eye doesn’t react to light at the same speed my left pupil does. So I have this picture on line right now where my left pupil has contracted from the flash but my right pupil is WIDE open. It makes me look freaky and weird. It’s all I can see in the picture, pretty much. That and my no-hair. But hey! I did notice that I didn’t have the huge dark streaks of exhaustion under my eyes that I think I carry around all day long. My smile was wide and I looked like I didn’t care too much that my hair wasn’t great or that I didn’t wear make-up. I looked like I was enjoying myself. And I was.

Lane swimming yesterday was a new experience in queues. Never had a swimming queue like that before; I was sharing the lane with 12 other people. It was not the most zen experience in the bag! My tempo was dictated by everyone else’s tempo; I had to slow down and speed up to try and keep the same distance between myself and the next swimmer. It was something I was a bloody GENUIS at compared to the guy behind me. Had to pull up and let him pass me; if he’d hit my feet or allowed his soft belly flesh to come in contact with my feet one more time I was gonna scream. I mean, ew! It was soft HAIRY flesh, too. Double ew. And relativity came into play; on Thursday morning swims I could use the middle lane, between the fast and slow swimmers. Yesterday I had to keep to the slow lane; the middle lane was too fast. I tried it, and held the line up a bit. So duck back under the floats and scuttle back to the slow lane for me. Still managed to swim enough that I crashed out for a couple of hours in the afternoon.

I got me mini-days going right now. Wake up early, write or exercise or cram my head with Dutch, then snooze for a bit in the afternoon, then up again ’til nighttime. It’s working, but I’m not a big fan of it. My second day within my day is groggy, since I’m still not allowing myself an evening coffee. And I feel like, come on! I can’t even go for an eight hour stretch? Not cool. I know super geniuses tend to do that: short sleep and cat naps. I am NOT a super-genius. I don’t think. Or like to think. My IQ is high enough I could be called that but really! My idea of a super-genius is Wile E Coyote: clever, yet stupid at the same time. And damn if I didn’t grow into that! I guess when I become a super-rich super-genius, I’ll have to commission Hanna Barbera for a new Road Runner cartoon, one in which Wile E has grown wiser as he’s aged. I want to see him finally catch the Road Runner…and then let him go, because Wile E realizes he doesn’t want the chase to end, that THAT is what he’s been living for. And in the end, I want to see Wile E smile as the Road Runner takes off because Wile E knows the Road Runner is gonna keep teasing him and stretching his creativity. 🙂 Yeah, that would work for me.

I want to put this down in writing….So, you can all get out your tiny violins while I play put-upon narcissist for a moment.

It’s goddamn difficult being smart. I know it’s got to be frustrating to not understand quickly, to be slow. I’d hate that: I hate ANYTIME I don’t pick things up right away. But it’s also fucking hard to be smart, and have people EXPECT shit out of you, too. I think my parents didn’t do a good job dealing with this in me. I heard, growing up, that I was afraid of success and THAT’S why I failed all the fucking time. But you know what fucking success was in my house? Everybody staring at you and expecting you to have all the fucking answers, all the fucking time. Say one thing – ONE THING – that wasn’t dead on 100% correct and you FAILED. Continual goddamn fucking pressure on everything. And then, to make things worse, later in life I did learn things very well and NO ONE LISTENED TO ME. Like, all the wrong answers I’d given in the past made them think I was worthless, my knowledge was worthless, my experience was worthless. Didn’t matter if I graduated at the top of my class or got the highest scores in the state. I’d made mistakes in my past, therefore, I couldn’t be trusted in the now to give anyone a correct answer. In many ways, my family made me feel like Wile E Coyote. Elaborate plans, but I was always chasing things I couldn’t really catch and I had NO support when things blew up in my face. And that went on so fucking long that everyone saw me as Wile E, too. Too many fuck-ups over the years to ever be taken seriously again. I’m some fucking cosmic comic relief in my family. Things are too bad? Oh, let’s talk about HER last thing. We’ll all feel better about our lives after hashing out how many mistakes SHE makes. Fuck that.

I found the above pic online. Forgot the tag lines “have brain; will travel”, but I think I’ll make that my motto. The words and the image associated with Wile E just fit my life. Brilliant, but a little crazy. Obsessed. And always, always, planning.