The Bloody Doors Off

So much to process right now. EI problems are fixed, I think. I called yesterday after discovering on Sunday that there was still an outstanding issue on my file. I may been approved for the full 15 weeks of the medical extension (instead of the 9 originally quoted), that is, if the person I spoke to was correct. It’d be nice if I didn’t need all 15 weeks. But it’s a learning curve. But by receiving this I don’t get OW (makes sense). So, no drug card. However, I did speak with Trillium and they’re sending me a form requesting a new audit. I’m confident this will reduce my deductible, hopefully by January.

My psychiatrist made a great observation today about how being proactive, even by offering to be a listening post to another person who might be struggling, even during my own struggles, can strengthen my core. I need that feeling of being solid. Mentally it’s been a little bit jell-o from September to November. Things are getting better, but I’d be happier if the progress was a bit more pronounced. I know, you can only go at the speed you’re supposed to.

As opposed to past years, I’ve already loaded a few Christmas tunes into my iPod. Usually I can’t do this until at least half-way through the month. Especially last year, that was brutal. Even considered hauling out the tiny Christmas tree today. My only concern at the moment is Mels; I don’t know what that insane cat will do. I have the water bottle at the ready but I don’t think that’s enough. I think I shall buy a bottle of apple bitter beforehand and liberally spray it up front. Cats hate that shit. Pre-emptive strike, yeah?

Speaking of the holidays. I’m preparing myself for the difficulties. The depression hit me last year at this time. Knowing I couldn’t afford to give gifts, hell even Christmas cards, was a blow to my psyche. I feel so damned guilty when I get gifts and I have nothing to offer in exchange. Sure people will say, “your company is enough”, but I like giving; finding that perfect something (no matter how big or small) that reflects how I feel about the other person, that encapsulates who they are.

But I’m working on changing my mindset for this too.

And also working on the resume, and going to go to Second Career (Ontario program) before the 20th. That’s a goal.

It’s early, and I may post this again. But I want to share this because my brothers rock and I want to dedicate this to them.

Does working on your resume count as writing? Because it’s the only writing I’ve gotten done today.

I’m not complaining. I’ve gotten some great feedback on the content and I’m hoping that I’ll have something that shines soon enough. I know I’m not ready to start looking for work this week, but I need to be forward thinking. (Plus, I just found out I’m getting 15 weeks on the medical extension, and not 9, so there’s less panic there too.)

I did find out another tidbit today on the upstairs drama. As it turns out, while Junior left (pretty much in the middle of the night) there is a guy crashing in the apartment who was ordered out previously. The landlords found out about it today and he’s been told to get his ass out by Friday or things won’t go well for him. They’ve also asked me to keep my ears open and if there’s any shenanigans during what should be ‘quiet hours’, to feel free and call the local cop shop. Whheeeeeeeee.

On the plus side, I got through that self-defeating bit from last night, woke up at my ‘new normal’ time and got a fair bit accomplished today (including laundry). Now I just need to apply Jane Espenson’s 60 minute writing sprint to my daily routine. I think that’d go a long way to keeping up, creatively.

Oh, and if anyone wonders about my posting music videos. It reflects my mood. I tend to think musically, and sometimes they say what I feel when I can’t sort the words in the right order.

I caught myself. Earlier I was having a downward bit. Had thought “well I’m not going to bed anytime soon, I’m staying awake, yada yada yada”. Basically, not caring if I deviated from my schedule of actually sleeping at a consistent time. Punishing myself.

I caught myself. And corrected it.

I’ve been putting off getting a refill of my Lorazepam, which is fucking ridiculous. Trying to control anxiety attacks without it have been difficult to say the least. It slammed me tonight, and kept me from going out and having a great evening.

Anxiety is a bitch. Breathing brings me back to earth, but it takes a good while to get there. I think I’ve put off getting the Lorazepam because I hate relying on pills. I take too many already. And yes, there’s the money issue. The EI medical is held up so I’m counting every dime. I put rent aside the first week of the month right now, and refuse to touch it, even for pills. I need the security of having a roof over my head in the back of my mind.

So tonight’s anxiety was a mixture of things. EI was the main, worrying about the upstairs neighbours not moving out — thinking I’d be subjected to more torture from them grated my gears — and not having really written in the past couple of days. The first two, I have no control over, and that’s frustrating. The last one, I do have control over; I just need to exercise it. Anyway the topper was a “hey, if I pack up stuff right now and run out and catch a train, I can spend the evening with someone”. It wasn’t visiting that was the problem. It was organizing it all last-minute. The having to remember to pack my pills, my cpap. I worried I’d forget something important, like my anti-depressant for the morning. It sounds ridiculous, but when the pressure builds and the doubt creeps in (I mean shit, I boiled water and poured myself a tea earlier and let the bag seep in, but then promptly forgot it was there for me until the water was almost too cool to drink), it fucks with my short-term memory. And I don’t like that.

I had to write down “pay rent” on the whiteboard today to remind myself, because the 1st fell on a Sunday and for some reason that acts as a blind spot for me.

One step forward, one step back. I can learn from that.

I can learn from that.

Finally figured out why my EI medical extension wasn’t in my account last Tuesday. It’s been held up. I only found out because I went to log in today to report the next week (which I was told to do last Monday).

headdesk

I’m amazed, truly.

It’s amazing how, some days, you remember who you were. And even more, you become him.

And that’s such a good thing.

Yes, it’s cryptic. Deal with it, motherfuckers.

Here’s a snippet of the backstory I’m writing for the play. I’m not sure why I’m sharing. You don’t need to read. This is more for me.

(more…)

Cabin in the Woods. Wish I could write like that.

Maybe I can.

Too tired to write a real update today. Spent part of the afternoon and most of the evening with my brothers and sister-in-law. Good way to spend the day.

I’m always looking for the meaning in things. Which can drive me mad because, honestly, some things have zero meaning.

Lady Gaga doing a Thanksgiving special, with the Muppets. If I was still on the sixth floor in H Wing, I’d think I was barking mad, trying to parse this.

I don’t know what I’m getting at tonight, except I’m tired of trying to figure shit out. I’m on a 2 week delay with the EI medical extension (even though I’m reporting the hours). If a cheque from work I did prior to breaking down hadn’t come in, I’d be rocking from side to side. Is this a teachable moment? How to deal with adversity? Or is it simply bureaucratic red tape and bad timing? Is there a difference?

I haven’t written in 2 days. I’m not freaking out over that, but I’m not happy about it. I have a twitter account but haven’t logged into it in months. The reason I think of this is I follow(ed) a television writer who would encourage her followers to do 1-hour writing sprints alongside her. It didn’t have to be anything specific; the point was to shut out everything else for 60 minutes and concentrate on writing. I can see now why that’s such an amazing idea.

I’m 47 and I have a zit under my jawline. Seriously?

I’m 47. And I don’t have a job, barely have rent and am trying to figure out what’s next. When I was writing the play, I could distract myself from these things for short periods of time. If I can get my brain and emotions to cooperate, I can get in touch with Second Career, although the career I had was working fine thanksverymuch. I’ve got what, 20 years before my only options are Wal-Mart greeter or working the morning shift at McDonald’s? (And given my anxiety issues, that’d be interesting.)

What have I actually done with my life?

Sorry, no music to encapsulate it tonight.

I’m pretty sure this appeared on a report card. At least once.

And you know what? I don’t. Not when it comes to writing. I’m not Shakespeare, nor am I Melville or Andy Sedaris. But I have a voice, an ear for dialogue, and a hell of a sense of narrative. You want me to create and embody a character? Done. But they’re gonna have their own lives, and fuck you if you don’t like it.

Backing up.

I rejoined a rebooted online RPG a few months ago. Hoped it would spark my writing. Turns out it took the play to kick the other stuff into gear. Problem is, my characters have their own trajectory, and I can’t be arsed to visit every member to make sure I’m not stepping on toes. There’s one writer I can free form with. We’ve been in sync for years. We ‘yes and’ each other ALL the time. Nothing’s off the table. We roll with the punches, sometimes literally.

Our characters’ first (re)meeting involved my guy trying to run down her character with his car. (He didn’t think she was actually real.) It was a fucking great scene. But ultimately, the idea isn’t to rehash old relationships or storylines, and we’ve barely written together since. I simply can’t, not with these two. There’s too much history between them right now and my brain screams ‘this isn’t right’; they’re meant to be as thick as thieves, not barely in each other’s orbit’. This is my issue and I own it. So I don’t write him right now. Not if/until he comes around.

And now I’m struggling with the other character. As bright as the fucking sun I know every move she’s going to make in any situation. But I’m hamstrung because I have to consider everything. Which leads me to second-guessing, which leads to writer’s block. And when someone (rightly) reminds me of the rules of the game, I get abrasive.

Thinking I know better. And I do, for my characters.

When I did rewrites for the play, they were based on suggestions and comments from the dramaturge. They weren’t demands. They weren’t rules. I listened to the characters and considered the narrative, and let them go where they needed to.

I had a meltdown this afternoon, over unrelated stuff. Tonight I shut down and am suffering anxiety and writer’s block because I don’t play well with others.

It’s October, all over again.