Two words - Keith Urban.

Nuff said:

Oh, and a video:



Or two:

F*** Plan B.

Let me start by saying I love my job at M:R teaching kids. Love it, love it, love it. I look forward to teaching every day that I do. I mean, I get to dress casual, I get to play with the kids, I get to skip at work. I have never skipped at work.

But today, I had a big realization. I love directing more.

With the 48 Hour Film Project looming next week, I’m looking at everything for inspiration to write the best script, the one that will land me in the top 10 so I can compete in San Francisco in September (if you don’t know the details, check out 48 hour film website). So I went to mediocre sketch comedy last night with Anna B., suffered through some drunken ranting and then one of the guys said something that triggered an idea, which I passed along today to my two cohorts for this year’s film. Monica responded about how much she liked the idea, etc. Dave then started on this very funny tangent that started off as nothing more than innocuous kidding between friends but then the idea grew and grew, still silly and funny, but I can see the possibilities for it. It’s all I’ve thought about since then. We went back and forth numerous times, joking about how to approach this idea (Monica, I’ll fill you in when I see you Saturday). After about an hour of intermittent emails about ideas, I had to pack up and get out to Northridge to teach. I struggled because we were on this very funny tangent and things were moving as quickly as email would let them move (he was at work, I was getting ready for work). I showered and headed off to work.

On the way, all I could think of was this idea and how to make it work. That’s when it hit me. I didn’t want to go and teach. I wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon emailing ideas back and forth, fleshing out this idea as much as we could without breaking the rules, and see what else could come from this flow going on. I wanted to call Dave and say, hey, let’s get together after you’re off work and see what else we can come up with. Let’s call Monica and start brainstorming. Let’s keep going.

I have been enjoying this “pay the rent” job so much that this thought has been creeping in more and more – this will be a great Plan B if the directing thing doesn’t work out. I’ll go through the training to be a program director at my own studio – JUST IN CASE. I’ll see how far I get before my directing career takes off JUST IN CASE. I’ll do a great job and really soak everything up JUST IN CASE. Because I may not have a directing career. I might be doing the same thing I am now in five years so this is the perfect Plan B job JUST IN CASE.

Well, fuck just in case and Plan B. I want Plan A. In a year, I want to be making pay-the-rent money with my Plan A. I want to have “Cinderella” coming out in release. I want to have word of mouth on “The Wraith” tearing up the wires. I want to have my next film planned and financed, including my fee for it. I want Plan B. I don’t want JUST IN CASE.

I am a director. That’s what I am. I write only so I can direct. I work only so that I can direct. It is who I am. Part of me is an artist and I certainly am not about to quit the “pay the rent” job. But I cannot allow myself to think “maybe the directing thing won’t work out.” It has to. Because there is nothing else. If this doesn’t succeed, I have nothing else that will fill me as much as this will.

So in that vein, this is what I want:

1. Make my living directing. Anything. Everything. Film. TV. Theatre. Commercials. Will direct for food.

2. Find someone to be with who appreciates, respects and understands that.

3. My Plan B to be my own art – my jewelry and my accessory line. Then I’ll sell it for more money than I could ever imagine. To finance my directing habit.

4. My own place within the next year. Of course, it would have to be in the same building as my parents so I could still be a few feet away but could have my own place. Financed by – say it with me – my directing career.

5. The condo in my vision – on the beach, very zen, very elegant, very peaceful, filled with music and song and love and art of every sort. With that voice I can hear singing in the next room, making me smile while I sit in my favorite chair, looking out the window at the foggy ocean, inhaling that clean beautiful scent, while he’s doing whatever he is doing, singing and laughing and calling to me to come and see what he’s doing.

6. A classic Mustang. Fully restored.

7. The life I see but can’t reach just yet.

That’s all.

no
arms to reach out
no
mouth to scream
too many tears
to actually fall
broken
shattered
wounded
heart
holding together
with
hope
will
duct tape
battered self
held together
with
nothing
just breath
breath
breath
until something
anything
changes
and
there is
ground
again

Begin again.

I am going to try to begin today by letting go.

Letting go of things I wished and wanted and needed and pined for that are not there. Letting go of anger and frustration and aggravation over things I cannot control. Letting go of my past, both recent and long ago, and trying to focus on the future.

Letting go of what I thought my life would be with him, whichever one he is. Letting go of holding on, waiting for something, anything to tell me what to do.

I took a leap of faith almost two years ago but I don’t think I ever got off the ledge. I think I’ve spent too much time there recently.

Today, I am going to try to begin by letting go.

Creating a life...

There are no directions for starting over. Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, I realize how much I don’t have anything figured out.

The professional life recreating was easy. I knew what I wanted, I knew what path to take, I knew how to get there. I’m thrilled with where things are going on that side of my life. In fact, it looks like I have my first PAID directing gig coming up very soon. That part of my life couldn’t be better.

It’s the personal side that we’re not given directions for, particularly starting over at 45. Society is created based on a very old system – when you reach a certain age, you look for someone to pair up with then you spend the rest of your life making plans with that person. Plans for an engagement, then a wedding, then children, then college, then their engagement, then their weddings, then your retirement and then your death. Marriages are just figuring out plans forever.

When I got divorced at 25, it was easier. I was more open to meeting someone else, figuring I’d find someone to make plans with again. And I did. And we did. We had plans. I got over losing the plans I had made with my first husband because I found someone else to make plans with.

Then at 43, I lost that planning buddy because his plans and my plans no longer fit together. And I had plans. Boy, did I have plans.

But I didn’t realize until I was on my own that my plans were only on the professional side. I thought that was all I needed. After all, Susan, the director, was who I was. I was (and am) a director. But I forgot something. I was also Susan, the woman, who needed more than just professional plans.

I think I fell in love with the OOMA mainly because he was the person I was making plans with. For his birthday trip almost immediately after being on my own (although it was supposed to be a big bunch of making plans for that), planning for professional things he was doing with me, planning to see bands and plays and friends and parties. Plans for things he wanted to do and professional things he wanted to create. It felt like what I was supposed to do – find someone, make plans with them. I think we both got caught up in having someone to make plans with and that felt great and real and like what we were supposed to do. Maybe we both fell in love with that – the having someone to make plans with – as opposed to the person we were making the plans with. Maybe he realized it sooner than I did. Maybe I’m just realizing it now. That’s why I miss him being around so much – I miss planning with him.

Because without the OOMA, I have to make plans only for myself. And I don’t know how to do that. We’re not taught to do that. Neither men nor women are taught to make plans for ourselves after about 30 years of age because by then, we’re supposed to be in our permanent planning partnerships and never need to worry about planning for ourselves again.

But in an age when more than 50% of marriages end in divorce, self-planning is becoming a necessity. But no one is showing us how to do that. No one says, wow, that’s cool that you’re making plans to go to Mexico this year by yourself, for yourself, with some friends. It’s, “oh, you’re going to Mexico alone? Oh, you’re going with friends. That’s… nice. So have you been dating? Oh. Why not?”

I don’t know how to plan the rest of my life. I keep thinking I have to find someone to plan things with, otherwise how do I know if I’m making the right plans? I mean, god forbid I should make plans for myself, then find someone to plan with, and discover that he already has plans for himself. How do we make our plans fit together? And how do I plan for just me? In both my marriages, I thought I had to put everything for me aside so that I could be free to plan for them. After all, despite being a very liberated woman raised by a liberated mother, I still thought my job was to be standing behind my man, making his plans, making sure his plans happened, making our plans and then, somewhere after all of that, my plans came.

I don’t know how to make my plans the most important thing in my life. I still find myself wanting to make my plans around what the OOMA is doing because he’s the closest thing I have to someone to make plans with. And that’s just dumb. Because he’s making plans without me. He seems to be able to do that. After all, he’s been doing it a lot longer than I have.

I just don’t know what I want to plan. I mean, I’ve never really thought about just me, only me. Two years after I left my husband, I’m just figuring out that I’m at sea with what I want my life to be. I have a vague notion, mostly tied into my professional life. But I can’t see what plans I want in my personal life. They always seem to come back to – I want someone to make plans with.

I know I want to travel. But travel by myself? Is that what I want? No. I want to share Mexico with someone who will stand on the top of the Pyramid of the Sun with me, his arm around me, smiling down at me and saying, I’m glad we did this, happy 45 years. Someone to make plans with for the next 45 years. I want a home on the beach with wide, open, tall windows so I can curl up in a chair and stare out at the ocean, listen to its breath, take in its glory and peace. But I hear his voice in the other room, singing in that beautiful tone he has, thinking about what we’re doing that night. Again, making plans with someone. I know I want to be happy. That sounds simple. But there’s always the codicil that there has to be someone there to make me happy, to be happy with.

Two years later and I still can’t see myself for just me yet. I thought I could. I thought I did. But I realize more and more that I can’t and I haven’t. I have to learn to plan for just me. Then maybe I can open my life to someone else’s Dayrunner.

I wonder if Franklin Covey makes a planner for this?

Eternal Spotless Mind

Would I erase you if I could, just to release some of my heart? And what would I erase? Your birthdays, which were so special, at least to me. The couple of trips we took, not as a couple, but as very good friends. Singing, dancing. Working together. Watching you work. Those late night dinners and midnight conversations. All the music. Wow, all the music. I’d have to erase half my Ipod.

What would that accomplish? Relieve some of the pain, some of the doubt, some of the “what ifs”. Make me stop missing you in my life. Make me let go of that piece of my heart so maybe I can give it to someone else to do exactly the same thing to it.

Would it be worth letting those wonderful memories go just to let go of some of the pain? Or would it hurt more to not have those memories, to lose that part of myself that lived so fully and so perfectly in the moment in those times?

Guess only time will tell as all of this fades into memory and we grow further apart and you fade from my life. I’ll look back and think fondly of those vague days of singing and acting and just talking and just being and scrubbing your bathroom. I’ll laugh and say, “Wow, I remember that, kind of. That was nice, I think. He was a nice guy and was very special – for such a short time.”

Like most of the men in my life, I thought you’d be around forever. And like most, I guess I was wrong. I guess there will be more that will fade, leaving me with fondness and warm times locked in my head.

Virtual Fridge - new watercolor

I seem to be addicted to Georgia O'Keefe and her flowers. Just bought this huge book from Barnes and Noble with her wonderful flowers. So here's one:



I'm digging doing all this painting. I was so tired after a long day yesterday but couldn't help myself. I had to sit down and paint because I was so inspired and motivated from teaching. Just what I need, another addiction!

F***.

Clowns got loose.

Running rampant.

Very big.

Very mean.

Very pissed off.

Carrying signs.

And megaphones.

Here’s a bit of what they’re saying (in no particular order):

1. You’re fat.
2. You’re old.
3. You’re ugly.
4. Nobody wants you here.
5. He’s sorry he ever let you into his life and now he just wants you to fucking go away and never come back.
6. Oh, did we mention you’re fat?
7. And you’re old.
8. And you’re ugly.
9. Nobody wants you here.
10. He especially doesn’t want you here, there or anywhere near him.
11. You’re gonna die alone and empty and unfulfilled.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Damn.

Damn.

Trying to ignore them.

Hope to get some sleep.

And, yes, I know they’re liars and it’s bullshit and ignore them and all the good advice you’re all gonna post and email and send to me.

But it doesn’t help.

Because they’re big, mean, pissed off clowns. And they’re loud. And I’m tired. Of everything.

Hope tomorrow will find them back in cages.

We’ll see.

Virtual Fridge - new watercolor

My newest watercolor:



This was tough and is one of the first "real" animals I have drawn from this fabulous new photo book I picked up that has images from the Arctic and Antarctic. Some beautiful images I hope to draw and paint eventually.

So, enjoy!

Unforgivable sin...

I will never forgive you for making me give up on having a baby. You made the whole experience so awful and painful and difficult. You made me feel guilty for having you jerk off in a cup twice a month, even though I was the one who underwent all the horrible, painful tests and hormone treatments and operations. Jerking off in a cup doesn’t even fucking equal the one x-ray I had done (hysterosalpingogram, for those of you with a yen for research). Jerking off in a cup doesn’t even fucking equal having exploratory surgery just to check out why we weren’t getting pregnant. Jerking off in a cup doesn’t even fucking equal the emotional pain and sorrow when I got my period every single month, knowing I had failed yet again at something I wanted so badly. Your comforting words? It’s okay, I’m okay if we don’t have children. So fucking glad you’re okay because, god forbid, I wouldn’t want you to be not okay. I’ll just go on my sterile merry barren way while you enjoy your empty, childless life, which you’re okay with.

You made me feel guilty when I went for insemination, despite being pretty much covered by your health insurance. You almost wouldn’t go to the doctor with me to jerk off in the cup because you didn’t want to tell your boss you’d be late for work so you could help your wife get pregnant because she didn’t think anyone should have children. You put your fucking boss, who you hated, over your wife. You put her feelings over mine. I had to beg you to come with me that morning because you couldn’t be bothered to come to the doctor for 10 minutes to help me with something we both should have wanted more than anything.

Someone once accused me of not wanting to get pregnant badly enough to actually do anything in my power to get pregnant. The truth was that I couldn’t face dealing with you anymore on this because you had made my life hell while I was trying to create something that should be a gift from God. But you couldn’t bear to be inconvenienced by things such as tests and jars. You couldn’t open your heart up a little bit to see the pain and the anguish I was going through. You couldn’t be honest enough to say, you know what, I don’t want to have a baby, it’s too much for me to handle, it’ll disrupt this pleasantly organized life I have created. So don’t do it, okay? No. You made me feel guilty and awful and ridiculous for wanting to try. You never understood my pain in anything else, I don’t know why I expected you to understand my pain in this.

And now I sit here and people keep saying to me, boy, you must be glad you never had children, now that you’re divorced. And you know what, those of you who dare to ask that stupid question? No, I’m not glad we didn’t have children. I am in pain every single day because we COULDN’T have children. I did not choose to not have children. Part of it was nature, part of it was his choice. It was never my choice. We didn’t have children because he was too selfish to allow us to. We didn’t have children because God didn’t choose to bless us with them. So don’t ever ask that stupid fucking question to anyone on this earth again because you don’t know anything about why they don’t have children and how they feel about that.

I could deal with your cruelty and your indifference and your brutality. I could forgive you for making me feel small and stupid and unloved and unwanted. I could forget that you tried to shatter my dreams and almost let me kill myself on that one long, empty night. But for this, I will never be able to forgive you because you took away my choice in something that was possibly the most important thing ever in our lives. You turned your back on that and never looked back. You never tried to find out what that did to me, just like you never tried to find out what anything did to me. For never even seeing what you took away from me, I will never forgive you. For leaving me empty and aching and filled with sorrow and anguish whenever I see the beautiful, glorious faces of children around me, I will never forgive you. For never really even allowing the possibility, I will never forgive you.

I think that’s when the end began, when you closed that door on me without seeing the damage that was done. But you’ll never understand because you don’t have the heart to. And that’s just pathetic.

Communing with nature...

Just took a nice photo safari/hike in Wildwood Canyon. Okay, hike may be stretching it. More of a walk 10 steps, stop, huff and puff, pretend to be focusing for a picture of a flower, walk 10 more steps, stop, huff and puff, focus again... You get the idea.

It was a break I needed, though. Quiet, peaceful. I brought my nifty Shuffle along but remembered Peter blogging about how we block out the world around us with our music and our headphones and all the electronic gadgetry at our disposal and I left the headphones off. It was a lovely meditative walk/huffpuff/hike and I desperately needed it. The blue moon has been wreaking havoc with my mood the past few days and I needed to clear some of the cobwebs.

I'll post some pictures later as I took them the old-fashioned way, with my excellent Canon Rebel film camera. My digital just doesn't shoot as nice as this does.

So my advice for today - get out of your house/office/apartment/head and go grab some air. Leave the phone/Ipod/Wii at home and just breathe. It'll do wonders for you.

Luv. =)

Musings at 5:18 AM

I hate that it’s 5:18 AM and I’m wide awake.

I hate that my heart and my mind disagree so early in the morning and decided to have a full-on drag-out battle this early. I’m not ready to deal with these emotions right now but they seem to be ignoring me.

Can’t seem to let him go, despite logic, despite my brain telling me that every relationship – friendship or otherwise – has its flow, its ebb, and sometimes friendships just go away. But I feel like I’m missing a part of me. I can still feel him in my heart, the way I can feel all my good friends and the people that are dear to me.

I don’t let things go easily, particularly things that I don’t understand.

And I know there’s nothing I can do about it. At least, my head knows there’s nothing I can do about it. My heart is entirely another matter. It’s stubborn and obsessive and juvenile and given to tantrums and heartbreak. And right now, it’s throwing one hell of a hissy fit.

Maybe morning light will bring my heart some peace and my mind will rule during the daylight hours, finding a tentative treaty with this silly, stupid, irrational muscle. Maybe it’s the pending blue moon bringing this on. Whatever it is, I vote for the head to win this time so I can move on in peace.

Fear of...

I’m afraid that I will never be held again. Really held. With love. With passion. With fervor. After sex. Before sex. During sex.

Oh, yeah. And I’m afraid I will never have sex again. But, honestly, I think I can deal with that. I’d rather not have sex than have bad sex with someone I’m not in love with.

I’m afraid I will never have the shivering, quivering chills that come with delicate kisses on my neck.

God, I need to have sex.

Or not.

I just want to be wrapped up in someone’s arms, whether we’re watching TV or falling asleep.

Sometimes it’s hard when the men I adore hug me good night because that’s as close to the feeling as I can get right now. But those hugs always end too quickly and that feeling dissolves. And I’m left with this lingering want of something I can’t have.

And I’m afraid of spending the rest of my life alone in my daybed with my cat.

And I’m afraid I’ll never have that rush of a first kiss with someone. Or the rush of a second kiss. Or a hundredth kiss. Because I want someone who’s going to thrill me 15 years from now with his touch and his kiss and that may be too much to ask for.

And I’m afraid, occasionally, that maybe my ex (second one) was my soul mate and I fucked it up somehow. That he was the one meant for me and I was too stupid or blind or selfish or something-ish to see it. That I allowed what I wanted outside of our relationship to cloud what I wanted inside our relationship. I know that’s irrational and it’s stupid but it’s there.

I’m afraid that, after two marriages, that this is all I get. I had my chances and I blew them both. Now I get nothing else but the love of friends and the fleeting hugs of the men I love.

Mostly, I’m just afraid of never being held that way again. Because that leads to everything else. And, unfortunately, there’s not much any of you can do about it right now. Unless you want to send George Clooney over.

Virtual Fridge cont'd

One good thing about being a bit under the weather, I can justify sitting around, doing nothing. So I did nothing but paint this evening, while watching the evilest of all genres - the romantic comedy.

So check out my sickly paintings... working on this landscape drill I have to teach and am not feeling terribly confident about. These are the ones that I will show you. Others will never see the light of day. And a Georgia O'Keefe quickie knock-off.












Oh, and I changed my mind. George Clooney as sex slave. Robert Downey as naked house boy.

Sick ramblings of a blurry mind...

Tired and sick. Can’t decide whether to paint, draw or write. Consequently, I’m really doing none of the above.

My dear friend, Anna, commented that my blogs have been a bit cheery and bright lately and she was wondering what was going on. I laughed.

What is going on is this – I’m getting settled, I’m getting happier about my life. After two very long years, full of confusion and chaos and disarray, I feel like maybe things are finally settling down. I feel like I can kind of see my future, I can feel the beginnings of feeling the future inside me. For so long, I’ve struggled with figuring out a future without someone at my side. Now I’m accepting that my future is that – mine and will probably not have anyone in it, at least for a while. I need to plan without holding out for someone to be there. I need to take the last vestiges of my life off hold and finish the leap I started.

That doesn’t mean bright and cheery every day. Maybe about half the time. It’s still hard every day, particularly living with my folks. I love them dearly but, good god, sometimes I miss the chaos of living with Tiffany and her two crazy dogs.

Communicating with my first husband has put some things in perspective for me. Makes me realize a bit more about what I want.

I want that kind of love again. I want to love without hesitation, without fear, without panic. I want someone to take my breath away. I want to feel that thrill in my chest when he walks into the room. And I want to do the same to him. I want to see that in his eyes and hear it in his voice when he says, “There she is.” I want that first time love again.

And I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.

Partly because I still don’t have my heart back from OOMA. Yeah, I know that’s a dead-end. Yeah, I understand all the things you have all told me over the months of obsession and fixation. But the heart is a muscle with very stubborn memory retention and it hasn’t decided to come back to me yet. I don’t pine anymore. I miss his presence as I don’t see him as often as I used to and I know he’s been struggling with his own pile of crap lately. But there is a melancholy echo inside me where my heart should be and until that echo finally fades, I’m not sure I can reach out to someone else yet. The heart doesn’t always listen to logic, damn it.

And until my heart is whole again, there won’t be that potential for the kind of love I want. And I guess I accept that. Because I won’t settle for less than that. Maybe it’s nuts but I watch the women around me who I adore who are with men who don’t make them happy or don’t fulfill them or just don’t… And yet, they hang on to them because, I guess, they’re afraid of what would happen if they let go. So they settle for less than because it’s better than none. And I won’t do that, after fighting to get so much back into my life, I won’t settle for someone who doesn’t totally and completely curl my toes. That doesn’t mean I expect a perfect relationship to fall into my lap with no arguing or fighting or disagreements. That’s part of the fun of relationships. But it’s about the times in between, when things should be good. They should be GOOD. Even after fighting, I should want to make up as soon as possible so we can get back to the good stuff. I don’t want to waste more time just passing time with someone because I don’t want to be alone. To me, that would be worse. That would be like reliving the last five or more years of my marriage, where I was pretty much staying because I couldn’t see any other way.

I won’t waste that time again. I don’t consider the time focused on OOMA as wasted because it helped me define what I do want. And I think there was a window there where I could have maybe had what I wanted but I wasn’t ready to make that very scary step. I think partly because I was afraid of what would happen if we got together but I think I was also worried about becoming involved with him just because he was there and ending up like my friends – being with him because there isn’t anyone else in the immediate vicinity. I was so afraid of the “what if” with him that I chose to not even try. Maybe that’s as bad as being with someone unfulfilling, I don’t know.

And communicating with my first husband makes me know that, in 20 years, I don’t want to be here again, wondering if the man in my life is the right man. I know my first ex is struggling with something right now, he’s suggested that maybe he’s ready to walk away from his marriage of almost 20 years, and that makes me sad because he left me for her and I’m sad that his life hasn’t been happy. I would hope that he left me for something better. If he didn’t, what does that mean? He left me and ruined his life? I can’t believe that. I believe that we follow a path that is set before us and we choose when to veer off that path. If he veered, there was a reason. It’s up to him to find what will bring him back to the path he’s supposed to be on.

Okay, I’ll admit, the above paragraph had a point when I started it but my head cold is making it hard to remember why I was going there. Oh, well, most of my posts are blithering rants, why should this one be any different?

So maybe it comes down to this – why can’t we be happy? Why can’t we find what we seek and why are we afraid to seek that which can make us happy? Why do we tell ourselves we don’t deserve that happiness? Why do we fear that happiness?

I guess if I had the answers to that, I’d have my own best-selling book and my own talk show. I just know that I don’t want to settle for less than all the happiness I deserve and I may spend the rest of my life looking for that happiness but I won’t settle for less, even if I never find it. At least I’ll know that I did my best to try to find it.

Seens appropriate somehow...

Keith Urban's Stupid Boy. For no particular reason.

It all comes back around.

(the long version)

So many things in my life have seemed to circle around and return to me. The latest is this job at Mission: Renaissance. I looked into this job several years ago but due to lack of support on the home front because that job would interfere with my ability to be at RJ’s beck and call, I decided not to follow up with it. The irony is that this job would have solved a number of our financial problems.

So now, five or six years later, I am finishing my training, posted at a studio permanently. And today, the program director at Northridge, Jessica, talked to me about my future there. She has already gotten approval for me to continue my training up through oil painting. She wants me to be trained for the assistant program director position that she hopes will open up there in the fall. That means a weekly salary, benefits, paid vacation, the whole she-bang. This is after I’ve been there less than two months. All the things my ex pushed me to find in a job but always insisted on my settling for something 9-5, something more traditional.

The irony of all the things I passed up and passed by coming back into my life now staggers me sometimes. And sometimes, I am a little sad that he’s not around to share in the success I am achieving and the amazing life I am living.

Of course, because of him, I wasn’t able to embrace my success and I wasn’t allowed to live an amazing life.

I guess that’s why I am here today. He could have shared, he could have supported, he could have done so much that would have let him still be a part of this life.

But God seems to have known that these things were things that would be great for me, things that were in His plan for me, and despite the fact that I couldn’t choose to take the chance on some of this before, these choices have come back for a second and maybe a third time.

This gives me hope that other things I have passed by will come back around, if they are meant to be.

So, sorry for the rambling blog, but I’ve only got a short time between jobs to scribble this down. Much more I’d like to say about other things and hopefully that will come in the next few days.

Is this bad?

I've only but awake for 10 minutes but after dealing with my folks (Dad had eye surgery, is insisting he can drive to the doctor this morning, Mom hasn't driven in here in Burbank and, on a good day, drives probably worse than Dad with an eye patch) and I already want a stiff drink.

Hmmmm....

365 plays – I rock!

So, after weeks of misunderstanding, miscommunication and a whole bunch of misses, I arrived at the theater tonight to put together the 365 Plays at the Ark filled with apprehension and frustration. Too many things to go into here but just know that until the day before yesterday, I wasn’t sure this was going to happen at all.

I finished up the script this afternoon and emailed it off the script to the cast, unsure of what would happen.

Thank god for professionals. I walked in and the cast (Tricia, Douglas, Lindsay and Libby) were already reading through the script and working out some ideas. We read through the script, we chatted about embracing the total chaos that this had become. These actors were so open and ready to tackle anything. They all had checked their egos at the door and were prepared to go. We threw around some ideas about how to take the skeleton I had put together and make it more interesting. They had some great ideas and jumped in with both feet. We had about 45 minutes of rehearsal, laughing ourselves silly in the process. By the time we went up at 8:15, there was a real play there. Granted, it was a seven minute play but it was all there. The actors were off-book and really just went with the organic and chaotic essence.

We had a small but enthusiastic audience of four audience members and two of our own Ark Theatre members. These six people laughed their butts off and responded beautifully to everything. I was so excited and thrilled to see something that has been such a challenge and so frustrating come together in such an instinctive, organic, beautiful way.

I know that this would not have happened without the road map I wrote at the last minute and I’m thrilled, as always, to know that my instinct and my intuition was right. But nothing would have come together so well without a crew of actors willing to go on the ride with me and trusting me with their incredible gifts. Maybe seven minutes doesn’t sound like a big deal but if you’ve gone to a bad seven minute play, you know how long that seven minutes can be.

We do another show tomorrow (Friday) at 8:15 PM with a few new cast members (Trina, Rose and Janel) and I’m excited to see what these great folks are going to bring to the table.

So if you’re not doing anything Friday night from 8:15 to 8:22, stop by the ARK Theatre Company and check out our short but sweet 365 Plays.

This is why I changed my life...

Woke up at 6 am to work -

Went to MR Academy to sketch -

Came home, did some work -

Went and taught two classes (sketching and watercolor today!) -

Go to the Dodger game
with my two fav guys - Chairman () and Al ()

Came home and curling up with Twyla to go to bed -

My old life would have never allowed any of the above or any of the fun of the above (except the work part).

"These are the days that we'll remember..."

Virtual fridge and more

With apologies to Georgia O'Keefe (watercolor):



And I found out today that I have a permanent position at the M:R studio in Northridge beginning this week. I'll be teaching Tues thru Fri from about 3 til 7 and Sat from 8:30 to 3PM. Not too bad. That about 10 classes a week at $32.50 each. Yay! Money! Way too much fun. I'll also be going into the Academy once a week to keep up my training to move up through learning about tone and color and then into oil painting. Hopefully in a year or so I'll be doing oils and advanced watercolor.

Wow. And I was just looking for a fun part-time job. Silly me.

Virtual fridge - new artwork

So this is what I've done lately:



cougar in pastel/charcoal (got a little blotchy from the protective spray to seal the pastel)

and



watercolor penguins

Wheee!

Nostalgic but saner…

I think I just miss being 20. I miss the innocence and the fact that you can love that much and that hard because your heart is still new and hasn’t been battered by life yet. Even though there may have been seemingly horrible heartbreaks by 20, I think you still come into your first real, true, “adult” love unfettered by pain, open and willing to believe that this person could be your forever person. There is such a willingness to be open and loving and give yourself completely that I don’t think you ever get to again in your life because once that forever person breaks your heart, there is no mending it, there is no going back. You’re scarred for life and no other love will ever be the same because your innocence has been taken.

I’m just longing for that innocence again, to believe that someone could love me that way and that I could love someone that way again.

Stuff and nonsense.

I had written a whole blog yesterday about letting go and breathing and not clinging and finding my breath and stuff.

But that went out the window. I’m sure I’ll post it sometime soon.

What threw me off?

T.S.

My ex.

I find myself torn about this whole situation. We’ve been having lovely little “how are you and what’re you doing and, wow, you look great” kind of email exchanges. He’s on Myspace and put up some pictures of his family for me to see. I’m sure he’s perused the ones on my page as well. He looks great. He has two very lovely kids (almost adults now). And he’s still with the girl (woman) he left me for. They look happy. But everyone looks happy in pictures from Belize.

I don’t know. I guess it’s stirred up thoughts from the past, regrets about our relationship, weird longing that we never really got to have a real relationship because we were so young. It’s also dovetailing really well with my being alone at this point in my life. Lifetime movie fantasies of reconnecting with your lost love and discovering your whole life again. Yeah, we all know how much my life is like a romantic comedy. Does that make me Diane Keaton at my advanced age? (And “American Idol” is singing “How Can You Mend A Broken Heart” in the background. Poetic? Tragic? Nothing at all?)

Part of me wants to give him my phone number and say call me. Maybe if I spoke to him I’d remember what a shit he had been. Maybe I wouldn’t want to do any more than say, hey, good to talk to you.

Part of me wants to keep this very surface, very light, very hands-off. He shattered my heart once, I don’t know how much I should let him in. But that was over 20 years ago. He’s a man now, not a boy. Married, family. He’s 2,000 miles away.

Part of me that is still 20 years old aches for him. It’s hard to believe he still holds my heart all these years and all these miles later. Do you ever get over your first love? Or do you just get past your first love?

I just know that right now, I have tears in my eyes, knowing that he’s online because of that fucking Myspace symbol that tells me he is. And I want to get on instant messenger and say all the things I never got to – why did you leave me and do you regret it and how much have you thought of me and did you miss me when I left and what did I do to make you leave and why didn’t we work out and did you really love me… and so much more.

So I’d better get off the computer, hide my head and hope that I come back to sanity very soon. Because I don’t need to go off in an entirely fantastical, ridiculous tangent. Because y’all know I can go there.

Boys.

This war is over

05/07/07

This war is over…

These last few years have indeed been a war.

A war with my ex that lasted over the last three or four years of our marriage as I fought for myself, fought for my dignity, fought for my self-preservation.

An emotional war as I struggled (and continue to struggle) to find my emotional core and figure out just who the hell I am with no significant other in my life and with changing everything in my life literally overnight.

A war with my heart as I try to figure out what I want, who I want and if I am ready to want.

A spiritual war as I try to figure out and discover if this is really what God had planned for me and am I following the path I am meant to follow.

A creative war as I fight to put all the negative input from my past behind me and try to find my footing in all of my endeavors, try to figure out if these are the endeavors I should be following and just what the hell I am doing in these endeavors.

What has led me to this is a song that keeps popping up on my Zombie Ipod playlist, a song by Melissa Etheridge called “This War Is Over.” The lyrics seem to be particularly impactful at this point in my life as I am beginning to let go of things and trying to just ride out my life and see where it takes me.

So I thought I’d share those lyrics with you and see if they resonate with you like they do with me. If you have this song, listen carefully next time.

THIS WAR IS OVER by Melissa Etheridge


"This War Is Over"

Take off my shield
Carry my sword
I won't need it anymore
Find me a sky
Give me my wings
Frozen and broken but free

Tell them I'm all right
I'm coming home
Tell them I'm all right
I am alone
This war is over
I'm coming home

Take off my shame
Bury it low
I won't need it anymore
Find me the sun
Give me it whole
Melt all the chains in my soul

Tell them I'm all right
I'm coming home
Tell them I'm all right
I am alone
This war is over
I'm coming home

Take off my pain
Carry me slow
I won't fight here anymore
Tell them I'm all right
I'm coming home
Tell them I'm all right
I am alone
This war is over
I'm coming home

So this is what I've been doing...

Here are some samples of the artwork I have been doing as part of my training with Mission: Renaissance art programs. I've been in the actual art training just about two and a half weeks. Some of the stuff I've done I really love. Some of it looks like a fifth grader but, whatever.

Enjoy!

Musings on love (you have been warned)

It’s been a while and there are many thoughts in my head as of late, so please bear with me as I try to sort out the various paths in my mind. Be prepared, there may be more of these to come.

As you know, dear readers, my first husband contacted me recently. He said, as you’ve read, “In all my life I don't think I could find anyone who felt the way you did for me and for this I am sorry.” You have to understand, T.S. was my first – my first everything. The first man I truly, really fell in love with - heart, soul, mind and body. I thought you were supposed to love that way – in the way that you would give up everything for that person, take a bullet for them, stay with them if they were brain dead and on life support. Love them no matter what. He’s right – but in a weird way. I will never feel for anyone else the way I felt for him.

I thought I loved my current ex in the same way but I think I always knew that it was a little different. How could it not be? T.S. still had a piece of my heart, a piece that he will carry to his grave. I knew that the instant I opened this mysterious email message and saw his name on it. He still has that piece of my heart and I realized it in that second.

However, I did love my current ex with everything that was left of my heart because I didn’t realize that there was a segment missing. Maybe that’s why we didn’t make it – that missing piece of my heart. Oh, and his caustic, abusive manner may have contributed. But I gave him everything, because that’s how I thought you were supposed to love somebody – with every fiber of your being, ready to give up everything for them, take a bullet, etc., etc.

Then there was one who made me realize that I missed the passion and the spontaneity and the pure adrenaline that T.S. had possessed. Although we were never to be anything but friends, he stirred something in me long dormant – the desire to be around somebody exciting and who thought I was incredible and who could make me smile just by the sound of his voice on my phone. I tried not fall in very heavy “like” with this person but he had the passion my life lacked and that was so attractive. I knew there was no future, I knew there was nothing there except for this unexplainable thing he stirred in me. I knew so much of it was just that – he stirred something long dead in me. Unfortunately, I didn’t have good control of my emotions and my heart to not keep some of this to myself and not throw a huge piece of my heart at him, whether he wanted it or not. I tried to hang on to it but it got away from me. Things ended badly, although I never really knew why. Someone who knew us both through all this said that I was “too much” and needed to back off. I tried. Apparently, I failed because he withdrew, he attacked, and now he only is a beautiful, tragic, heart-breaking memory of one of the most amazing and terrible times in my life.

And my current OOMA has also retreated, pretty much completely out of my life now. What I feared for so long has come true – he doesn’t miss me, I don’t mean to him what I thought I did, and I did it again. I was “too much” and drove him away. And yet another piece of my heart went with him, a piece that I will never get back.

So, slowly but surely, my heart has been broken and fractured and shattered into a million pieces. Pieces that will never come back. Pieces that are where they belong, I guess, with those who took them. And I guess I have bits and pieces of each of theirs, tucked away securely so I can take them out and cherish them when my heart feels so broken and destroyed that I wonder if I can ever pull enough of it together to ever give it to someone again. Because there is so little of it left now that I don’t think I can chance giving any of it away again.

Because I still believe – despite all the evidence to the contrary – that love should be whole and deep and organic and unconditional. I still believe that loving someone should mean being willing to give up everything. I still believe that there should be love so pure and true and real that it takes your breath away to be in the same room with that person. That is what love should be. That’s what I think love is.

And I get glimpses of that kind of love, most of which is totally unconditional and comes from many in my life. They are seconds or maybe a minute or two and they are fleeting but they are what I seek.

Such as last night. Cute Boy (who I admit I still have a terrible crush on and secretly I still wish he’d dump his lovely but kind of dull girlfriend and come running to my door, despite knowing that we are worlds apart) gave me one of those moments. He hugged me good night in such a way that said, “I’m glad you’re here, I’m glad you came tonight, I’m glad you’re my friend and in my life.” He held me just a second longer that he probably should have, and I held him back, and he made that happy, affectionate noise in his throat that I know I have made when I hug someone I love – whether one of my dear girlfriends or the OOMA. In that millisecond, I knew I was loved, without agenda, without definition, just pure, true, unconditional. Those are wonderful moments and I treasure them. Monica has done the same thing to me lately several times.

It makes me wonder what would happen if we all just let ourselves go and just love. Just love. Just say, “I love you” to anyone you love. Not “I love you and want to fuck you.” Just simple – “I love you.” If, in that moment last night, Cute Boy had said, “I love you”, I’d like to think it would have meant just that to me – that he loved me, that he was glad I was in his life and that was it. Of course, I probably would have lost my mind and spent the entire night sitting up, wondering what he meant and if he truly loved me, etc., etc., because we’re trained by the world that people only say I love you if they want to be your boyfriend/girlfriend/lover. Not because you just do.

As I walked back to my car after this lovely moment, I realized something about love and me and my marriages and my life. I am too much and I love too much and I give too much and I expect too much. I don’t know how to do it any differently. I don’t know how to not give so much of myself to someone who seems to care about me, most obviously men who care about me. But, in the end, I always end up heartbroken and weary and wary and shattered. It makes me afraid to be fond of any men in my life. It has made me recently want to resurrect a wall around me and not give anything to anyone and just shut myself off. Particularly lately, knowing that the OOMA no longer cares enough to hang around. I don’t want to feel this way again, I don’t want to hurt this much again, I don’t want to risk anything ever again.

I have given up everything I had and I was and I wanted for two men, whom I married. I loved them deeply and purely and openly and with everything I had. And they took my love and they took what I gave and they took and they took and they took. Both of them gave back “as much as they could.” A phrase that should forever be removed from the English language. That simply means they aren’t capable of loving that person the way one should – without hesitation, without fear, without agenda. “As much as you they could” is not enough anymore, ever. It’s unfair and it’s disproportionate. If I love you with everything I have, you should give as much in return. One shouldn’t love more than the other. But it is often the case.

I guess what I really came down to is simple. I want someone who loves me the way that Cute Boy loved me in that millisecond last night. Unconditionally. No agenda. No fear. Not too much, not too little, just right. But someone who loves me that way always. Okay, now, I realize there are times when you want to throw a chair at the one that you love because they’re human and sometimes we almost deserve to have chairs thrown at us. But I want someone whose eyes light up when they see me, who cannot wait to see me to tell me all about his day and hold me and tell me how much he loves me – and who means it in that agenda-less, unconditional way. Someone who loves me despite my craziness and my over-achiever silliness and my spinning wheels of emotion. Because that’s how I want to love, that’s how I know how to love. I can’t internet date because I don’t want or know how to be that casual. I want real, I want true. I want it all.

But life doesn’t allow that. It allows glimpses just before someone runs away. It allows the pretense of that love, until “as much as he can” runs out and he doesn’t anymore. It allows the prevention of the mending of my heart and the rampant growth of my fear in that shattered organ. It allows me to stand on the side, thinking I need to change the way I love. It allows for me to be alone and afraid instead of allowing me someone who loves the way I need.

But I also realize that it is just a fantasy. There isn’t unconditional love out there, other than from my beloved Twyla. Even that is based on a clean litter box and the occasional treat. There are just men who are afraid and men who have to destroy in order to be fulfilled in some way. Men for whom “as much as they can” is what they give because that’s all that’s required of them. There is no one out there who is as “too much” as me.

That leaves me with a choice. Be “too much” and sleep with my cat for the rest of my life. Or be “as much as I can” and hold something substantial back, just to be in the company of someone else giving “as much as they can,” both of us being less than and both of us maybe wishing for more but unable to give more. Many have chosen the latter, which makes me sad. But I’m not seeing many other choices out there.

So, for now, I guess I choose alone.

Moved me to tears...

So, my ex-husband emailed me back and caught me up on his life. Married for the third time, but seems to be very happy, two kids (16, 17), two dogs, two cats. He's an engineer (of all things) and a GIS computer system designer. Wow. Stunned. He wanted to be a chef.

Then he added:

"On the side there something I feel I have to say. We had something wonderful and also tragic I don't feel I was even a knight (maybe a big toad or something)I was very selfish through all of the short time we had together. In all my life I don't think I could find anyone who felt the way you did for me and for this I am sorry. I hope we can be friends (like pen pals...cuz you are so far away). keep in touch."

He touched me so deeply with this. I loved him in a way that I don't think I've loved anybody since. We were so young when we got married - I was 21, he was 20. He had a very screwed up family and wanted to relive his teenage years, since he never really had any.

I'm so moved and touched and overwhelmed by the people who have come back into my life in the last few years - Chairman, Al Underwood, and now, Shawn. I don't know what it all means. I don't know that it's supposed to mean anything. i do know that, at times like this, I feel so blessed by these reunions of those from my past. With everything I've gone through in the last two years, it's strangely like going back to the years where I was most happy - the beginning of my relationship with Shawn, my time at Universal where I made some of my best friendships. Maybe it's the opportunity to return to the joys and the wonder of that time, letting go of the pain and the hurt of the last few years.

Whatever it is, I'm glad I've got it.

Yes, it was him...

The email from yesterday was from my first husband (a phrase I will never get used to). He didn't say much in his second email so I'm thinking I'll just drop him a line back, say it was good to hear from him, hope life has been treating him well and to stay in touch.

Strange how the internet keeps us all connected in the weirdest ways.

Here are a couple of badly scanned photos I was using for the original "Cinderella Drives a Pick-Up" book. Yeah, I WAS that young once.

Sing it with me... It's a small world, after all...

So this is an email I get today for "lifeonitsside" from Cinderella Drives A Pick-Up.

"Dear Life on its Side, I have happened across a synopsis of your book turned to film on the Web. It looks like a great piece of work and I am interested in either reading your book or seeing the film. Could you direct me to somewhere near my home that I could get a copy ?

Thank You,

T. Shawn Smith"

The email address is "mts" - Manitoba Telephone System.

Now, about 100 years ago, in another life, I was married to a Todd Shawn Smith. There are a couple of hits on my Cinderella site from Canada with the same amount of hits under a search for my name.

So I sent him a fairly innocuous email back, asking if he's in Winnipeg and if he is indeed the Shawn Smith I knew.

Wow. It's a weird world. I haven't talked to him in probably 10 or 12 years.

We'll see what happens. Wonder what he would do if he knew he was a character in "Cinderella", played by the awesome A.J. Bowen. He should be flattered by my choice of actors to play him.

Anyway, I'll let you know what happens.

I'm an art teacher!

Well, after two weeks of training, Mission: Renaissance has unleashed me upon the children of Los Angeles – well, Valencia and Northridge, at least.

I taught my first two classes today. I thought I was just going to assist today but, no, they let me loose on a poor, unsuspecting child named Zach. Six years old. Cute but waaay to serious. Anyway, I was very nervous and a bit tentative. But Zach didn’t know I didn’t know what I was doing and he trusted me entirely. The program director kept checking on me and made a suggestion or two, but nothing terribly outrageous. At the end of an hour and a half, Zach had finished a beautifully misshapen eagle, complete with American flag background, and he grinned foolishly as he showed it off in the art show at the end of class.

Then, the program director gave me three – yes, three – students in the next class. And it was actually easier with three than one, believe it or not. Two of them were a little ADD but the young one, about five, was focused and smart and actually understood the concepts of tone and texture.

At the end of the classes, I chatted with the program director and she was very happy with what I had done. She didn’t have any suggestions for me at all, so I hope that translates to a rave review to my supervisors on Monday.

I drove home, feeling better than I had in a long time. I’ve always wanted to teach, actually. In fact, I had considered this same program several years ago but I had too much going on to actually do it. I feel confident and sure of myself, which I don’t always feel. And it’s so easy. Oh, damn. Now I’ve jinxed it.

Tomorrow, I take on the children in Northridge. Teaching from 8:30 to 3 PM, which is something like four or five classes. I’m going to be beat by the end of the day but I hope it’s as fun and fulfilling as today was.

I’m going to figure out how to create a “virtual fridge” and post some of the really sad artwork I’ve created in the past two weeks. Nothing terribly exciting – some loose sketches, some fifth grade style watercolor studies. I’m working on watercolor next week in training and have discovered I really like watercolor. I haven’t done much but the whole thing excites me. Who knows? Maybe I’ve found yet another distraction in my life!

Anyway, thought I’d share. So glad I did this. So happy that I’m doing it well.

Lost

I'm sorry I lost you. I wish I could get you back but you've obviously found someone else's heart to rescue.

In the beginning...

I am sitting here, trying to ignore the Rubik’s Cube that is my brain, which is trying to put things together and I just don’t want it to. Because then I’ll have to look at things that I don’t want to look at right now. I’ll have to start facing the things that I have been so good at avoiding for so long. I’ve dealt with things in bits and pieces but now my psyche is demanding that I at least finish a side in one color before it will let me put the cube down and focus on the rest of my life.

So, these next few blogs might be scattered, they might not make sense and they might be hard to read. They’re certainly going to be hard to write. So I understand, dear reader, if you should choose to stop reading here, particularly if you are FOE – friend of the ex. Wow, interesting acronym. Anyway, this is my viewpoint and I’m sure he has his. So stop reading if you don’t want my viewpoint.

I clearly remember the day I first thought, “I shouldn’t do this. What the hell am I thinking?” We had moved in together, hadn’t been living together terribly long, maybe a month or so. Been dating about six months. He had said, “You need to move in with me so you can see what you’re getting into. I’m not easy to live with.” And I thought it was so refreshing that he understood himself that well and could actually verbalize those thoughts. That’s half the battle, I thought, that he understands he’s difficult. Guess I didn’t see the big red flag that went with that concept.

Anyway, he was making the bed one day and I was just learning about his compulsive-obsessive personality. The bed wasn’t cooperating, according to him, and the sheets weren’t doing what he wanted them to do. Exactly his phrasing – the sheets weren’t doing what he wanted to do. His anger flared very quickly, so quickly that I didn’t even see the build. The next thing I knew, he was screaming obscenities at the inanimate object not cooperating – the aforementioned sheets – and using cuss words that made me blush. Now, I am known to have thrown a few choice words around myself so let your imagination run wild. I cowered at the power of his anger, even though it was not directed at me. He literally ripped the sheets off the bed, tearing them almost in half. I can still hear the sound of the fabric ripping most than 17 years later.

In that moment, clear as a bell, I knew I had a choice. I could walk away in that instant. I could say, “You know what? You were right. You are difficult and I have chosen not to deal with a difficult person. I love you but my life is too valuable to spend it listening to you spend the next 16 years of our lives calling sheets cocksuckers and having you destroy property because you don’t have the patience to make the bed. Have a nice life. See ya around.”

But I didn’t. I chose to stay. I thought that I could handle his anger. I thought that I could help him learn how to become more patient and deal with things better. I thought I could change him. I also accepted his behavior because I had been raised with that type of personality in my family. Can’t get into details as too many of my family read this blog and I just don’t need the repercussions right now. Suffice it to say that this seemed almost normal to me so I buried my concerns and figured I could handle it. After all, his anger wasn’t directed at me. He even apologized, stating that he would never hurt me with his anger, that he was only angry at the sheets and I shouldn’t be concerned about it. It was just the way he was.

I can’t say I should have left him then. I don’t know what my life would have turned out to be had I walked out the door that day. I can’t regret spending the 16 years with him that I did because I can’t change it. But I can learn from it.

What I am struggling with is this – I chose to stay. I chose to stay every time he ripped sheets. I chose to stay in the not too distant past when he threw something across the room and it hit this beautiful piece of art he had gotten for me and framed so perfectly and knocked the artwork to the floor and broke the glass. I chose to stay when he began more and more throwing things across the room. Funny, they always seemed to be my things – my shoes, my books, my photos. His were always gently picked up and courteously moved to an appropriate spot. Mine were not and the throwing was accompanied by harsh, horrible obscenity, then that anger was usually turned on me. “Why can’t you just put things away? Why are they always here? Can’t you just… why can’t you… you’re so…” And on and on and on. But I wasn’t supposed to take that personally because he was angry at the objects, not at me.

I chose to shut down. I could have confronted him about how he treated me, and I did. But eventually, I allowed him to beat me down and I shut down. I stopped feeling because there was no use. He would use my emotions against me and ridicule and belittle them. And I allowed him to.

The hardest thing with any type of abuse is that, yes, we the abused have some responsibility in being abused. There were many times I could have walked away, I should have walked away, before I was too beaten down to be able to. The night he ripped those sheets. The first time he called me stupid. The first time he threw something valuable of mine across the room. I knew it. In my heart, I knew that this was the rest of my life. And I chose to stay. That doesn’t forgive him and that doesn’t condone what he did. It only means that I have to accept some of the responsibility for staying. Eventually, I was beyond that choice and that’s where his abuse takes a whole different turn. When I was strong enough to defend myself, I still had a choice. But when I lost the will to choose, that’s when I become a true victim.

I am sometimes so filled with shame for how I allowed him to treat me for so many years. I am ashamed when someone says how much they disliked him for so long and then asks me how I stayed with him for so long. I am embarrassed that I couldn’t walk away from him and that I gave him so much power over my life. I am ashamed to be so victimized and not able to say anything to anyone. In the midst of it all, I was so embarrassed when we would go out and he would behave the way he could and humiliate me in front of so many people and then accuse me of being in the wrong when I would confront him about it. It was always just me, the way I felt, that had no value. He was never in the wrong. I always was. I let him do this to me. And I feel so much shame sometimes over it that I cannot deal with it. So I put it in a mental box and it sits there until my psyche is pissed off and forces me to deal with it.

Shame is a huge thing when you’re abused. You don’t want pity. I don’t want you to feel sorry that I was emotionally abused by this asshole. I really don’t want to know how you didn’t like him because, fuck you, you never said anything to me. I don’t care if I loved him with reason. I thought everything I felt about how he treated me was in my own mind. It wasn’t until a friend finally spoke up and said, after a very disastrous, destructive dinner, “I can’t believe the way he talks to you. Does he always talk to you that way? How can you stand it?” That’s when I finally stepped back and pulled myself out of my victimization and tried to see objectively how he treated me. That’s when I started to notice that he talked to me differently when we were alone. He saved the humiliation for when we were in private, although it would occasionally crop up in a social situation. But mostly, those gems were reserved for behind closed doors.

And I think I understand where that came from sometimes. He said something in counseling once about being frustrated because I wasn’t the woman he thought I was. He was attracted to me because I was this take-charge, aggressive, together woman. He thought that was who I was and what I was going to be for the rest of my life. He apparently didn’t take into consideration that we change as we get older and life throws things at us. He never took into consideration that his constant barrage of criticism and harsh words would erode at the core of that strong, aggressive woman and turn her into a suicidal, depressed basket case who lost the ability to decide whether to make chicken or fish… oops… no fish allowed in the house because the smell bothered him. I couldn’t decide whether to make chicken or beef for dinner. He was disappointed that I turned out to be human, not this super-human being who had no feelings and no emotions. He was disappointed that I could be hurt and feel and fight back. He wanted passive woman who was aggressive and let him be who he was. I, however, was never allowed to be who I was. I had to be perfect. And when I wasn’t, he was there to point out the flaws, as a help, so I could learn and grow.

And I let him. That is my responsibility. I let him. I stopped fighting it and allowed him to destroy me. And if I’m not careful, I could find myself in that same position just as easily again. Finding someone, overlooking their flaws, and thinking I can handle it. It’s the cycle that I have been living over and over again in my life because that’s what I know. Living with my folks has sure shown me that.

My responsibility now is to not let that happen again. That’s probably why I never was able to confront the OOMA because I was and am terrified that, should we have hooked up, I would have done exactly the same thing – become what he wanted me to be, allowed his emotional distance to push me to an emotional distance and become closed off and shut down again, ending up counting pills on the kitchen counter years from now, wondering what I did to lose him and what I could do to hold on to him. I’ve already been thinking that just because I thought I was in love with him and he has pulled away – what did I do to lose him and what could I do to hold on to him. And we haven’t even kissed. It hurts to admit that he’s probably not good for me because that’s not what my heart says. But I can’t allow myself that much pain again.

And that means I will probably be alone for a long time. I can’t allow myself to leap into something because I can’t allow myself to be hurt that deeply again. I need to make sure that anyone I do get involved with is someone who will let me be me – emotional, cranky, occasionally weak and insecure, fragile, depressed, slightly bipolar. I have to make sure that I am allowed a full range of emotions, not just those that he thinks are acceptable. I need to make sure it is someone who won’t throw things across the room – whether or not they are aimed at me. I need someone who, yes, can be angry, but not in that obsessive, horrific abusive way that the main men in my life have been.

I have to accept the responsibility for controlling my own life from here on out. That means walking away from people who hurt, situations that are detrimental, men who only hurt not heal. I need to be responsible for me first, then someone entering my life. But the priority is me. If that’s selfish, then so be it. I’ve given up enough for so many years that it’s time for me to not give up. And I’m not ready to give up on me yet. I just need time.

As a side note, I also realized that I could have been a huge bitch and forced him to liquidate his huge book collection and taken half of that from him. I could have forced him to sell his collectibles and taken half of that. I could have forced him to do so many things that would have hurt him the way he hurt me. But I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. So that’s it. I just had to put that out there.

Thanks for reading.

Looking for my “Corner of the Sky”

The musical, “Pippin,” is one of my favorites for many reasons. One of them is that my father recorded a PBS broadcast of it for me when I was about 20 and just discovering Bob Fosse. I had fallen in love with “All That Jazz”, the first film to make me go, wow, I didn’t know you could do that with film. Dad saw “Pippin” in the TV Guide, knew it was by Fosse so he recorded it for me because he knew I loved Fosse. I promptly fell in love with the musical and grew to adore my father even more.

And one of my fondest memories is of one of the broken pieces of my heart walking around the empty Ark Theatre before rehearsal, one of the first we had for my favorite play, belting out “Glory, Glory” and his gorgeous voice echoing through the small space. Gave me chills. Makes me smile, even today. (Yes, believe it or not, Mr. L., I still have very fond memories of you rolling around in my head.)

So I’m driving home tonight from a delicious Del Taco dinner with the fabulous Patty Jean, feeling a little better but still kind of mired in an unidentified funk I’ve been in for a while. Can’t really figure out why. The usual things are hovering – OOMA, not great birthday, still residual stuff about the ex, living with the folks. But nothing big, just stuff.

Then a song from “Pippin” came on to my newly resurrected Ipod. And I realized what was going on with me.

I’m trying to find my corner of the sky.

“Everything has its season
Everything has its time
Show me a reason and I'll soon show you a rhyme
Cats fit on the windowsill
Children fit in the snow
Why do I feel I don't fit in anywhere I go?”

I have never fit in anywhere in my life. I never fit in with my family, the lone artist in a group of athletes. I never fit in at school, beat and battered through junior high, although I almost fit in during high school, thanks to band and theater. My first marriage didn’t fit. He wanted fun and frivolity, I thought we were growing up and into something more.

LA almost didn’t fit at first. I always felt on the edge of things, watching, waiting for the cool kids to let me in and let me play. I know so much of this hinges on my feeling like I don’t belong in my own family (my sister and brother were here last year for five days – not a single picture with me in it for their whole visit. Mom didn’t notice that until about a month later, after going through the pictures for the umpteenth time). I was always on the outside looking in, wanting to be the athlete with the trophies or the cool kid that everyone hung out with or the smart one or the funny one or the fill-in-the-blank one.

My second marriage made me feel like someone at first. But as time went by, it became what I knew – I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t strong enough, I wasn’t anything enough. I didn’t deserve to play with him (aka the cool kid) because I didn’t live up to his expectation. Therefore, I was again on the outside, looking in, wanting to be loved, wanting to be appreciated for who I was, not some image of who I should be.

Wanting to find my corner of the sky.

“Every man has his daydreams
Every man has his goal
People like the way dreams have
Of sticking to the soul
Thunderclouds have their lightning
Nightingales have their song
And don't you see I want my life to be
Something more than long....”

As I began my new life, I maybe saw a peek into that corner. I began to feel like, for the first time in 43 years, maybe there was somewhere I fit. I was treated differently at The Ark Theatre than I had ever been treated anywhere before. People began looking at me as an artist, as something other than the loser on the edge, the one who didn’t fit. And I craved that.

That’s why OOMA had such a huge effect on me. He saw me as I wanted to be seen. He saw the person I was trying to become and he treated me like I was already that person. He SAW me. And the other pieces of my heart (broken and otherwise) also saw me that way. Then the women in my life started to make me think I could fit in, I could find that corner I was seeking.

But lately, in the past six months maybe, that corner seems to be further and further away. Creatively, I think I’m beginning to make it out but personally, I’m still the one no one wants in their pictures. I’m still the one standing on the side, watching the better and stronger take the glory and bask in the light. I’m still the awkward girl with braces and glasses being put down by the bullies and the bitches who tried to break my spirit at 13. I’m still the little sister who didn’t matter in the family of overachievers. I’m still invisible.

I thought that had changed but sometimes I don’t feel like it has. Losing the friendship of one of the people I never thought I would lose makes me feel invisible. The fact that I no longer am important in his life makes me feel invisible. The fact that he doesn’t seem to notice this makes me feel invisible. Having no one to hold me and love me makes me feel invisible. I’m back to being 13 years old and not existing. Even my creative life cannot fill that void.

“Rivers belong where they can ramble
Eagles belong where they can fly
I've got to be where my spirit can run free
Got to find my corner of the sky.”

So I’m struggling right now, knowing and understanding that I am not that invisible 13-year-old girl hiding from the bullies, wanting to be just like my big sister, trying to overcome the very strong negativity from my mother, not belonging anywhere. I know I have a stronger home, a stronger core than I have probably ever had in my life. I know I am on the path to that corner of the sky. I know that I am not invisible and that I do matter and I am real. I’m struggling to hold on to that knowledge and make it real. Trying to realize that what I am doing is special and precious and extraordinary.

“So many men seem destined
To settle for something small
But I won't rest until I know I'll have it all
So don't ask where I'm going
Just listen when I'm gone
And far away you'll hear me singing
Softly to the dawn:”

So I’m looking for you all to sing along with me and help me along. Got to find my corner of the sky.

“Rivers belong where they can ramble
Eagles belong where they can fly
I've got to be where my spirit can run free
Got to find my corner of the sky.”

Birthday blog - version 2.

So, this year, my birthday wasn’t exactly what I had hoped, but I’ve already covered that, kind of. Part of it was that I found myself keeping my mouth shut in a situation where I should have screamed out, “Hey, you, dickwad. Shut the fuck up for five minutes while I blow out my birthday candles and open my gifts and say thank you. Then you can start over again but, hey, it’s my birthday and my party, not yours, asshole.” But I didn’t, because I thought I should be considerate of the son-of-a-bitch who wasn’t considerate of me.

Karaoke was the same thing until I lost it. Some idiot decided to scream his song in my ear and I threw my drink at him. Unfortunately, he moved a split second early and I missed him. I won’t the next time.

Why do I feel that I have to be considerate to assholes, whether I know them or not? I think it’s part of my boundary issues that I am currently sorting through. Gonna try not being nice for a while, see what that does.

This birthday was definitely a series of great and not so great, some of which was in my own head, some of which was not. There were the amazing gifts of the intangible sort – mostly the whole day yesterday at Disneyland (pics here) and ”Grindhouse” on Friday night – and the intangible gifts of new friends helping me out (thanks, Renae) and old friends reconnecting.

So much of my life right now is a struggle and it’s colored everything this birthday. I was so optimistic last year but not this year. I thought things would be so much different and they’re not. Again, some is my fault, some not.

I don’t really know what I have or want to say in this blog today. Just that I am grateful and torn and angry and elated and blue and happy and frustrated and excited and so many other things all at once right now. Maybe by 60 I’ll figure it out. Right now, I’ll just get through today and see what tomorrow brings.

And God laughs...

So, I was feeling sorry for myself this birthday, as evidenced by my other blog that’s not on Myspace, and had coffee with the wondrous and wise A.J. yesterday. As I was lamenting things in my life that are not where I had hoped they would be, including living with my parents, A.J. said that I now have unlimited karma points just by moving in to take care of my parents and that I can be mean and nasty and ugly to anyone for the rest of my life and I’ll have the karma points to cover it.

As I drove away, all I could think was that A.J.’s karma theory was horribly flawed. If I had all these karma points built up, then why am I celebrating this milestone birthday alone and why do we have to postpone Mexico until later this year as I can’t afford to do it when we planned and why haven’t I accomplished what I want to do and why and why and why, ad nauseum.

My party last night was a huge disappointment for some very tangible reasons and for a lot of intangible reasons. Part of it was that the clowns in my head got loose for a while and were running amok earlier in the evening, making it hard for me to enjoy myself and there was a situation that pissed me off greatly but I chose to keep my mouth shut because otherwise there was going to be a very, very ugly scene.

So I woke up this morning, looking forward to going to Disneyland on Sunday with Patty and her friend, Brian, and Trina and whoever else. Then I went online to double check ticket prices while Mom and Dad took the change from my piggy bank (yes, I am 16 again) and cashed it in to cover my Disney ticket. I was figuring there had to be discounts, there always are, and it should be about $50, which I could just swing with enough left over to actually maybe eat something. Boy, was I wrong. Disney is $63. Doesn’t sound like much more than $50, but with gas at astronomical pricing (thanks, President Bush), cost for parking, the actual ticket and $6 sodas, there was no way I could go. Just couldn’t. I wept copiously. I was so looking forward to this. I thought back to A.J. and his karma theory and I thought, A.J.’s karma theory sucks. I called Patty and left her a message that I would not be joining her for the Mickey festivities.

I sulked all the way to the Ark Theatre tonight for the opening of Les Liaisons Dangerueses, not wanting to go but feeling obligated to be there. Chairman and Erik were there and Trina arrived later so it was a pleasant group and I kind of put my poutiness behind me. Then Trina mentioned Disneyland and I tried not to make too big a deal of it, saying I wasn’t going because I couldn’t afford it. I sulked to myself through the first act, being more and more pissed off at this birthday weekend that seemed to be sucking so very much.

The play was great, despite a few typical opening night technical glitches, and I hung around for the after-show reception. It is a great cast and I was enjoying hanging out with these talented people. But inevitably, Disneyland was brought up again. I tried to not sulk too much and brushed it off. I was chatting with Renae, talking about birthday stuff when I noticed by Erik’s watch that it was moments before my actual birthday. Renae sneaked off and got everyone to sing happy birthday to me right at midnight. That really touched me and began to pull me out of my sulkiness. It made me begin to acknowledge the wonderful people I have in my life and remind me of why I love working with this company of actors.

Then I overheard Chris M., composer and sound designer at the Ark, talking about how his car got towed just now and he needed to get a ride home. He lives fairly close to me so I offered, if he didn’t mind my very dirty, very messy car. As we talked, Renae joined us and she asked if I was excited about Disneyland. I told her I wasn’t going in not too pouty a way as I had accepted that I wasn’t going. She got this look on her face and ran off. I thought maybe she had a discount ticket or maybe, wonder of wonders, maybe she had a free ticket. This lovely woman, Renae, who I don’t know very well, who is an amazing addition to the Ark, comes back, a little grin on her face. She informs me that, since she had just come back from a free week in Disney World with her family, that I deserved to join my birthday twin, Patty Jean, at Disneyland, and she stuck a $50 bill in my hand. I tried to give it back but she would not hear of it. She pressed it into my hand and told me I deserved to enjoy my birthday. I burst into tears.

I left shortly thereafter as I could not think of anything else to say. I drove Chris M. to the impound lot so he could retrieve his house keys and then I drove him home. I thought, goody, more karma points. Actually, I think I’m paying back karma debits for the times people have helped me when I was stranded or broke down, etc.

And it occurred to me, as it usually does when I’m pouty and pissy and whiny, that God really does hear me. God has provided me with this incredible group of people who take care of me. Just when I think that my life is terrible and empty and void of what I really want, someone does something like this and it makes me ashamed of feeling this way because I am truly blessed with the most remarkable people, from my dearest friends to someone like Renae, and that all I have to do sometimes is allow myself to be seen, vulnerable, in pain, and someone will soothe it.

I am humbled tonight by the generosity of this spirit and by the grace that God has given me. I am so thankful that He gives me these moments where he just lets me whine and bitch and moan about what a terrible life I have. Then he does this.

And then God laughs at my humanness, my frailty, my disbelief. He laughs like a tolerant parent, not mocking, but with love. He laughs at my lack of ability to see the grace He has given me and He laughs as He gently points out this grace to me. And the disillusionment of these past few days dissipates and the clowns get locked back in their cages where they belong and I am left with just this profound sense of wonder at the life in my life and the generosity of spirit surrounding me. And I am humbled in the presence of a God who really does know what’s going on in my life, who really does understand my pain and my anger and my sorrow, and who knows sometimes, the best thing to heal what ails is to treat His child to a day at a crowded, noisy, over-priced theme park on the day of his Son’s crucifixion with one of her dearest friends. That is when I feel God the most and when I know that He laughs. And I’m glad he does.

On turning 45

This birthday has me extremely conflicted. I don’t know if it’s just that I’m finally processing some things about my life or if I’m facing new things about my life but I’m struggling to get through it and come out the other side.

One side of me feels like the woman so many of you see me as – strong, confident, radiant, talented, gifted, loving, caring, powerful. I get glimpses of this woman that supposedly exists and those glimpses are getting more and more common and easier to see sometimes. I can feel her inside of my heart, fighting to get a foothold in the real world instead of just existing within my soul. She is the one who gave me the courage to walk away from a marriage that was destroying me. She is the one who gave me the courage to get up and discover the joy of singing again. She is the one who, without hesitation, knew that moving in with my parents was absolutely essential and the only thing to do. She is who I aspire to be and am anxious to release on to the world. She is the one who wears the red Carlos Santana boots with pride and strength.

The other side of me, however, still holds on tight to my reality. It is the vestiges of the 43 years leading up to that moment almost two years ago when I took hold of my life. That side is the product of those 43 years and all the negativity that has been foisted upon me for all of those years. Now, that’s not a excuse, it’s an acknowledgement. I could have maybe found a way to push that negativity away and maybe I have, for the most part. But that negativity ate away at my soul and left me with huge, open, gaping wounds that have only begun to scab around the edges. That side is who I see most often in the mirror – weak, inferior, terrified, unfocused, unsuccessful, lazy, stupid, unlovable and unloved. That side haunts me at night and consumes me in the worst moments of my days. That is the side I am trying to cut out of my soul and lose forever. But two years versus 43 years is an unfair balance. I am hoping it won’t take me 43 years to find the other side of me.

This birthday is not what I wanted it to be. A.J. said some very profound things today at coffee about not letting things that we have no control over consume me. That I should not try to use comparisons or expectations as a bar of accomplishment. But then he also understood that one can’t help but do that.

The two sides of me battle over that. I can see what I have accomplished in less than two years, yet I can see the failures. I struggle with finishing the film because I’m terrified it’s not good, yet I know it’s good. I’m afraid that I’m a phony, that there is not talent there and no one has bothered to tell me, yet I know without a doubt I am a strong director. Two minds arguing constantly. No wonder the clowns have a field day up there.

The biggest thing about this birthday is that it is another one spent alone. Yes, I know I have amazing friends and many of them were around me tonight as the three day celebration began/continued. I realize how rich my life is because of these people. I would not be anywhere near where I am today without the people that I have listed endlessly in this blog. But that doesn’t help at times like this, when all I want in the world is the arms of someone who loves me to wrap me up and hold me tight. I wonder if giving up a relationship – no matter how horrible or empty or cruel it was – was worth this ache and pain and sorrow of being alone. I see so many friends in relationships that aren’t as full as I think a relationship should be but at least they have someone to hold them, be with them, and, yes, have sex with them. And I envy them that, even while I can see how their relationships are unfulfilling in other areas. What is the trade-off then? Settle for someone who doesn’t fulfill me but is kind of there and kind of what I want but not really but he’s there when I want someone and he’ll sleep with me and hold me, even if he doesn’t really turn out to be something worthwhile? It’s that the alternative to being alone?

And the one person who I thought would always be a friend and never, ever hurt me seems to have chosen to put a huge distance between us. I take a lot of that responsibility because I have broken the cardinal rule – I have been open and honest in a public forum about my feelings about him and that’s got to be unnerving for such a private person. I keep trying to find a way to tell him in person that I really don’t care about anything more than being his friend. Yes, something more would be great but if I have to choose between losing his friendship over this, I would choose to keep his friendship. He’s been so important to me and colors every frame of my life that I can’t imagine my life without him. But he seems to have chosen to step away, not completely, but enough that I can no longer consider him the close friend he once was. And that kills me more than anything. I have somehow contributed to driving him away and shattering this friendship. Yeah, I know he’s got some responsibility in this but I can’t seem to find the right way to fix this and make it better so I have to just stand by and let him go. And that’s one of the worst things I can think of because, when it comes down to it, I love him very much, as a drear, dear friend and an important part of my life. But my two sides cannot figure out what to do so nothing will be done. I miss you, I’m sorry, I hope you come back some time and we can start over again.

But there are those moments when I feel my destiny and see my future. When I’m running the meetings for the new film at the Ark and those five other faces are looking to me for answers, I know I have the answers they’re looking for. I am extremely confident in the script I am writing for my segment based on my Wraith blog, and the partnership with PRS is working out great on this script. I can say it’s probably the best thing I’ve written, with a great deal of that because of PRS’s input. I can see how good Cinderella could be, if I could get my shit together and finish it. And I see what I am doing for my parents, how important that this time is for us, particularly with what we’ve just gone through. time is counting down and every moment with my father is precious. I know, in so many ways, this is exactly where I am supposed to be right now, personally, professionally, everything.

So I hope to get through this birthday, put it behind me and find a way to let the soul self that is trapped right now run free and finally take me firmly on the path to the rest of my life. Maybe by 50. Maybe 60. I’ll let you know.

Early Birthday Treat

For those of you who don't know, my 45th birthday is Sunday. This seems apt for the moment.

God bless Keith Urban

Finally heard this whole song tonight. Had to pull the car over and have a breakdown, it touches so close to home for me.


KEITH URBAN LYRICS

"Stupid Boy"

Well, she was precious like a flower
She grew wild, wild but innocent
A perfect prayer in a desperate hour
She was everything beautiful and different

Stupid boy, you can't fence that in
Stupid boy, it's like holding back the wind
she laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't
Stupid boy, stupid boy
Oh

So what made you think you could take a life
And just push it push it around
I guess you build yourself up so high
You had to take her and break her down

she laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't
You stupid boy

Oh, you always had to be right but now you've lost
The only thing that ever made you feel alive
Yeah, yeah

Well, she laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans
Yes, ya did
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't
You stupid boy, oh, I'm the same old
Same old stupid boy

It took awhile for her to figure out she could run
But when she did, she was long gone
Long gone, long gone
Ah, she's gone

Nobody's ever gonna love me like she loved me
And she loved me, she loved me
God please, just let her know
I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I'm sorry, I'm sorry
Baby, yeah, I'm down on my knees
She's never coming back to me



(Unfortunately, don't have this album yet but will soon!)