The Bloody Doors Off

Bowmanville.

Yeah. I’m afraid if I blink, it’s gonna get less real.

I had an interview today. Doing layout for a weekly newspaper. Mom and pop company. Part-time, two days a week. The initial interview went so well. I was on point, open and positive. They liked what I had to offer, so they asked me to sit down and do a mock page layout for them. See the goods.

I’m thinking, ‘awesome, I’ve got this’. I go to load InDesign. Then I’m told, no, the files in PageMaker.

Well, crap. I haven’t worked in PageMaker in ages. It’s the precursor to InDesign, so I know some stuff, but really.

And one thing they told me earlier, they haven’t set up a template. You’d think there would be a template. It is something they said they want to build in the near future. Given you’d want the styles and colours, column layout, etc., it’d be a HUGE help. But I found an older file and was able to delete the old stuff and tweak.

Here’s where I say just how much I hate PageMaker. You can’t keep style et al tabs open. Aligning is a bitch. There’s only a couple of ‘undoes’ you can use if there’s a mistake. I end up losing most of the text (I have no idea why) and have to reimport it and then the layout doesn’t fit the same. I can’t properly scale the adverts within the bounding boxes.

I’m at this for an hour, and I’m sucking wind. At this point, I know I’m not getting the job. I have to admit to the owner/EIC that if it was InDesign I’d have had it done within 20 minutes, but I don’t have the skill for PageMaker.

And then he says: “So do it in InDesign; I want to see what you can do.”

I didn’t crack my knuckles, because that’d be egotistic. But the thought was there.

I import the page into InDesign. It brings in the styles, the columns. Everything. Just like it should. And it takes me 20 minutes, like I said. I own this bitch. By this time it’s after 5pm (I’ve been there since 3pm), and they wanted to see what I could do with modifying a client ad spec but there’s no time. We shake hands. I’m thinking, maybe. If the other guy on Monday crashes and burns. I’m not trying to put all my self-worth into this.

Half an hour ago I got an email, asking if I could come in Tuesday afternoon to talk with their senior layout editor. Ask questions, figure out some of the tricks he uses.

This dog can still hunt.

Now watch this video. I closed my eyes and I was back in New Orleans. It’s that good.

No really. I had something earlier I was going to write about, but now my mind’s blank.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Conway Twitty.

I met with my friend Kelly and we saw a taping of George Stroumboulopoulos. Brent Butt was funny, but the surprise was Stedman Graham (Oprah’s SO). I had no idea he’d written 11 book. His latest was about identity, and how you can make a positive influence not just on others, but yourself. I suspect I was meant to see this taping today (even though he was the ‘mystery guest’ and had no idea this was going to happen). Afterwards I met Mr. Stroumboulopoulos (“Hi, I’m George”), a very personable man. And he’s got a great interview style, really cares about his guests. I’m sure his researchers do a fuck ton of work, given some of the stuff they pulled out.

And oh yes, I ran into Toronto Spiderman on the subway on the way to the CBC.

Earlier in the day? Got a bit of work in. While at the taping? More work. I finished it half an hour ago.

Sadly, there was banging over my head until 11pm tonight. The landlord was rerouting plumbing. We were without water from noon to after 10pm, because when he put it back on at 8, he’d sprung a leak. Oh joy. And I still have to squeeze past the bloody dumpster any time I want to leave the apartment.

But my day didn’t suck.

p.s. Did you know the CBC used to have TV shows called ‘Man vs Turkey’ and ‘Brian Williams Celebrity Tennis’? I’d totally watch those.

I just don’t have the words today.

I have trouble letting things go.

Of letting go.

Not of physical things. Not really. I hold onto books. DVDs, until I bundle up a few bags and sell them.

It’s more the intangible. Mental and emotional.

That’s how I’m feeling about the past year. It’s weighing me down. I can’t sweep it out, and make room for new possibilities.

I’ll write more in depth about the weekend. Probably tomorrow or Tuesday. Today is decompression, coupled with sneezing fits and possibly the beginnings of a cold.

This much I’m sure of: I can write. And I’m good at it. I’ve doubted myself plenty over the years. I need to stop thinking that way.

MARY
Wait. You never told me the secret to flying.

RACHEL
Believe in yourself. Once you do that, anything is possible. Even flying.

It’s time I believed I can fly.

And I’m adrift. So tired of it, too.

Worse, I didn’t really plan for this day. I mean, it’s been in my head that I need to work on getting my shit together. But I’d been so focused on this past weekend. Can’t count the number of times I’d tell myself “I can’t get sick, need to be healthy” or “keep pushing through, keep strong”. And now it’s done. And I’m caught flat-footed.

My short-term goals are accomplished. But dammit, I put the rest… on hold. Hoped it would resolve itself before now. I’ve got notes for the next draft of the play. But it’s not going to pay the bills. I can’t make it my sole focus.

I wish it wasn’t February. Or at least it wasn’t so stupidly cold, or that I was handling it better. I need to get more active, but even with two pair of socks my feet are cold and there’s noise overhead with renovations of the main floor of the house six days a week, a giant dumpster blocking the driveway and thus, my path out of here. It’s near impossible to squeeze through on my own, forget trying to get the garbage bins out, or groceries in. I honestly feel. Trapped.

I’m drifting, with nowhere to go, because I’m blocked in. Physically and mentally. Fuck me.

I just spent half an hour on the couch hugging my pillow. Is there such a thing as dramatist drop? Because I’ve hit it.

Hard.