(or maybe just me)
We fooled ourselves
right out of a friendship.
Looked right at each other
and pretended we didn’t see what was there
and left it all behind.
And now
there’s nothing left
except
uncomfortable silences
awkward greetings
and empty spaces
between us.
And it makes me sorry
for what we had
what we lost
what we may never
find again.
And it makes me
miss you
miss me
miss us
together
because
you still have my heart
despite not wanting it,
you haven’t given it back yet.
So we continue
to be fools,
moving on,
moving past,
moving through,
without ever acknowledging
what made us fools
in the first place.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My favorite still life
I did this a week or two ago and just got around to scanning it in. I'm so proud of this one. It's one of those milestones we have in training, where you see everyone doing this and when you get there, it's another level you've achieved. I love this one, did I mention that? It makes me feel like an artist, like I know what I'm doing. If nothing else, this job has given me that gift, the gift of opening up my artistic potential.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Every breath I take...
Just got back from the LA Free Clinic (god bless them). Been struggling lately with my quarterly bronchial infection.
Well, the good news is all my drugs and the visit was free. I'll have enough stuff to keep me breathing for probably 3-4 months.
The frightening news was that I am currently breathing at 60% of my lung capacity. The biggest change in my life over the past year (asked the doctor), my mother and her cigarette smoking. Big surprise, she's not supposed to smoke in the house or around me but she's in denial and blaming my lack of air on Twyla.
Oh, well, such is life. I guess she'll stop when they put me on oxygen.
Until then, I guess I can stick my head out of the window at home and lock her out of the car when she smokes.
Well, the good news is all my drugs and the visit was free. I'll have enough stuff to keep me breathing for probably 3-4 months.
The frightening news was that I am currently breathing at 60% of my lung capacity. The biggest change in my life over the past year (asked the doctor), my mother and her cigarette smoking. Big surprise, she's not supposed to smoke in the house or around me but she's in denial and blaming my lack of air on Twyla.
Oh, well, such is life. I guess she'll stop when they put me on oxygen.
Until then, I guess I can stick my head out of the window at home and lock her out of the car when she smokes.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Don't box me in.
These are the days when I feel like I don’t need therapy, I don’t need this blog, I don’t need any advice on finding myself because I have found myself. It is the kind of day where I know I am multi-faceted and hard to define and someone who cannot be summed up in a single sentence and I’m fine with that. After all, the people I love in my life cannot be defined in a single sentence. I can try: Chairman – generous, charming, funny, sweet, talented, gifted – but that doesn’t really describe the person who is Chairman; Monica – silly, twisted, dark yet not, smart, funny, clever – but that doesn’t get to the soul of Monica. I could go on but you get it.
The times I struggle the most and am the most depressed are the times I feel like I have to fit myself into a box. Not just a box but a box whose size I don’t know, whose shape I don’t know, that is too small and too cramped and too limiting to actually cram myself in there. Most of the time, the box is created by someone else and I figure I have to stuff myself into it to be loved by them. Sometimes, it’s a box I create myself with that person’s name on it, maybe figuring I’ll mail myself to them when I finally manage to cram myself into it, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the size of a shoebox, sometimes it’s a refrigerator carton. Doesn’t matter, the box is still too small.
It may come from never having that box defined when I was younger. Being the youngest in the family of over-achievers, there were no restrictions put on me, no definitions put on me, which seems like it’s amazing. But it’s crippling because there never seemed to be any real value to what I was doing because no one was invested enough in it to make me feel that it was as exceptional as what my other siblings were doing. Everything was “fine” so I went through most of my life being “fine.” Nothing bad, nothing good, just “fine.”
So when I met my first husband and married him, I tried to figure out what box that meant I should put myself in. He wanted to be a chef and run an elegant restaurant and be the host with me at his side. That sounded great. He’d run the place, I’d be at his side, beaming like the trophy wife I think I expected to be. I’d be Mrs. TSS and that was “fine.” Maybe eventually I’d have my own dance studio because I loved dancing and teaching and I was very good at it. But, in my head, I was just “fine.” I’d be better putting myself into the role of Mrs. TSS and making sure he excelled. That was the box I gave myself. But he escaped out of his own box before I could even see what size mine was and maybe that was a good thing.
I got trapped in a very tiny box at the end of my second marriage. It started out quite huge and seemed to be a box that fit. Mrs. RMJ. That was me. We were a team, if one of us succeeded, the other one would. I think maybe we stuffed both of ourselves into the same box and then ran out of air. I fought to break the top off the box and see what was outside, he wanted to duct tape the box closed with both of us inside. It took me a long time but I broke through that top and found myself falling a very long way to the table outside of that box.
I constantly want to be what you want me to be. And yet, confining myself makes me lose myself. The more I am free to explore and escape and climb and search and tunnel and swing and dig, the more I am me. Some people are comfortable in that box, some people crave that box. Some people aren’t even aware they’re in a box yet I can see it surrounding them, even though they can’t. Those are the ones I want to tear the top off of their boxes and reach down and pull them out. But I digress. I can only deal with my own box, not yours. Sorry if you’re stuck, you gotta want to get out before I can help.
The hardest thing is avoiding climbing into that box. I want to do it because it makes it easier sometimes. I think, “If I’m this, then this is what will happen.” And it doesn’t. Then I’m angry and depressed and frustrated because then I don’t know what box I should be in.
Some of us defy boxes. Some of us cannot be confined in such a finite way. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy if you’ve found a box that fits and is comfortable and you can do laps in. Those are good boxes. But some of us just want to float free and avoid being sealed in. We are too big for boxes, we are too restless to be locked in, we are too big to put a top on. You’ve got to let us be free. I have to let myself be free.
It sounds easy. Just be. Be who you are. Be what you are. But without letting myself accept that I cannot be one thing, I can never just be. Until I can feel like this every day, where I know my need to be unfettered is not flakiness but what makes me stable, my avoidance of boxes is not an aberration but an embracing of my nature, my complexity is the truth and simplicity can come from it, until I can feel like that always, just being is impossible.
So for today, I’ll just be. I’ll be complex. I’ll be artistic. I’ll be a teacher and a director and a writer and a woman and a girl and a dame and a producer and a daughter and a divorcee (twice over) and a glamour girl and a tom boy and a difficult woman and a nurturing woman and a… you fill in the blanks because I’m done trying to.
The times I struggle the most and am the most depressed are the times I feel like I have to fit myself into a box. Not just a box but a box whose size I don’t know, whose shape I don’t know, that is too small and too cramped and too limiting to actually cram myself in there. Most of the time, the box is created by someone else and I figure I have to stuff myself into it to be loved by them. Sometimes, it’s a box I create myself with that person’s name on it, maybe figuring I’ll mail myself to them when I finally manage to cram myself into it, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the size of a shoebox, sometimes it’s a refrigerator carton. Doesn’t matter, the box is still too small.
It may come from never having that box defined when I was younger. Being the youngest in the family of over-achievers, there were no restrictions put on me, no definitions put on me, which seems like it’s amazing. But it’s crippling because there never seemed to be any real value to what I was doing because no one was invested enough in it to make me feel that it was as exceptional as what my other siblings were doing. Everything was “fine” so I went through most of my life being “fine.” Nothing bad, nothing good, just “fine.”
So when I met my first husband and married him, I tried to figure out what box that meant I should put myself in. He wanted to be a chef and run an elegant restaurant and be the host with me at his side. That sounded great. He’d run the place, I’d be at his side, beaming like the trophy wife I think I expected to be. I’d be Mrs. TSS and that was “fine.” Maybe eventually I’d have my own dance studio because I loved dancing and teaching and I was very good at it. But, in my head, I was just “fine.” I’d be better putting myself into the role of Mrs. TSS and making sure he excelled. That was the box I gave myself. But he escaped out of his own box before I could even see what size mine was and maybe that was a good thing.
I got trapped in a very tiny box at the end of my second marriage. It started out quite huge and seemed to be a box that fit. Mrs. RMJ. That was me. We were a team, if one of us succeeded, the other one would. I think maybe we stuffed both of ourselves into the same box and then ran out of air. I fought to break the top off the box and see what was outside, he wanted to duct tape the box closed with both of us inside. It took me a long time but I broke through that top and found myself falling a very long way to the table outside of that box.
I constantly want to be what you want me to be. And yet, confining myself makes me lose myself. The more I am free to explore and escape and climb and search and tunnel and swing and dig, the more I am me. Some people are comfortable in that box, some people crave that box. Some people aren’t even aware they’re in a box yet I can see it surrounding them, even though they can’t. Those are the ones I want to tear the top off of their boxes and reach down and pull them out. But I digress. I can only deal with my own box, not yours. Sorry if you’re stuck, you gotta want to get out before I can help.
The hardest thing is avoiding climbing into that box. I want to do it because it makes it easier sometimes. I think, “If I’m this, then this is what will happen.” And it doesn’t. Then I’m angry and depressed and frustrated because then I don’t know what box I should be in.
Some of us defy boxes. Some of us cannot be confined in such a finite way. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy if you’ve found a box that fits and is comfortable and you can do laps in. Those are good boxes. But some of us just want to float free and avoid being sealed in. We are too big for boxes, we are too restless to be locked in, we are too big to put a top on. You’ve got to let us be free. I have to let myself be free.
It sounds easy. Just be. Be who you are. Be what you are. But without letting myself accept that I cannot be one thing, I can never just be. Until I can feel like this every day, where I know my need to be unfettered is not flakiness but what makes me stable, my avoidance of boxes is not an aberration but an embracing of my nature, my complexity is the truth and simplicity can come from it, until I can feel like that always, just being is impossible.
So for today, I’ll just be. I’ll be complex. I’ll be artistic. I’ll be a teacher and a director and a writer and a woman and a girl and a dame and a producer and a daughter and a divorcee (twice over) and a glamour girl and a tom boy and a difficult woman and a nurturing woman and a… you fill in the blanks because I’m done trying to.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Anatomy of a new life
08/14/07
Anatomy of a new life
Two years ago, I ventured into this new life. I blew into it, screaming “yippee” at the top of my lungs. No more controlling husband. No more anger and bitterness and fighting and just pure moments of hatred between us. I was free. Yee-ha.
And I leapt into my new life with both feet, never looking back. Okay, maybe peeking back occasionally. I had a new roomie, I had a new home, I had a new life. What’s not to love? I went to Vegas with someone I adore, had the best time I’ve ever had in Sin City. Jumped into my first 48 Hour Film and “Cinderella.” I thought I owned the world. I had found and embraced my destiny – even had it tattooed on my left wrist. Fuck you, ex-hubbie, and the control freak horse you rode in it! I rule! I lost my heart to someone, hopeful that he would find it and bring it back to me, making me realize I could let that organ out again to play. It was an amazing year. I thought the rest of my life would be this fun-filled, slightly disorienting ride.
Then, about a year ago, reality crashed in. Moved into a temporary place, my father’s health took a nosedive, my heart was not returned to me but left lying on the floor, ignored and abandoned. The loss of my marriage began to hit me, crippling me, making me doubt that I had made the right choice. I had the same amazing friends surrounding me but I began to realize the friends that had chosen to be left behind, that simply dropped out of my life, whether by design, by choice or simply by life, it was not important. That they weren’t there was. I began to wonder what the hell I had done. Yeah, sure, living this insane, unconventional, creative life has its benefits but it also has its detriments. There is no footing, there is no surety, there is no balance sometimes. And the person I had hoped would be there – who had been there at the start – was not there anymore and I felt abandoned and alone again, grieving for something that should have been, could have been, would have been, but never was.
I have sleepwalked through the last year of my life. Sure, on the surface, I was there, I was moving, I was present. But my soul and my spirit were not. They were off somewhere, trying to regroup and reform. I was in a haze, moving forward because there was no other choice but to do so. But I couldn’t see the path anymore. I became slowly but surely sucked into the abyss, being pulled down by those stupid clowns, convinced that I was going to be alone, moderately successful but never to the level I wanted to be, and always left standing by the side of the road, waiting, wanting, craving, but never having.
I hadn’t dealt with my feelings about my marriage or its end. I hadn’t dealt with things left over from my childhood that led me to choosing both of my ex’s. I hadn’t dealt with a lot of things and now they were kicking my ass. Once again, I found myself ready to give in and give up. RMJ was right. I was a failure. I would be nothing without him. I had made the biggest mistake of my life. And my friends knew it. It wouldn’t be long before they left, too.
A very dark night a few months ago – as well as a very angry email from someone who loves me – made me stop. I had come very close to once again throwing in the literal towel and this time, instead of a bottle of pills, it was going to be the freeway divider at midnight at 80 mph. Seemed somehow poetic to die by freeway at midnight near downtown LA. I’d make the news.
But I made it home. Barely. I read this email from my friend and it really sunk in. I was in serious trouble and it wasn’t going to get better by avoiding it. I had worked too hard for my life to throw it away. I thought I had put my marriage behind me but I hadn’t. I had just put it in a box and hid it away, hoping to never look at it again. That’s what my family does. Put things away, don’t ever look at them again.
I have returned to my therapist. I have finally begun to really deal with why I chose both my ex’s, why I feel alone and abandoned, why I feel like I don’t deserve anything in my life. I thought that by now, I would be past him and me and us and 18 years and asking why. But I’m not. I think I’ve only begun to ask the really important questions. The answers are not easy and the questions are terrifying. But at least there are answers and I think finally, after two years, the healing has begun.
Anatomy of a new life
Two years ago, I ventured into this new life. I blew into it, screaming “yippee” at the top of my lungs. No more controlling husband. No more anger and bitterness and fighting and just pure moments of hatred between us. I was free. Yee-ha.
And I leapt into my new life with both feet, never looking back. Okay, maybe peeking back occasionally. I had a new roomie, I had a new home, I had a new life. What’s not to love? I went to Vegas with someone I adore, had the best time I’ve ever had in Sin City. Jumped into my first 48 Hour Film and “Cinderella.” I thought I owned the world. I had found and embraced my destiny – even had it tattooed on my left wrist. Fuck you, ex-hubbie, and the control freak horse you rode in it! I rule! I lost my heart to someone, hopeful that he would find it and bring it back to me, making me realize I could let that organ out again to play. It was an amazing year. I thought the rest of my life would be this fun-filled, slightly disorienting ride.
Then, about a year ago, reality crashed in. Moved into a temporary place, my father’s health took a nosedive, my heart was not returned to me but left lying on the floor, ignored and abandoned. The loss of my marriage began to hit me, crippling me, making me doubt that I had made the right choice. I had the same amazing friends surrounding me but I began to realize the friends that had chosen to be left behind, that simply dropped out of my life, whether by design, by choice or simply by life, it was not important. That they weren’t there was. I began to wonder what the hell I had done. Yeah, sure, living this insane, unconventional, creative life has its benefits but it also has its detriments. There is no footing, there is no surety, there is no balance sometimes. And the person I had hoped would be there – who had been there at the start – was not there anymore and I felt abandoned and alone again, grieving for something that should have been, could have been, would have been, but never was.
I have sleepwalked through the last year of my life. Sure, on the surface, I was there, I was moving, I was present. But my soul and my spirit were not. They were off somewhere, trying to regroup and reform. I was in a haze, moving forward because there was no other choice but to do so. But I couldn’t see the path anymore. I became slowly but surely sucked into the abyss, being pulled down by those stupid clowns, convinced that I was going to be alone, moderately successful but never to the level I wanted to be, and always left standing by the side of the road, waiting, wanting, craving, but never having.
I hadn’t dealt with my feelings about my marriage or its end. I hadn’t dealt with things left over from my childhood that led me to choosing both of my ex’s. I hadn’t dealt with a lot of things and now they were kicking my ass. Once again, I found myself ready to give in and give up. RMJ was right. I was a failure. I would be nothing without him. I had made the biggest mistake of my life. And my friends knew it. It wouldn’t be long before they left, too.
A very dark night a few months ago – as well as a very angry email from someone who loves me – made me stop. I had come very close to once again throwing in the literal towel and this time, instead of a bottle of pills, it was going to be the freeway divider at midnight at 80 mph. Seemed somehow poetic to die by freeway at midnight near downtown LA. I’d make the news.
But I made it home. Barely. I read this email from my friend and it really sunk in. I was in serious trouble and it wasn’t going to get better by avoiding it. I had worked too hard for my life to throw it away. I thought I had put my marriage behind me but I hadn’t. I had just put it in a box and hid it away, hoping to never look at it again. That’s what my family does. Put things away, don’t ever look at them again.
I have returned to my therapist. I have finally begun to really deal with why I chose both my ex’s, why I feel alone and abandoned, why I feel like I don’t deserve anything in my life. I thought that by now, I would be past him and me and us and 18 years and asking why. But I’m not. I think I’ve only begun to ask the really important questions. The answers are not easy and the questions are terrifying. But at least there are answers and I think finally, after two years, the healing has begun.
Hard to beat...
Coming home tonight from the Ark, driving over the Sepulveda pass, no traffic (miracle!), Bob Seger's "Hollywood Nights" blasting out of my brand spanking new black Ipod on my decent stereo in my POS Hyundai, followed shortly by Keith Urban's "Slow Turnin'." It's about 70 outside, lovely breeze blowing through my back windows. Clear sky, the Valley glittering below me as I crest the 405.
Nope, doesn't get better than this.
Nope, doesn't get better than this.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
My first check
Behold, my first check for directing:
I can't stop smiling, even though this has been a challenging experience.
I am now a paid director.
About f***ing time.
I can't stop smiling, even though this has been a challenging experience.
I am now a paid director.
About f***ing time.
Summary of August 3, 2007.
Summary of today
Okay, yesterday, really.
Woke up realizing it’s my ex’s birthday. Great way to start the day.
Typed my ass off in the morning.
Couldn’t find anything cute to wear to the “preview” tonight of my new show. God, I need to lose a ton of weight.
Got to MR to corrupt the creative souls of children. My regular partner in crime is off this weekend. Her substitute got the time wrong for the first class. I have no keys. Kids started showing up. Got in to the studio almost 45 minutes late. Couldn’t leave at 5, like I was supposed to in order to get to the preview early.
Oh, and the air conditioning broke down – again.
Found out the MR guy who repairs the air had the keys all along, lives very close, could have let us in earlier and could have locked up so I wouldn’t have had to hang around.
Fought traffic at 6:45 to get to Santa Monica by 7:30-7:45. Arrived at 7:30.
Don’t really want to discuss tonight. The show went fine and all. Other things, behind the scenes, that I’ll blog about some day. Sum it up with the fact that I’m listed in the program as “Susan (director).” No last name with my bio. Apparently, I have become like Madonna and only go by my first name. The answer to my query as to why this is was simply, “Oh, I guess I missed that. I guess we should change that before we print up new ones.” Nice to know my time and talent are appreciated.
Blew out of there, as apparently did everyone else. Very tired. Should have gone home since I’m getting up before dawn to go help my dearest Chairman with his yard sale at 6 AM. But, nooooo.
Stopped by Molly Malone’s (bar in Hollywood) to listen to the Piper Downs, one of my favorite bands and a group of my favorite people. Am very, very glad I did. They blew away my blues with their simple joy in playing. I love these guys. They are some of the finest musicians on earth and if you want some killer, kick-ass, straight out rock and roll, check them out. They rocked so hard tonight. Greeted me with such friendship and love that the rest of the day faded away to the strains of “Stutter”.
Drove home, avoiding the swerving and the drunken and the just simply LA-ian drivers.
Now, I’m wide awake, it’s 1:21 AM and I have to get to bed. I’m not going to say get to sleep because I don’t know if actual sleep will actually happen. But at least lay down, close my eyes and breathe for the first time in days.
Here’s to a better tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday, writing with my “team” – the fabulous David S. and the amazing Monica H. Trying to make the comedy part of the Ark film an actual comedy. Sorry, Erik, I know now that pairing you with the other writer was not a good blend and I hope to get another chance to work with you on something else. Focus on your kids, give them much love, and everything else will figure itself out.
Okay, rambling now. Must stop typing…..
Okay, yesterday, really.
Woke up realizing it’s my ex’s birthday. Great way to start the day.
Typed my ass off in the morning.
Couldn’t find anything cute to wear to the “preview” tonight of my new show. God, I need to lose a ton of weight.
Got to MR to corrupt the creative souls of children. My regular partner in crime is off this weekend. Her substitute got the time wrong for the first class. I have no keys. Kids started showing up. Got in to the studio almost 45 minutes late. Couldn’t leave at 5, like I was supposed to in order to get to the preview early.
Oh, and the air conditioning broke down – again.
Found out the MR guy who repairs the air had the keys all along, lives very close, could have let us in earlier and could have locked up so I wouldn’t have had to hang around.
Fought traffic at 6:45 to get to Santa Monica by 7:30-7:45. Arrived at 7:30.
Don’t really want to discuss tonight. The show went fine and all. Other things, behind the scenes, that I’ll blog about some day. Sum it up with the fact that I’m listed in the program as “Susan (director).” No last name with my bio. Apparently, I have become like Madonna and only go by my first name. The answer to my query as to why this is was simply, “Oh, I guess I missed that. I guess we should change that before we print up new ones.” Nice to know my time and talent are appreciated.
Blew out of there, as apparently did everyone else. Very tired. Should have gone home since I’m getting up before dawn to go help my dearest Chairman with his yard sale at 6 AM. But, nooooo.
Stopped by Molly Malone’s (bar in Hollywood) to listen to the Piper Downs, one of my favorite bands and a group of my favorite people. Am very, very glad I did. They blew away my blues with their simple joy in playing. I love these guys. They are some of the finest musicians on earth and if you want some killer, kick-ass, straight out rock and roll, check them out. They rocked so hard tonight. Greeted me with such friendship and love that the rest of the day faded away to the strains of “Stutter”.
Drove home, avoiding the swerving and the drunken and the just simply LA-ian drivers.
Now, I’m wide awake, it’s 1:21 AM and I have to get to bed. I’m not going to say get to sleep because I don’t know if actual sleep will actually happen. But at least lay down, close my eyes and breathe for the first time in days.
Here’s to a better tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday, writing with my “team” – the fabulous David S. and the amazing Monica H. Trying to make the comedy part of the Ark film an actual comedy. Sorry, Erik, I know now that pairing you with the other writer was not a good blend and I hope to get another chance to work with you on something else. Focus on your kids, give them much love, and everything else will figure itself out.
Okay, rambling now. Must stop typing…..
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