So, because I was late with my paperwork to OW, they’ve temporarily suspended my financial assistance.
I admit I was late. I was freaked by the whole process and couldn’t initially find the damned form. My caseworker had called to remind me, and I got it to her the next day. So now I have to appeal.
Boy, doesn’t that sound familiar.
I was writing a short story earlier. A companion piece, background to the new play. That got put down for the night. I just can’t focus on it right now.
God, I want a drink. Or a cigarette. Something to tamp down the pain.
I kept the slippers from the hospital. It’s a reminder of where I was.
I’m wearing this at this moment. Not out of fear. Not because I’m sliding into despair.
But because I’m attempting to embrace that part of me that I generally fear.
Everyone has demons. And we all deal with them differently. The darker they are, the harder we attempt to bury them. Some drink. Others dull the pain with drugs, or food. A few punish themselves by cutting.
I’ve done my share to beat back the night. There’s shit I’m not proud of. At least one thing I can’t forgive myself for.
But now? I write. Because I need to get them out. Shove them into the sunlight. Let them burn.
Song for Rachel was a good start.
And I just figured out the next story. I had the initial idea a few months ago, but it was too… huge. Like most of my ideas, I tend to blow it up before cutting the chaff and getting to the root of it. And you know what they say, write what you know. And I know stuff. I’ve lived through some weird and wonderful shit.
So, here comes Possession. Hold onto your seats. It’s gonna be a rollercoaster.
That’s a question I constantly ask myself, and nine times out of ten, I don’t have an answer.
Tonight, I locked down the play. The dramaturge was extremely happy with the final edits, and it’s been sent to the director for casting. A whole new set of nerves now sets in. If I’m able, I will sit in on a rehearsal or two to answer questions. But I don’t think those start until January.
I realize more and more how I need things to occupy me, mentally and physically. Complacency leads to inertia, which leads to over-obsessing and second-guessing. I think that’s why I hated my last job so much. (Note, I’m not talking about Genuity, but the company that took it over). So many nights, there was nothing to do. I twiddled my thumbs for hours. And trying to find make-work was ridiculous. I’d come up with a plan and presented it to the higher-ups, who pretty much smiled and thanked me, then filed it away. The people at Genuity were awesome: they were open to new ideas. Not all would be adopted, but they listened.
Fuck, I miss working full-time. Could I handle it, at this moment? I don’t have the answer to that. I need to work, and while I enjoy being my own boss, there’s not enough to keep me afloat. Nowhere near enough. So I have to figure out what else to do. Do I temp? That would be a good way to ease back into the 9-5 working life. Which means I need to finish working on my resume. (Need to do that regardless.)
I don’t want to be a burden on people. I want to support myself. I want to know what’s next.
Which also means deciding on what to write next. I don’t want this forward momentum to stagnate. So I need to go over ideas, both written down and floating in my head. And I need to keep writing my blog. It helps a ton.
And relationships? Am I ready to date? Yes, I’ve actually been talking to a couple of people online. But it’s so much easier to be brave and smart and charming behind a computer screen. So what’s next?
It’s been an extremely upswing kind of day. I tried to capitalize on it by bundling up and going out tonight. For at least a walk. Something. And then I turned around and came back home. I froze. (Har dee harr harrrrr.) Dammit.
I’m working on the why, and I know it’s pretty much a chemical thing. I think I flew too high to the sun today with the Doctor Who anniversary (exceeded expectations) and the rewrites (again, exceeded expectations), and I didn’t have a ‘coast back down’ plan in place. So I have a cuppa tea and am watching the Doctor Who 2013 Proms. Music soothes the beast and all that.
Also got feedback from the dramaturge; he had two great notes which I’ll probably be able to work out… tomorrow. Srsly. It’s scary how quickly the rewrites come.
And he said this in the email:
“I am so pleased that you are open to ideas, and it’s super to see how quickly you can adapt and develop your characters and your stories. It’s another reason why you should consider writing for film/TV where rewrites are part of the daily process. Not many people work as quickly as you.”
Why yes, I’d love to write for TV and film. I’ve always been too … hard on my writing before to believe I could do it.
Just finished the new draft of Song for Rachel. 13 days, 22 new pages.
I’m… happy with it. This is a feeling I haven’t had in a while. Being happy with something I’ve written.
Hell, I’ve barely written in months so it was easy to forget how it felt to accomplish something like this. I have been writing in an online RPG but have struggled with the characters’ voices. It’s a reboot and they’re acting like it’s the old game. But now I’ve accomplished this, so maybe that will change as well.
Now comes the interesting part: finding a new focus. The draft is with the dramaturge, and unless he has notes, this may be the draft that goes to the actors for rehearsal in January. (Unless I look back at the pages in a week and find new stuff I want to add.)
And yes, it’s not lost on me that if I’d done something stupid a month ago, I wouldn’t be experiencing this moment right now.
This is part of the purpose of my blog: to recognize when I’m struggling, and to celebrate/capture the moments when I feel like I’ve succeeded.
There’s a moment in my play where I theorize that when it comes to inclement weather, there are two kinds of people: those who stomp in the puddle (using an invisible game of hop scotch), and those who huddle the umbrella. One character accuses the other of being the latter.
I used to jump in puddles. Now I’m in danger of shivering under shelter, waiting for the rain to stop.
Tomorrow marks a month. A month since walking into Emergency and admitting I was in crisis. Accepting I had been trying to stay strong for so long, tilting at windmills (some real, some imagined), feeling defeated, and finally cracking under the weight of it all.
Everyone sing with me: It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine…
It hasn’t been rainbows and puppies. There’s been some really dark times.
I still have problems being in larger social circles for an extended period of time. But I try. I doubt myself sometimes, but not all the time. And when I do, I ask why. I look for answers, rather than accept it for what it is.
But you know what? It hasn’t been all thunder and storm clouds either. There’s been some really good moments too.
I’m closer with my brothers. I’m writing. I maintain this blog daily. Secrets are deadly. Writing it all out helps. I’ve added about 20 pages to the play in less than 2 weeks. The dramaturge loves what I’ve done with it. It’s surprised the hell out of me. I got a 9 week extension for the EI Medical leave. I was approved for OW (which won’t become active until January or February because of the extension, but still).
Every morning isn’t the easiest to wake up, but I am getting consistent. I’m not hitting the alarm clock. I am getting to bed at a reasonable time. I’m almost through my second month of bankruptcy (7 more to go!) My roommate is moving in shortly. The upstairs neighbors are gone in less than 10 days.
Sure, money is still a struggle, and will be for a while. But I’m slowly getting motivated. I’m getting better.
I’m also a month without a cigarette. That, alone, is worth celebrating.
I look back from where I was a month ago, to where I am right at this moment, writing this blog post.
My friend Kate assures me this is so. And if she’s right, this is what I am experiencing tonight.
I spent the morning in a relaxed state. Coffee, the Daily Show, the news. Lunch with my brother Kevin. A trip to the post office for my passport. A walk-around in Canadian Tire. (If only I had money…)
I was barely in the door when the emails started flying in. Four jobs from one of my clients. And most of them needed to be turned by tomorrow. I lived for this shit. Bring it on, I’d cry to the heavens. I’ll show you what I’m made of.
For a moment, I was there again.
Then I fell back to earth. I had a soft fall, though. I caught myself. Stopped when I needed to. Reconfirmed timelines with the client.
So, stressful. But good thing? Maybe.
p.s. My dramaturge wrote back on my new draft (though it’s not complete, I needed feedback). He loved what I’d done so far. Even asked if I was considering breaking the play into 2 acts. Like I didn’t have enough stress… 🙂
And because I’ve done this a few times, a visual/musical interpretation of how I’m feeling right now.
She never spoke, at least not while I was on the ward. She wore the same hospital gowns as me; there was no way to tell how long she’d been there, all I knew for sure was she was a resident when I arrived and I suspect would be so for some time afterward.
Her hair was black, and long. Her eyes, sorrowful. Hoshi never smiled. I got the sense she lost something very dear to her, something that haunted her nights and most probably her every waking moment. I imagined a world in which she suffered a great loss, one that also took her voice.
You wouldn’t hear her approach. She was too soft on her feet. Soft. In a good way, that’s how I saw her. Sad and soft.
And she liked to share.
Hoshi would offer her rice pudding to anyone at the dinner table in the common room. Her small carton of milk was fair game. My first (and thankfully only) night, while watching TV, she appeared by my side and offered me a Snickers bar, one of two she’d acquired from the nurses station. I’d politely declined, twice. She still held it out for me. She knew I was lonely, depressed. Scared. She wanted to take the pain away, even if all she could offer was a piece of chocolate.
I’ve thought about Hoshi every day for the past three and a half weeks since I was released. I hope she finds her voice again.
Got involved in rewrites today/tonight. Got a chunk done, even sent it to the dramaturge for his thoughts. But I still couldn’t put it down. I get hyper focused and when I get like this, it’s never going to be perfect. Always going to look for ways to improve.
And it fucks me up. Late with the pills, late to bed. And I need to be up earlier to get to a 10am doctor’s appointment. Trying not to beat myself up about that.
And of course the idiot upstairs is holding another concert, singing unintelligible crap at midnight. 11 days. Just 11 days.
Oh, now someone’s doing a track & field around the rest of the apartment upstairs. Yeah, tonight’s gonna be fun.
Really don’t have much to write tonight, but I am trying to do this daily. Tomorrow should be a better post.
The Bloody Doors Off 