Clarity-ish

I cannot decide whether I love or hate days like today, days when I feel like I get my life. I just get it. I understand my past, I understand why my life has been the way it’s been. I understand the choices I’ve made, what worked and didn’t work and why. I can see the things in front of me that I need to avoid and change and accept and all of that. It’s the days when I think I can find a better use for my $75 a week than spending it on a therapist.

One thing I know today and am very clear on – I am going to be alone for a long time. Not because I’m unattractive or not desirable or anything like that. I am not ready to be devastated by a relationship again. And it will happen. No matter what, I no longer believe that I will be with someone forever or for the rest of my life or any of those things. I have had two great loves in my life. The first one was pure and true and real and passionate and painful and horrible and amazing and all-encompassing and one that I will compare the rest of my loves to. It was devastating when he ended it and walked away from me. I thought I’d never get over it. I was about 25. The second one was not so passionate but symbiotic and romantic and difficult and challenging and brutal and loving and committed and suffocating. It was devastating when I ended it. I know I’ll never get over it, despite it being my choice.

I don’t think that I don’t desire an amazing rest-of-my-life type of romance. I just don’t think it’s out there, that I want to have it. I don’t know that I can give of myself that way again because even just the thisclose on-off, what the fuck is it, unrequited whatever the hell it was with the OOMA was devastating enough. And we never slept together. We never even kissed other than in that friendly quick peck sort of way. But my heart is still suffering from him pulling away and I don’t think I ever want to hurt deeper than that, harder than that, hurt the way you do when you love someone so much and you lose them. I don’t think I can do that ever again.

I closed out my accounts on Match.com and OKCupid today for that reason. I signed on to them because everyone else did and it seemed to be the thing to do. But I found myself, time after time, signing on, checking out the supposed “matches” to my profile and just thought, wow, this is sad. These guys suck. That’s it. Plain and simple. They suck. They lie, they hide, they can’t spell and wouldn’t know a comma if it hit them in the crotch. This is definitely not where I’m going to find someone to hold me and support me and make me feel the way I want someone to make me feel. So why am I wasting even 10 minutes a week looking at these guys? It’s not what I want. So I closed the accounts because it’s not who I am.

Another thing I know is that I am a force to be reckoned with and this is the time of my life when I am to find that. I am in the highest creative time I have ever had in my life. I have discovered parts of me I didn’t know existed. This has made me more powerful and more intense as a result. And I like that.

I also know that I am not what men want and, for today, I’m fine with that. Oh, they want me because I am strong and powerful and can show them how to be strong and powerful but they don’t want to be with me as anything more than a friend because I am something more than they can handle. They want someone to stand behind them and not outshine them. They want someone who will be home for them and not be out making wondrous things happen. They say they do, they think they do but, in reality, they don’t. They’re happy to be in my orbit, take what they can from me, and then leave me there when they’ve gotten all they can and take their toys and go home.

I know I will not give to anyone again the way I have because I don’t want to risk that part of me anymore. I am hardened and bitter and guarded and I know that will not change. That will leave me alone, without someone at my side, because I won’t allow that part of myself to be put out there again.

I know that this will be true until I get through all the crap that I understand today and can see today and can process today but that will rear its ugly head tomorrow, making me wonder and worry and fret when I don’t see it so clearly. Until I can embrace the past, the issues, the pain, the hurt, the anger, I will not be able to let anyone else in. And that’s sad.

But I also know my life is so incredibly full and all I have to do is reach a hand out and six hands come reaching back to me. It’s getting easier and easier to reach that hand out and know someone will grab it. It’s getting easier and easier to be real and honest and know my friends accept that in me. That keeps a part of me open and accessible and gives me hope that some day the rest of me might get there.

But today, I am not holding my breath. I am clear, I am understanding and I am accepting.

But who knows what tomorrow will bring?

And then I find this:

Struggling with some things today. But stumbled across this as I was searching for mealtime prayers for the Ark film comedy script. Boy, I hate it when the universe reminds me what I have to be grateful for. But I am grateful and this pretty much says it all.


Thank You for My Life

Dear God, thank you for my life on this earth, however challenging or not.

Thank you for giving me free will to love and be loved, to make my own decisions, to learn from my mistakes, to laugh when I am happy, to cry when I am sad.

Thank you for my family, my friends, my pets, my colleagues, and for every other living creature I meet along my journey.

Thank you for giving me strength to overcome adversity, to do what's right for the benefit of the greater good, to rise above negativity.

Thank you for giving me hope for an end to world suffering, pain, and war, for a beginning of a world filled with light and everlasting love.

(Debbie Gisonni)

So share it, say it, pass it along and remember why you should be grateful for your life today.

I am in that mood again.

I hate that I miss you still. That you’re still in my mind every day. And that you don’t give me another thought. I hate that I cannot free myself of you, no matter how hard I try. I hate that you have vanished out of my life, without a word, just hovering enough on the edges to remind me that you are there and to keep you ever present. I hate that I cannot make myself just leave you out of my life entirely and that I am still drawn to you, unconsciously, waiting, wanting, never having. Knowing it’s ridiculous, knowing it’s absurd, knowing there will never be anything there. Because there isn’t anything there at all now. I hate that I feel like it’s my fault you’re gone and that I drove you away, when I know so much of it was you choosing to leave me behind. And I hate that you left me behind without explanation or acknowledgement. And I hate that I still miss you every single day.

Vote for "The Change-Up" on Famecast.com

FameCast is the first online competition to find America's top talent in Rock, Pop, Hip Hop/R&B, Singer-Songwriter, Comedy, Electronic, Spiritual, Country, Latin, Dance, Spoken Word and Film & Animation.

I have submitted "The Change-Up" into competition but -- this is where you come in -- you have to vote for it for the film to get into the top 50. The top 50 contestants then get narrowed down to the top 10 and then the competition heats up.



My friend, Richard B., just had a film that was made out of his short story win $10,000!

So go to www.famecast.com, search for Life On Its Side Productions (the link directly to "The Change-Up" is not active yet but I'll post it when it is), and then view and vote! Please forward this to your friends and loved ones and ask them nicely or tell them not politely to VOTE FOR "THE CHANGE-UP."

Thanks!

Okay, bring it on.

Lindsay W. recommended this astrology site to me a long time ago and I've just recently started checking it out again. The horoscope for August was uncanny. The horoscope for September holds amazingly accurate things, things I can actually see happening. However, this one tidbit better come true!

"There's one more reason to anticipate the very best when it comes to romance. Venus has been traveling through your love sector in weak and sleepy retrograde mode, but will awaken and become lively from September 8 onward. Until Venus leaves your true love sector on October 8, you will have a full four weeks of bewitching fun. Dear Aries, for the first time in such a long time, you have the right conditions to allow love to bloom. Don't let old disappointments color your expectations. You are looking at a whole new situation - I promise!
Romance will be best: September 3, 8, 13, 21, 22, 27 (wild card). "

So, should I hold my breath since, starting today, romance is apparenlty going to be swarming over me. We'll see.

One of those days... in a good way...

I’ve been struggling lately with just figuring out life – past, present, future. Trying to figure out who I am, what I am, why I’m alone, what is the purpose of everything, feeling stunted creatively, emotionally, personally.

Then there are days like today. Nothing big, nothing major, just simple. The kind of simple I’d like my days to be.

Wake up way too early (probably the worst part of the day) to finish transcription work for my client. Take Mom to run some errands.

Then the best part – go to the studio early to hang out at the coffee shop next door and write. I’ve been stuck on this new script I’m working on with Ranger Smith and Madame H. They gave me a lot of great input yesterday and the short amount of sleep I had must have been just enough to let it settle in. I woke this morning with confidence that I could tackle this script and get it into shape. I have always believed in what we came up with for it but I feel like I haven’t been able to get a grip on the “spine” of the story – what holds the whole script together. I wrote like a demon, almost angry when I had to stop and go to work.

Only had one class today. A bit of a tough one, some challenging kids. But then again, a tough day teaching art to kids beats the shit out of a hard day at practically any other job.

Dashed home. Met with Ranger Smith and Madame H. for a brief but productive hour. Then had to leave to pick up my car way the fuck out in Valencia.

Ranger Smith drove. We sang car karaoke to his little MP3 player (sorry, not an Ipod, don’t really care what it is). Laughed at his “guilty” song choices. Sang out hearts out at the top of our lungs. That was the moment, after battling traffic that shouldn’t have been there, listening to Ranger Smith creatively cuss up a storm, when we were just singing “Your Song”, traveling on the open freeway, beautiful clean, clear air blowing into the car, that was when I thought, to quote Keith Urban, these are the days that we’ll remember.

This simple, easy evening with a new, quickly becoming dear friend goes into the file with CL sitting in my kitchen (in m old life) playing my guitar, everything about that wonderful trip to Vegas with Chairman, chocolate deliciousness concocted by AJ on Valentine’s Day. Those moments that make me know I made the right choice, I made the right life by moving forward. The big moments are easy, it’s the little moments like this that are hard to find. I guess these moments are associated with the precious men in my life because they seem to have been able to create those moments that the man who should have been precious to me became until to create. They make me feel unconditionally loved and cared for, without fanfare, without crying out “look how much I love you.” It is an affectionate love that comes from simple, organic, intimate friendship when both parties are not trying to be anything but two people, living in the moment, just being friends, just being close. You can’t create those moments, you can’t demand that they exist.

I think the end of my marriage began to exist with forced moments. Both of us trying to do what we thought was right for the other, trying to regain that intimacy that had once been there before we became aware of the struggle to find it. He always overthought the organic moments, turning them into what you’re supposed to do instead of what you wanted to do.

And I treasure those real, true, intimate moments that I have had with these amazing men, who are completely unaware how delicate those moments are to me, because to them, I’m sure, they are just moments. Not special, not thought out, just them sharing a brief moment of themselves with me, without thought, without agenda, without plan.

And these moments remind me that love comes in all shapes and sizes and types. While I am seeking a deeper, connected, intimate love, it’s nice to have the universe show me that there is much love surrounding me all the time, if I could just open my eyes, shut off my agenda, and just enjoy the pleasure of the company of the wondrous and glorious men in my life.

So, for tonight, thank you, God, the universe, Buddha, whoever you are that keeps putting these lovely, darling, charming, funny, entertaining, loveable men in my path.

While they make me crazy sometimes – and while I have lost a few of them along the way – I am glad you decided that I needed to have them there, that my heart needed that brief moment of affection and glad that you decided to provide that for me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Just too...

Trying to write on the new film for the Ark Theatre but just can’t seem to get the brain going in the comedy direction tonight. Had a great lunch/coffee meeting with the fabulous Madame H, sans our partner-in-crime, Ranger Smith, on this script and was hoping to take advantage of that creative energy but the heat and the clowns seemed to have sucked all of that right out of me. Which may explain why I am totally sucked into Justin Timberlake on HBO.

There are so many things in my head that the heat has stuck to the top of my mind so maybe I can get rid of some of it here.

My ex. He seems to have happily moved on with his life, has a girlfriend of about one year. I can’t help but wonder if he treats her better than he treated me. Of course he probably does. I thought he treated me great when we were first together. Will he continue the cycle of abuse and attack her in the years to come or was that just a treat for me? Was my personality why he became so abusive to me? Is that possible? I guess so because someone stronger would have been able to stop the abuse before it got to the suicidal point. Is she that strong? Will she be that strong 20 years from now? Or has he learned?

I am so angry about him and with him because there will never be the confrontation where I get to say, you hurt me and scarred me and damaged me in such a way that I don’t think I will ever be able to truly love someone again. You shattered me, you devastated me. You took no responsibility for the damage, just let me lay there, bleeding inside, broken and mangled, and told me it was my fault. You had nothing to do with the way I felt and the way I reacted. I never really got the chance to say, FUCK YOU! You need to stand up and grow some balls and say, “You know what, I was wrong. I treated you horribly and I discounted your feelings and your heart. I hurt you in a way I never meant to because I never understood my own feelings and my abusive upbringing.” I’ll never get that closure and that resolution. I’ll just stand by and watch from a distance as you happily move past me – the one you said you could never live without. And I am angry because you never fought for me. Not in all the counseling sessions where I tried to reach out to you, where I tried to figure out how I could not leave you. Not when I was almost dead and ready to die for you, to make you happy, to kill the things in me that made me fly, even then, you never fought for me. When I told you I was through, you said okay. You never chased me. You never reached out and said you missed me. I guess you were through, too, and just weren’t ready to admit it until I made that decision. It hurts that you didn’t fight for me. We were together almost 20 years and you let me go without a fuss. Deep down, that makes me feel like I meant so much less to you than I thought I did. I was not worth fighting for.

And you, who I should be past, who I should not care about anymore, who I should just let the fuck go. You, who I can still feel in my heart, despite wanting not to. I can’t figure out how to get you out of my system, even though you have chosen to remove yourself so far from my life. Again, I am feeling unresolved, unspoken feelings. What was I to you for that time? Was it just me? Was I the only one who felt what was there? You never told me, you will never tell me. You didn’t want me so you walked away from me, without a word, without a sound, leaving me to wonder where we are, who we are. Are we still friends? You’re in every frame of my new life. I want to scream at you, rail at you, for hurting me so much yet pretending you don’t see it. You broke our friendship and you broke my heart and, yet, you stand there, unscathed, unaffected, untouched by my hurt, my pain.

And Cute Boy, so unattainable yet so… there. Do I want you simply because you’re there and I can’t have you? Do I want you just because I want someone and you’re cute and funny and in my orbit? I see so many things in you that I don’t really want in someone, yet I can’t help but find myself drawn to you and your talent and your warmth. I hope you don’t see it and that I can hide it until I find someone else to focus my attention on because, otherwise, I’ll be in the same place I am right now, wanting, needing but unable to touch.

And my first ex. Okay, I know you read this so I’m torn between being totally honest and being delicate. And I’m not sure what reaction I will get fro you if I write honestly about what I’m feeling. I’d say stop reading here if you don’t want the honest truth but I know no human being can stop reading when they see that phrase so let’s see how honest I can be, knowing you’re still reading. I am confused by your return in my life. I have often wondered about you and where you are and what has happened in the past 20 years since you left me. I am uncertain how I feel about you being in touch with me. I’m not even sure how much I want to tell you about my life, although this blog has pretty much laid my life open before you. However, you have not been in my life for 20 years so the me that writes this is not the same naïve, innocent, wide-open 25 year old who left Canada all those years ago, her broken heart and her few possessions packed in her Volkswagen. And I know nothing about your life with the girl (in my mind, she’s still a girl) you left me for all those years ago, breaking my heart, destroying my life, shattering all the dreams I had for you and me. Sometimes, I hope your life has been miserable and that she turned out to be horrible and awful and that your marriage is a sham and you’re ready to pack your bags and leave her behind, just like you left me. I wonder if you’ve strayed from her and if you ever strayed from me in the short time we were together. Sometimes, I hope your life has been full and happy and everything you wanted it to be when you left me, as you obviously couldn’t find what you wanted with me. I hope your beautiful children have been the blessing in your life that I never had in mine. But sometimes I hope you suffer excruciating pain in your heart, despite my best intentions at wanting you to be happy.

I guess it comes down to the fact that I am feeling unloved and undesirable and unwanted. I feel like I’m carrying this huge pile of baggage that make men run when they see me coming. They love and respond to the fact that I am driven (“weirdly driven”, thank you, Ranger Smith) and focused and have laser-sharp intensity but they don’t want that in their life. Or they are disappointed when they discover the wounded soul underneath that laser stare. And they want the easy ones, the easy life. The ones who only want them, who only need them to be there to be whole. I wish I could be that person. I tried to be that person. But that only drove me to count pills and want to leave everything behind.

I can’t be that person, yet I am not sure that this person I am and I am becoming is one who is going to find that other half, that man who can take all my intensity and all my baggage and all my “too-much-ness” and not make me feel that I am lacking, that I am not worth fighting for, that I am not worth being with when they’re afraid of me. I’m afraid I’m going to be this person the rest of my life – this driven, incredible, talented, amazing woman everyone seems to see me as – yet empty and alone and devastatingly sad, having no one to hold, no one whose hand to take, having a single bed as my life grows and blossoms and becomes the thing I’ve always wanted – at least half of what I’ve always wanted. How is this life complete without someone to share it with? Not someone give it up to, not give it away to, but to put out my hand and say, come with me on this amazing journey ahead. Don’t be afraid, I won’t let go of your hand and I want you to hang on to mine with strength and love and power. There will be times when I lead us on this journey but there will be many times when I will want to be led. I don’t need a leash but I need a guide, someone to walk the path with me, explore the caverns and the vistas and the dry lands and the marshlands and the fjords and the glaciers with me. I need someone brave enough to show me their tender underbelly and trust that I won’t gut them with my anger and bitterness and mistrust and hurt. Someone to be as open and wanting and needing as I am, so we won’t have that want and need anymore, except for each other.

Gee, I wonder why I can’t write comedy tonight.

Fools, we two...

(or maybe just me)


We fooled ourselves
right out of a friendship.
Looked right at each other
and pretended we didn’t see what was there
and left it all behind.
And now
there’s nothing left
except
uncomfortable silences
awkward greetings
and empty spaces
between us.
And it makes me sorry
for what we had
what we lost
what we may never
find again.
And it makes me
miss you
miss me
miss us
together
because
you still have my heart
despite not wanting it,
you haven’t given it back yet.
So we continue
to be fools,
moving on,
moving past,
moving through,
without ever acknowledging
what made us fools
in the first place.

My favorite still life

I did this a week or two ago and just got around to scanning it in. I'm so proud of this one. It's one of those milestones we have in training, where you see everyone doing this and when you get there, it's another level you've achieved. I love this one, did I mention that? It makes me feel like an artist, like I know what I'm doing. If nothing else, this job has given me that gift, the gift of opening up my artistic potential.

Enjoy.

Every breath I take...

Just got back from the LA Free Clinic (god bless them). Been struggling lately with my quarterly bronchial infection.

Well, the good news is all my drugs and the visit was free. I'll have enough stuff to keep me breathing for probably 3-4 months.

The frightening news was that I am currently breathing at 60% of my lung capacity. The biggest change in my life over the past year (asked the doctor), my mother and her cigarette smoking. Big surprise, she's not supposed to smoke in the house or around me but she's in denial and blaming my lack of air on Twyla.

Oh, well, such is life. I guess she'll stop when they put me on oxygen.

Until then, I guess I can stick my head out of the window at home and lock her out of the car when she smokes.

Don't box me in.

These are the days when I feel like I don’t need therapy, I don’t need this blog, I don’t need any advice on finding myself because I have found myself. It is the kind of day where I know I am multi-faceted and hard to define and someone who cannot be summed up in a single sentence and I’m fine with that. After all, the people I love in my life cannot be defined in a single sentence. I can try: Chairman – generous, charming, funny, sweet, talented, gifted – but that doesn’t really describe the person who is Chairman; Monica – silly, twisted, dark yet not, smart, funny, clever – but that doesn’t get to the soul of Monica. I could go on but you get it.

The times I struggle the most and am the most depressed are the times I feel like I have to fit myself into a box. Not just a box but a box whose size I don’t know, whose shape I don’t know, that is too small and too cramped and too limiting to actually cram myself in there. Most of the time, the box is created by someone else and I figure I have to stuff myself into it to be loved by them. Sometimes, it’s a box I create myself with that person’s name on it, maybe figuring I’ll mail myself to them when I finally manage to cram myself into it, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the size of a shoebox, sometimes it’s a refrigerator carton. Doesn’t matter, the box is still too small.

It may come from never having that box defined when I was younger. Being the youngest in the family of over-achievers, there were no restrictions put on me, no definitions put on me, which seems like it’s amazing. But it’s crippling because there never seemed to be any real value to what I was doing because no one was invested enough in it to make me feel that it was as exceptional as what my other siblings were doing. Everything was “fine” so I went through most of my life being “fine.” Nothing bad, nothing good, just “fine.”

So when I met my first husband and married him, I tried to figure out what box that meant I should put myself in. He wanted to be a chef and run an elegant restaurant and be the host with me at his side. That sounded great. He’d run the place, I’d be at his side, beaming like the trophy wife I think I expected to be. I’d be Mrs. TSS and that was “fine.” Maybe eventually I’d have my own dance studio because I loved dancing and teaching and I was very good at it. But, in my head, I was just “fine.” I’d be better putting myself into the role of Mrs. TSS and making sure he excelled. That was the box I gave myself. But he escaped out of his own box before I could even see what size mine was and maybe that was a good thing.

I got trapped in a very tiny box at the end of my second marriage. It started out quite huge and seemed to be a box that fit. Mrs. RMJ. That was me. We were a team, if one of us succeeded, the other one would. I think maybe we stuffed both of ourselves into the same box and then ran out of air. I fought to break the top off the box and see what was outside, he wanted to duct tape the box closed with both of us inside. It took me a long time but I broke through that top and found myself falling a very long way to the table outside of that box.

I constantly want to be what you want me to be. And yet, confining myself makes me lose myself. The more I am free to explore and escape and climb and search and tunnel and swing and dig, the more I am me. Some people are comfortable in that box, some people crave that box. Some people aren’t even aware they’re in a box yet I can see it surrounding them, even though they can’t. Those are the ones I want to tear the top off of their boxes and reach down and pull them out. But I digress. I can only deal with my own box, not yours. Sorry if you’re stuck, you gotta want to get out before I can help.

The hardest thing is avoiding climbing into that box. I want to do it because it makes it easier sometimes. I think, “If I’m this, then this is what will happen.” And it doesn’t. Then I’m angry and depressed and frustrated because then I don’t know what box I should be in.

Some of us defy boxes. Some of us cannot be confined in such a finite way. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy if you’ve found a box that fits and is comfortable and you can do laps in. Those are good boxes. But some of us just want to float free and avoid being sealed in. We are too big for boxes, we are too restless to be locked in, we are too big to put a top on. You’ve got to let us be free. I have to let myself be free.

It sounds easy. Just be. Be who you are. Be what you are. But without letting myself accept that I cannot be one thing, I can never just be. Until I can feel like this every day, where I know my need to be unfettered is not flakiness but what makes me stable, my avoidance of boxes is not an aberration but an embracing of my nature, my complexity is the truth and simplicity can come from it, until I can feel like that always, just being is impossible.

So for today, I’ll just be. I’ll be complex. I’ll be artistic. I’ll be a teacher and a director and a writer and a woman and a girl and a dame and a producer and a daughter and a divorcee (twice over) and a glamour girl and a tom boy and a difficult woman and a nurturing woman and a… you fill in the blanks because I’m done trying to.

Anatomy of a new life

08/14/07

Anatomy of a new life

Two years ago, I ventured into this new life. I blew into it, screaming “yippee” at the top of my lungs. No more controlling husband. No more anger and bitterness and fighting and just pure moments of hatred between us. I was free. Yee-ha.

And I leapt into my new life with both feet, never looking back. Okay, maybe peeking back occasionally. I had a new roomie, I had a new home, I had a new life. What’s not to love? I went to Vegas with someone I adore, had the best time I’ve ever had in Sin City. Jumped into my first 48 Hour Film and “Cinderella.” I thought I owned the world. I had found and embraced my destiny – even had it tattooed on my left wrist. Fuck you, ex-hubbie, and the control freak horse you rode in it! I rule! I lost my heart to someone, hopeful that he would find it and bring it back to me, making me realize I could let that organ out again to play. It was an amazing year. I thought the rest of my life would be this fun-filled, slightly disorienting ride.

Then, about a year ago, reality crashed in. Moved into a temporary place, my father’s health took a nosedive, my heart was not returned to me but left lying on the floor, ignored and abandoned. The loss of my marriage began to hit me, crippling me, making me doubt that I had made the right choice. I had the same amazing friends surrounding me but I began to realize the friends that had chosen to be left behind, that simply dropped out of my life, whether by design, by choice or simply by life, it was not important. That they weren’t there was. I began to wonder what the hell I had done. Yeah, sure, living this insane, unconventional, creative life has its benefits but it also has its detriments. There is no footing, there is no surety, there is no balance sometimes. And the person I had hoped would be there – who had been there at the start – was not there anymore and I felt abandoned and alone again, grieving for something that should have been, could have been, would have been, but never was.

I have sleepwalked through the last year of my life. Sure, on the surface, I was there, I was moving, I was present. But my soul and my spirit were not. They were off somewhere, trying to regroup and reform. I was in a haze, moving forward because there was no other choice but to do so. But I couldn’t see the path anymore. I became slowly but surely sucked into the abyss, being pulled down by those stupid clowns, convinced that I was going to be alone, moderately successful but never to the level I wanted to be, and always left standing by the side of the road, waiting, wanting, craving, but never having.

I hadn’t dealt with my feelings about my marriage or its end. I hadn’t dealt with things left over from my childhood that led me to choosing both of my ex’s. I hadn’t dealt with a lot of things and now they were kicking my ass. Once again, I found myself ready to give in and give up. RMJ was right. I was a failure. I would be nothing without him. I had made the biggest mistake of my life. And my friends knew it. It wouldn’t be long before they left, too.

A very dark night a few months ago – as well as a very angry email from someone who loves me – made me stop. I had come very close to once again throwing in the literal towel and this time, instead of a bottle of pills, it was going to be the freeway divider at midnight at 80 mph. Seemed somehow poetic to die by freeway at midnight near downtown LA. I’d make the news.

But I made it home. Barely. I read this email from my friend and it really sunk in. I was in serious trouble and it wasn’t going to get better by avoiding it. I had worked too hard for my life to throw it away. I thought I had put my marriage behind me but I hadn’t. I had just put it in a box and hid it away, hoping to never look at it again. That’s what my family does. Put things away, don’t ever look at them again.

I have returned to my therapist. I have finally begun to really deal with why I chose both my ex’s, why I feel alone and abandoned, why I feel like I don’t deserve anything in my life. I thought that by now, I would be past him and me and us and 18 years and asking why. But I’m not. I think I’ve only begun to ask the really important questions. The answers are not easy and the questions are terrifying. But at least there are answers and I think finally, after two years, the healing has begun.

Hard to beat...

Coming home tonight from the Ark, driving over the Sepulveda pass, no traffic (miracle!), Bob Seger's "Hollywood Nights" blasting out of my brand spanking new black Ipod on my decent stereo in my POS Hyundai, followed shortly by Keith Urban's "Slow Turnin'." It's about 70 outside, lovely breeze blowing through my back windows. Clear sky, the Valley glittering below me as I crest the 405.

Nope, doesn't get better than this.

My first check

Behold, my first check for directing:



I can't stop smiling, even though this has been a challenging experience.

I am now a paid director.

About f***ing time.

Summary of August 3, 2007.

Summary of today

Okay, yesterday, really.

Woke up realizing it’s my ex’s birthday. Great way to start the day.

Typed my ass off in the morning.

Couldn’t find anything cute to wear to the “preview” tonight of my new show. God, I need to lose a ton of weight.

Got to MR to corrupt the creative souls of children. My regular partner in crime is off this weekend. Her substitute got the time wrong for the first class. I have no keys. Kids started showing up. Got in to the studio almost 45 minutes late. Couldn’t leave at 5, like I was supposed to in order to get to the preview early.

Oh, and the air conditioning broke down – again.

Found out the MR guy who repairs the air had the keys all along, lives very close, could have let us in earlier and could have locked up so I wouldn’t have had to hang around.

Fought traffic at 6:45 to get to Santa Monica by 7:30-7:45. Arrived at 7:30.

Don’t really want to discuss tonight. The show went fine and all. Other things, behind the scenes, that I’ll blog about some day. Sum it up with the fact that I’m listed in the program as “Susan (director).” No last name with my bio. Apparently, I have become like Madonna and only go by my first name. The answer to my query as to why this is was simply, “Oh, I guess I missed that. I guess we should change that before we print up new ones.” Nice to know my time and talent are appreciated.

Blew out of there, as apparently did everyone else. Very tired. Should have gone home since I’m getting up before dawn to go help my dearest Chairman with his yard sale at 6 AM. But, nooooo.

Stopped by Molly Malone’s (bar in Hollywood) to listen to the Piper Downs, one of my favorite bands and a group of my favorite people. Am very, very glad I did. They blew away my blues with their simple joy in playing. I love these guys. They are some of the finest musicians on earth and if you want some killer, kick-ass, straight out rock and roll, check them out. They rocked so hard tonight. Greeted me with such friendship and love that the rest of the day faded away to the strains of “Stutter”.

Drove home, avoiding the swerving and the drunken and the just simply LA-ian drivers.

Now, I’m wide awake, it’s 1:21 AM and I have to get to bed. I’m not going to say get to sleep because I don’t know if actual sleep will actually happen. But at least lay down, close my eyes and breathe for the first time in days.

Here’s to a better tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday, writing with my “team” – the fabulous David S. and the amazing Monica H. Trying to make the comedy part of the Ark film an actual comedy. Sorry, Erik, I know now that pairing you with the other writer was not a good blend and I hope to get another chance to work with you on something else. Focus on your kids, give them much love, and everything else will figure itself out.

Okay, rambling now. Must stop typing…..

Things I've given up...

My mother today actually suggested in passing that the clutter in the living room of our apartment is my fault. I will give her that – the boxes that are lined up against the wall are mine. The clutter, however, is composed of the four tables and multitude of vases and plants and Beanie Babies, etc., that she could not give up when they moved up here. I realize she left a lot of stuff behind, including a patio filled with beautiful plants and flowers. I know this move was hard on her as she is the unmovable block – easier to bring the mountain to Muhammad rather than the other way around.

However, I found myself almost in tears as I reminded her that I have pretty much nothing left of my old life. I had a beautiful, glorious 1,500 sq. ft. apartment that had a loft that I adored. I had furniture. I had chairs and couches and places to put things. I had drawers and a chest of drawers and a beautiful antique armoire. I had closets for my clothes and an office filled with, okay, his stuff but still. I had a life, complete with all the accoutrements.

What do I have now? A single bedroom. The living room, dining room and kitchen are all filled with my parents’ life. The pictures on the walls in the hallway? My parents’. The books on the shelves and the photographs throughout are my parents’. Everything I own, everything that I am, has been winnowed down to a single, tiny bedroom. I have stuff in boxes because there simply isn’t anywhere left to put things. And, at this point, I cannot bring myself to throw one more tiny piece of paper away.

I guess I never realized that when I walked away from him, I walked away from my life. |A life we had spent almost 18 years building. A familiar life, a comfortable life. Although, in that life, I had very little as well. Pictures were put up where he wanted them, despite my many arguments. The bookcases filled with books were his. I had about 10 little shelves on the dozen bookcases we had. I had a desk in the loft to work at, he had the whole office.

But now that life has been cut down even more to this tiny room with way too much stuff. And I can’t find half the stuff I want because it’s either jammed into a corner somewhere or buried in a box where I haven’t found it yet.

I thought my new life would include room for me. But I’m still living in someone else’s space, with someone else’s rules. I have to shoehorn my life into the space I’m allowed because that’s all I get.

And for now, there’s not much I can do about that. But it makes me very sad to think about all the things I left behind and all the things I’ve given up over these two years and all the things I’ll never get back. I’m still trying to build my new life within the confines I am offered and it’s a struggle some days, like today.

Maybe that’s why my vision of the future is so appealing and I have to keep that in front of me. That beautiful house/condo/whatever it is with the 20 foot ceilings and the piano that I know is mine and the furniture that I know WE picked out together and knowing that there is a room somewhere in that building that is just mine, with my stuff in it, where I want my stuff to be. And the person singing in the other room doesn’t care if he has exactly as many photos out of his family as of mine. That comes naturally. The space is ours, with room for both of us to have our own space and room for us to have our space together. And there is room to breathe and to grow and to have the life that I had hoped to create when I left that other confining, suffocating life behind. I hope in five years I am there, because I’m not sure I can hold my breath that long.

My dear friend

I’ve missed you. And I think, in that brief moment before your guard came up, I could see that you missed me.

Cuz I haven't posted any artwork for a while.

I've been so busy, I haven't had time to draw or paint. But I had to get my butt back into the Academy this week to continue m training. So this is what I did today:



It's called "tone drawing" where you create still life objects using only a dark, light and middle tone. Very minimal shading. It got kind of splattered by the fixative to keep it from smearing. I'm actually quite proud of how this one came out.

Not terribly exciting but it means I am one step closer to oil painting. In fact, if I can keep myself together and go in once a week, I should be doing oil painting within a month or so.

So, there's your art fix. Thanks for tuning in.

Mirror, Mirror

So who do you see when you look in the mirror? Do you really see you or do you see what you think others see? Do you like what you see? Do you want to change it?

I guess I’ve been doing a lot of thinking for the past two years about who I am. I’ve been trying to find the Susan that is at the base of everything – not the Susan everyone sees but the Susan I see (or want to see) when I look in the mirror.

I was thinking about how I would describe myself should I decide to submit myself to the ridiculousness of online dating (sorry, not sure I can do that). Some people have great success. But I saw my personal profile as something like this:

SWF, 45, slightly emotionally damaged, twice divorced (hence the damage), carrying about 45 lbs too many and only occasionally bipolar, mostly around the full moon. “Weirdly driven,” obsessed with her creative life but moderately obsessive when it comes to her heart as well. Oh, and she lives with her parents.

I can see the line forming to the left of perspective dates.

I guess none of us can define ourselves that simply, which is the main reason internet dating doesn’t appeal to me. I’m much more complicated than that. Yes, I’ve been divorced twice. Yes, I’m prone to depression. But I can also experience and share joy of the like you have never seen. Yes, my heart is battered but I hope that I am not terribly bitter because of it. I’m still a romantic yet I’m still cautious. Yes, I am independent and a towering pillar of strength but I can also crumble with a word or a look and sometimes I want someone to tell me what to do, or at least help me figure out what to do.

Interestingly, I’m listening to Trace Adkins sing “I Wanna Feel Something.”

It may be as simple as that. I want to feel something. Something that feels uniquely me. Something that is not dismissed, that is not pandered to. I want to feel something and know that that feeling is valid because it’s mine, because I know who I am and I no longer require someone to validate that feeling and validate that person.

I have spent the last 45 years of my life trying to figure out who I am. I was never defined as a young child. My brother and my sister had very clear definitions – athletes, award winners, accolades galore. The expectations were there and they were defined. Now, I’m sure that comes with its own set of issues and problems that they can deal with by working with their own therapists. But for me, the damage was in not being defined. I didn’t know who to be. I couldn’t compete with them as athletes because the bar was set into the stratosphere. So I tried many things, trying to find Susan. The resounding lack of response made me think that nothing I could do would ever equal what my siblings had accomplished and that what I was doing was not valid.

Luckily, I fell in love with theater. Discovering my creativity began to help me see the blurry image in front of me, that maybe there was a Susan there that might be worth something.

But after two challenging relationships with two men who did not help the cause of defining Susan, I am now back to one, beginning again, trying put together the pieces I have gathered over 45 years. The toughest part is not allowing myself to be defined by those around me. I have to find my own definition, my own version of Susan.

Bit by bit, that person is coming into focus. I can see maybe 10% of the Susan that I want to be, that Susan in my vision five years from now, curled up in an armchair, clean, fresh breeze blowing in through my open window, sitting in peace and serenity, knowing I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing, the sound of the one I love singing from the next room, singing something silly and lovely and tender that means nothing to anyone but us. That Susan, that peaceful, content person is the one I strive for. I’m sure she has problems and issues and temper tantrums and deep, dark depressions. But I am hoping those are the rarities and the peace and comfort are the norm for this Susan.

Maybe in five years, the ad that Susan would write would read something like this:

CWF (committed white female), 50, emotionally healed, in a caring, committed relationship with (he who can’t be named), still probably carrying around a few pounds too many but doesn’t give a shit about that, still likes to howl at the moon but with pleasure, not with pain. Still “weirdly driven” with her creative life but learning to love without losing herself. Lives with her parents – who live in the guest house of her beautiful wooded estate.

That sounds pretty good to me.

Question of passion and other musings...

First of all, for no particular reason other than I just got stuck behind a bunch of these, God save me from the faux-shinistas. You know the ones I mean. The high maintenance girls (don’t care if they’re 23, 34, or 42, they’ll always be girls) with the annoying, nasal voices they think sound sophisticated and their faux designer knock-off everythings – big, huge plastic faux Chanel sunglasses that worked on Audrey Hepburn but not you, sweetie; the enormous, obviously vinyl D&G over-studded and over-ugly bag and, my favorite, the gi-normous raincoat yellow, uglier than sin purse that looks like you could fit a Volkswagen in it on the few days that it rains in LA. And god forbid you should get behind this bunch of chickies when you’re trying to order a simple Coke and a cookie while they each order some kind of stupid soy milk vegan low fat decaf espresso frothy drink with tons of whipped cream – and then they all pay individually while they dig through they’re obviously fake, horribly cheesy knock-off purses for their just as fugly knock-off wallets. And then tip the guy a quarter.

Okay, glad I got that off my chest.

I made an interesting observation while my brother was here on vacation. He and his wife have been married probably 17 years, I guess. Their son is 15 – and, boy, is he 15. But that’s for another blog. What I noticed with my brother and his wife is what I’ve noticed with a lot of long term relationships – they’re more like roommates than lovers. There was no passion between them, no affection, no comfortable hand-holding or sweet kisses exchanged. Just day-to-day, get through the day, what do you want to do now kind of conversation.

It got me wondering about a lot of things, mainly about when and why does the passion die in a relationship and does it need to. And it got me wondering about whether I ever really felt that passion for my ex. And if I did, when did that die?

I was trying to think of that moment when I feel in love with my ex. I can kind of remember when I fell for my first husband, although it’s more just a warm, fuzzy memory than anything exact. There was a moment when he smiled at me with his off-kilter, slightly dangerous smile and that was it. I was maybe 18 and I had lost a good piece of my heart in that moment. I don’t remember where we were or what we were doing, I just remember that look. Even the OOMA, I can remember when I thought, wow, I think I might actually be in love with him. It was a very late night, very innocuous situation, just sitting and talking and eating and laughing and I thought, I could do this for a very long time.

But I don’t remember falling in love with my current ex. It just seemed like I floated along, moving in with him, letting him propose to me, marrying him because it just seemed like the thing to do. My memories might be colored by the hurt and anger and pain surrounding the thought of him lately but it makes me very sad that I can’t point to a moment and say, that’s when I fell in love with him. I think I went with him because he seemed to love me, he felt familiar (now I know why, thanks to my therapist) and there didn’t seem to be anybody else breaking down my door. I hate to think I spent 18 years with someone I wasn’t passionate about.

I think I was more passionate about his talent and his drive than he himself. I saw us as this power couple who could take Hollywood by storm. He also had the capacity to be incredibly romantic but, for the most part, so much of it felt like he was being romantic because he decided he needed to be in order to keep our relationship going rather than to be romantic because his heart moved him to be. There were very few of those moments that felt really motivated from his heart, not his head.

The last few years we were together, I really didn’t even want to have sex with him. While I’m sure some of that was because of my depression, a lot of it was just that I was starting to fall out of love with him. There had been so much damage done to me that I certainly didn’t want to expose myself to him anymore than I had to. And it had become pretty textbook by then. I could map out the one of three options that he would probably take depending on how things started. I won’t bore you with details because I spent enough time being bored as it was. But it started me thinking about passion in a long term relationship, even then. Shouldn’t I want to make love to my husband, no matter whether we’ve been married five years or 15 years? Shouldn’t you always want to make love to your spouse or significant other? Aren’t they supposed to turn you on?

I had become a secretary and a roommate and a housekeeper (although not a very good one) and somewhere along the line, we had stopped being in love. He said the words but I think it was gone on his side as well. Neither of us understood it in the moment, neither of us knew what to do about it. Hard to say whether starting couples counseling earlier would have saved our marriage. I think it had been dead for a very long time by the time we recognized that it was a corpse.

What does all this have to do with anything right now? I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to be roommates with someone again. I want to be with someone who stirs my heart just as much in 15 years as it does when we first meet. I want to be with someone who’s going to stay passionate - truly, honestly passionate – and not become a rout participant in our relationship. I don’t know that I’ll ever have another relationship that lasts long enough to test this, maybe because I’m afraid no relationship can stand up to that bar. But does that mean I should lower that bar? I don’t think so. If I’m going to give up my heart again, it has to be something magical and special and the thing I have been searching for my whole life. I haven’t been able to find it yet obviously and I may never be able to find it. That may mean I’ll spend the rest of my life standing by the side, watching relationships come and go while I wait for my perfect passion. But after seeing relationship after relationship chug along in mediocrity just because both people are too afraid of being alone, I think I’d rather spend my time holding out for something that comes close to that perfect passion rather than waste my heart on something that is just settling for something at this moment in time.

In the meantime, I’ll wave as the rest of the world goes by.

My I Ching for today

(I bolded the stuff I like. Makes me think of the email Dave sent me after the 48 hour film project and his reference to the "dedicated bunch of psychopaths" I use.)


16 - Yu - Enthusiasm
-- --
-- --
------
-- --
-- --
-- --
The Judgment
Enthusiasm. It furthers one to install helpers
And to set armies marching.

The Image
Thunder comes resounding out of the earth:
The image of Enthusiasm.
Thus the ancient kings made music
In order to honor merit,
And offered it with splendor
To the Supreme Deity,
Inviting their ancestors to be present.

Six at the beginning means:
Enthusiasm that expresses itself
Brings misfortune.

Six in second place means:
Firm as a rock. Not a whole day.
Perseverance brings good fortune.

Six in third place means:
Enthusiasm that looks upward creates remorse.
Hesitation brings remorse.

Nine in fourth place means:
* The source of enthusiasm.
He achieves great things.
Doubt not.
You gather friends around you
As a hair clasp gathers the hair.

Six in fifth place means:
Persistently ill, and still does not die. (my favorite part!)

Six at the top means:
Deluded enthusiasm. (my other favorite part)
But if after completion one changes,
There is no blame.


____________________________________

Kinda cool. Both my I Ching and my horoscope are predicting great things to come right now. I can only hope.

Wondering, Wishing, Wanting

Wondering if it’s possible to find love again at 45. I know I can crush – have a wicked one on Cute Boy that is fun and silly and totally harmless. After all, he’s got a girlfriend and is moving in with her so nothing’s gonna happen there but it’s fun. Lost my heart to my dearest and I don’t think I’ll ever get all of it back. Talking to my friend, Anna, the other day who said she’s not sure if she wants to get into a relationship with someone because it’s just going to end. And I think she’s right. I’ve had two great loves in my life and they both ended. Is it possible to find it yet again, that love that makes you breathless and giddy and woozy all at the same time, that love that makes your heart pound and fills it with so much that you can’t possibly fit anything else in there? That love that we’re only supposed to have once in our lives. Can it happen a third time? My sister claims her third marriage is the best thing there is and her husband is truly the best man I have ever known her to be with. However, there have been many drunken phone calls – when we were still speaking – where she admitted that her life wasn’t what she wanted it to be and she wasn’t sure about even this incredible man who obviously loves her very much. Can I expect to find that love, that one, that person, who can fill me and reach me and touch me without me losing too much of myself? Or can I let myself be that vulnerable again to even try to find out?

Wishing for that love. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Aching with wishing while flirting via email with Cute Guy, realizing the futility of it. Wishing for that hand, those arms, those lips, something to make me feel 25 again, loved within an inch of my life again.

Wanting to start all over, to be able to let someone else in. Wanting to stop hurting and aching and wishing and wanting. Wanting (a little less every day) the one I can’t have – the ones I can’t have, maybe. Wanting to be wanted. Just wanting.

10 Reasons why I shouldn’t watch “The Gilmore Girls.”

1. No one talks like that.

2. No one lives like that.

3. No mother/daughter has a relationship like that.

4. I love my friends and their advice but it’s not the pithy, quippy, get to the point quickly kind of advice that Lorelei’s friends give her.

5. I will never live in a house like that making a wage like that.

6. No guy ever took me bungee jumping when I was 19.

7. LA doesn’t do clever, quirky town festivals where everyone gets together and does something cute and silly.

8. Norman Mailer has never just wandered into my life.

9. I wouldn’t be Lorelei if I lived in that world – I would be one of the funny, fat neighbors who seem to be slightly slow and not nearly as clever as our lead girls.

10. My “Luke” is never going to just some day realize he’s in love with me and grab me and kiss me that way, whether I wait eight years or 80 years. But, like Lorelei, I can't let him go.

Truth Be Told...

I don’t know who I am.

The first year after I escaped and found my freedom, I announced to the world, “Here I am! This is me! This is who I am without someone telling me who I have to be.” And I tried so hard to be that person I saw in my mind’s eye – that woman who was strong and independent and creative and amazing. Dorothy Parker but with better shoes. I thought I knew what I wanted and who I wanted to be. I thought it would be easy to embrace that Susan I always wanted to be but never felt that I was allowed to be.

But deep inside, I had no idea who that person was. I lived what I thought was expected of me, who I thought others saw me as. OOMA saw me as strong, creative, brilliant (maybe). My new friends saw me as strong, creative, powerful. I still saw myself as a little girl, hiding behind a door, peeking out on the life that I wanted but no idea how to get the door open. But I faked it pretty well. There were glimpses of who I thought I wanted to be but never a clear vision.

I became SUSAN, in all caps, because that’s what I thought I should be. Dynamic. Strong. Powerful. Didn’t need anyone. Didn’t need anything. But the many nights crying into my pillow and fighting panic attacks told me that maybe I was wrong. I tried to let myself (whoever that may be) come out and be expressed but, in the process, I think I drove some pretty amazing people away because, once I let myself out, I found I couldn’t pull myself back.

I spent the next year spinning the wheel, trying on different things, different selves. Be more open, be more emotional. Be stronger, be more creative. Be the director you are, don’t need anything else. You’re strong, you are SUSAN, hear you roar. But the little voice inside me kept saying, “But who are you?” I ignored that voice. I decided I didn’t want to be single anymore and to try to figure out who I had to be in order to make the OOMA want and adore me. Silly me. Maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard to be… something… maybe I wouldn’t have made him run for the hills. I’ll never know because he’ll never tell me. But I knew down inside that I wasn’t who I wanted to be yet because I still didn’t know who that was.

I had moments in that year where I wanted to go back to being with him, just so I wouldn’t have to find out who I was without him. Because that would mean that the person I was for 18 years with him was a fraud. I know, I wouldn’t be who I am without that time with him but it seemed that, by leaving him, I left myself behind, with no bread crumbs to lead me back to where I was. I kept thinking, “What the hell did I do? Who am I to think I deserve to find myself, find my bliss, find what makes me happy? Nobody’s happy, why should I be?” Luckily, that didn’t last long and usually went away quickly. But it was there.

A while ago, I was meditating on where I wanted to be in five years and I got a very clear vision of that. Beautiful oceanside home, filled with peace and contentment, warm, beautiful, the voice of the man I love in the other room, singing softly to something that was making me smile as I sat curled up, looking out the window at the gorgeous view, knowing we were going to be doing something perfect that night. Knowing that I was exactly where I wanted to be, with the person I wanted to be with, and being the person I wanted to be. There were no doubts, no worries, no fears. This was my life, and it was exactly what I wanted.

I now realize that the past six to eight months have been me, waiting. Waiting for some revelation of who I am and who I am to be. Director, yes, but good director? I thought so. But how could I know without that significant other to confirm it to me. I know I have spouted off on not needing that approval but, you know what? I am full of shit. I want someone there to discuss the screening last weekend and play the “what did you think” game with. But even that is dependent on who I am. How can I know who I am looking for if I don’t know who the person is that is doing the looking.

So I arrive at today, ironically Independence Day, when I realize that I haven’t a clue who I am. There is a blurry impression deep inside that makes me think I can see something hazy on the horizon that might take the shape of the person I want to be. I know I feel it occasionally, particularly when I am directing and there is no doubt in my mind that I know what I am doing. I see that vision of me in five years, happy, content, at peace, and I want to figure out how to get there. I know I am taking baby steps and sometimes I think I am making huge, gargantuan leaps. But then I look down and see I’m only a tiny step or two from where I was.

I do realize that, to get the life I see in five years, I need to spend the time figuring out who I am. How can I expect to be with someone in my life in a significant way if I don’t know who I am? How do I know even what to look for? Without a road map of my own self, I cannot expect anyone to follow me along and meet me at the rest stop. I’ve got my Thomas Guide, they’re working with Mapquest. We’re not going to end up at the same place because we’re seeing two different paths.

I hope that going to my therapist again will help me decipher my Thomas Guide and figure out which way is north. I hope to find that peaceful place in the distance, with the ocean and the peace and the sound of his voice singing softly in the next room. I hope to be able to say, “Hi, I’m Susan (no caps)” and know what that introduction means. In the meantime, bear with me as I seek and struggle and peek into the crannies. I hope in five years, we’ll toast to the me that was and put her to bed. And I hope to be complete all by myself.

More 48 Hour Pictures - from the screening

Check them out if you haven't already.

Nerves of...

... mush.

Didn't sleep much last night. Not that I'm worried about tonight. Maybe anxious and anticipatory. I know "The Change-Up" is great. It was nice to have an actual crew this year and not force the actors into holding the boom, etc. But still, it's always nerve-wracking to me to have something screened. Maybe I'll get jaded enough one day to not care. In a way, I hope not.

The screenings last night were... interesting. "Buddy System" by Genesis Films was by far the best. They are the best filmmakers there. My friend, Perry's, was the best I've seen him do. The rest, with a few exceptions, were kind of average. Nothing frightfully bad, very few stand-outs.

I hope we're a stand out tonight.

In case you haven't seen the info enough, here it is again:

Fine Arts Theatre
8556 Wilshire Blvd.
Beverly Hills, CA 90211
phone: (310) 360-0455
$10

Please come and join me if you can.

More 48 Hour Madness

So, a couple of days later, I'm still trying to recover from the 48 Hour Film Project. It was a tough year, with only a few hours sleep between Friday morning and 2 AM Sunday night. I’ll write a longer blog with details as soon as I can find the time. Here are pics from the weekend, including our ill-fated journey into the park.

In the meantime, the end of the race concluded with thinking we had technical problems with our DVD submission and almost not submitting it on time because of this. Peter Fox, the organizer, insisted I turn in whatever we had and turn in a “late” entry later that night just in case. Dave very kindly let me utilize all his technology at his office, helped me get a good DVD burned and I dropped that off at midnight as a “late” entry. Long story short, the first DVD appears to be fine so we made the deadline and qualify for awards.

I screened both the “48 Hour” cut (just about 7 minutes) and the director’s cut (around 9 minutes) last night for select folks at the Ark and the overall response was very good to both of them. I think this is probably the best of the three 48 Hour films I’ve shot, if not the best thing I’ve shot. The beauty of working with professionals, both as writers and as cast/crew, is that things just get done. No one bitches and moans, egos are checked at the door, the cast does their homework, and we can get everything done in a timely manner. We really shot only about 5 ½ hours after all the chaos of losing our location. The actors jumped right in to the rewrite and got the very delicate tone of the piece. Think Tarrantino meets Soderbergh. Could have easily slipped into over-done but they found the perfect balance of zany but grounded.

Beth, as always, was a shot or two ahead so I didn’t have to think about much. She has to sign a contract in blood with me to not move back to Alaska and to never work for anyone else when I need her. I cannot wait to do “The Wraith” with her.

And my writing team was exquisite. Dave and Monica are possibly two of the most clever people I have ever worked with. The dynamic and the respect amongst us allowed us to disagree on points of view and yet continue to work productively. I LOVE this script. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE IT. And, consequently, I LOVE this film. “The Change-Up” is what it’s called, by the way.

The official screening is this Saturday, June 30 at 6:30 PM. If you want to join us, please go to www.48hourfilm.com/la to buy tickets online. Buy ‘em quick, they will sell out.

What this weekend did do for me is make me once again realize that there is no Plan B. I will never be a program director for Mission: Renaissance, as much as I love the job and the work. I am not even going to begin the training for that because I don’t want to waste their time or mine. I am a director. I am “weirdly driven”, as Dave described me nearing midnight on Sunday as we tried to finish the DVD. This is what I want to do, this is what I’m destined to do, and that’s all there is. I am so grateful to be reminded of this often so I don’t get distracted.

Whew. So, I take a breath and tonight start rehearsal for a new play I’m directing. I should have taken a few days off but, oh, well.

Here we go!

A very long 48 hours...

...and it's not over.

Started out well. Peter went with me to the kick-off event, Dave and Monica and I had been brainstorming via internet for a few days and I even had a lunch with Perry, who got me addictd in the first place.

I drew "buddy film." Hmmmm. Actually, pretty good genre, we had a couple of things we could bend that way.

Had a delicious dinner late Friday night with Dave and Monica as we fleshed out the script, which was tentatively entitled "Double Depth". Very fun night filled with way too many movie reference, very good Italian food and a carafe of chianti. We worked until 1;30 in the morning, Monica crashing on my floor, Dave staggering home.

Got up at 7, checked out a series of locations in a nearby park. Guerilla filmmaking at its best. Until the park ranger caught us around 3:30, just as we were really getting started (another story but later) and threw us out. I was losing most of my cast around 6, so we didn't have time to find somewhere else, even though we tried. I finally made the very difficult decision to scrap the plan for the park and sent everyone on their way.

Dave, Monica and I met over near the Ark Theatre, figuring we could rewrite, everyone was willing to come back late night and film SOMETHING! So, several hours and a coffee drink or two later, we had rewritten a very good, very tight script and made it even better. Don't ask me how.

I went over to the Ark to see "Soda Pop" and waited for the cast/crew to arrive around 10:30. We got our first shot off at midnight. It's now 5:21 AM and I just got home. i have to now edit and put together a coherent film. Beth, Peter, and maybe Dave are coming by later to help finish things up. I have to turn this in by 7:30 tonight.

I hope to grab a nap in there somewhere as I am exhausted.

My crew rocked - Patty, Caroline, Erin X., Zachary, Erik, Meagan, Renae, Travis, and anyone else i missed.

I love my DP, Beth Wallan. Hire her - but only wen I don't need her.

My amazing cast - Peter Ross Stephens, one of my favorite collaborators, Tricia Pierce, wildly funny, Kerr Lordygan, who gave Tricia a run for her money in the funny department, and Erin Trainor, who jumped in at the last minute and was terrific.

Finally, possibly the best writing experience I have ever had with Monica Hafer and Dave Smith. Somehow, between movie quotes, comic book conversation and just plain silliness, we managed to find a very great script to write. I could have never written something like this on my own.

So, at this almost done point, I am once again humbled by the talent around me, grateful for the crew that surrounded me and overwhelmed by the respect and friendship shown to me.

Now, maybe I'll grab an hour's nap and try to get the edit started!

48 Hour Film - first part done

Just finished writing the script to shoot in five hours. Monica and Dave rock! Of course, it's 2 AM and we laughed until we cried almost.

I hope it's just as funny when we get up and read it in a few hours.

Here's to shooting today!

Fear of...

I’m actually scared.

I don’t know why. I know how to do this. I’ve been doing it long enough. I am confident in what I do and how I do it.

Maybe I’ve put too much pressure on myself with wanting to do something good enough to get us to San Francisco. Maybe I’m just putting too much pressure on myself to not only do the best short film I can do, but to outdo myself so I don’t let anybody down.

The first two years, I felt like there was just me, and maybe my dearest Chairman, who was my rock way back then, to be let down if this didn’t work. Sure, I’d disappoint the other actors and crew and it’s not that everybody wasn’t invested in it. But if I fell on my face, I felt like I would only be letting myself and maybe Chairman down. I wouldn’t be letting anyone else down because, after all, it’s only a 48 hour film.

But this year feels different. I have a writing team, Monica and Dave, whose talents I adore. I think they’re a good match for me. And Peter is going to the kick-off with me and I know he’ll be there for anything and everything I need and I’m really glad for that because I’m really missing my partner in crime right now since he has chosen to make himself scarce in my life.

Maybe it’s just that. I’ve done two of these with someone there who I felt like was a partner for these things. And he’s not there this year. And I feel his absence, as a collaborator and as a friend. He is a huge hole in my life right now and that is incredibly hard.

And this time around, there feels like there is so much at stake. I want to make the top 10. I want to take my team to San Francisco. And if we don’t make it, I will have failed. I realize, of course, I have no control over it and sometimes the people who judge these things make really inconceivable decisions. I know that, no matter what, my film will be better than probably 60% of them, of that I have confidence.

But I feel like I could let so many people down if I fail. Monica and Dave, Peter, Tricia and Erin and Patty and all the others who have thrown their hat into the ring with me this time. They’ll be supportive and encouraging, no matter what. But I want to make them proud because of everything they have done for me and how much they have absolute faith in me.

The first two years, I went in blindly. The first year especially, and I had two of the four pieces of my heart there, which made it so much easier. One of those pieces is forever gone from me and that makes this hard because, despite everything, I actually miss him. Yes, he can be difficult and he can be a little nuts, but he is so talented and so passionate and so… just so. CL, I hope you’re finding what you’re seeking in your life.

Last year, I had two other pieces of my heart there (one of whom is still hanging around this year) and that made it so much easier.

This year, I am acutely aware that I have lost a lot in the past two years. Maybe it’s because this film always marks the decision to end my marriage. Yes, there were many things leading up to it but this project is what made me choose. And looking back over these two years, I can see what I’ve accomplished and those who have been there for those accomplishments. I can see where I came from and, for now, I can see where I’m going.

But I also see a lot of regrets, things I’ve fucked up, relationships I have somehow managed to ruin, goals I’ve set that I haven’t achieved and so many things I wish I hadn’t done. I can’t fix the and I know that. But, added to other things, it makes this film hard this year.

I know I have the most incredible support and I’m excited to be working with this incredibly talented bunch of people. I am always humbled when they drop everything to leap off the cliff with me. While I know my vision and my talent are what shape this project, without their talents and their abilities and their simple trust in me, nothing I do would be as good as it is.

So I hope this has exorcised my fears for the night. I am pretty sure that I won’t get much sleep because that’s just the way it is as I go into anything like this. I hope I will find myself sitting up at 3 a.m., my brain full of ideas for the weekend, making lists of what has to be done and how to get it done, some loglines for what we could write, handling whatever prep I can do for this, and I hope that’s all I find at 3 a.m. I know I’ll feel better when I see Peter tomorrow at the kick-off and I know that Dave, Monica and I will write a killer script. And I am pretty confident we have a shot at San Francisco. But I am going to concentrate on the now and the top 10 can come next week.

Send us good vibes, good hopes and good prayers for a successful shoot.

Thanks to my very talented collaborators. You guys rock my world on a daily basis and you make me proud every time we work together. I’ll see you very soon!

Wow.

I get to make a film this weekend.


48 Hour Film Project/Los Angeles

Okay, if I can't have sex...

... and I can't have an Iphone...

...can I have this...?



Here's the article from the LA Times.

Do I qualify for my honorary penis now?

(Hm.... maybe that's why I'm not having sex....)

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.