I am thrilled to announce that "The Change-Up" made the top 50 at Famecast.com. Please make sure you vote again, please encourage your family and loved ones (and not even not so loved ones) to register and vote for us. Check it out at:
http://www.famecast.com/lifeonitssideproductions.
Let's make it to the Top 25 but we can't do it without you!
Thanks for the support and the votes.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Last chance to vote for "The Change-Up."
Voting at famecast.com ends at 9AM LA time so, if you haven't cast your vote for "The Change-Up" yet, please do so right now! Go! Now! Quickly! http://www.famecast.com/lifeonitssideproductions.
Have you gone yet?
Right now, at 3:26 AM, we're holding on at 16 out of 287. No matter where we end up, I'm very, very proud of this piece and that we maintained this level throughout.
The goal is to stay in the top 50 to get into the next round. Then you all get to vote again. We're aiming for $10,000 since I have a new film to shoot soon.
Thanks for your support.
Have you gone yet?
Right now, at 3:26 AM, we're holding on at 16 out of 287. No matter where we end up, I'm very, very proud of this piece and that we maintained this level throughout.
The goal is to stay in the top 50 to get into the next round. Then you all get to vote again. We're aiming for $10,000 since I have a new film to shoot soon.
Thanks for your support.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Wanton heart
My heart
wants to go
where I cannot
allow it to go.
It is like a child
wanton
reckless
occasionally stupid.
I have to
wrap both hands
around it
to keep it here
and not let it
get away
again
and waste
more precious time
waiting
wanting
wondering
only to be ignored
and left
to cry
and break.
wants to go
where I cannot
allow it to go.
It is like a child
wanton
reckless
occasionally stupid.
I have to
wrap both hands
around it
to keep it here
and not let it
get away
again
and waste
more precious time
waiting
wanting
wondering
only to be ignored
and left
to cry
and break.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Educating Susan
I’ve been watching “Educating Rita” this morning and, needless to say, it resonated with me.
“And I thought, "Yeah, that's what I'm trying to do, isn't it? Sing a better song.”
And I have been singing better songs for a while now.
It hit me how far removed from my old life I have become in such a short time the other night, chatting with an acquaintence from my former life. She remarked on my artwork, remarked on my talent and then said, “You should have a manager.” I was touched, thinking she meant that my art was that good. “I mean,” she continued, “you have so many talents. It’d be great if you could just find someone to help you focus your talents on something.” My response? “Like my directing career.” “Yes,” she continued, “but really help you focus and get moving forward in one direction on something.” “Like my directing career.” “Yes, but find something that you can focus on that expresses your creativity and can move you forward in something.” “Like my directing career? Like the feature I have premiering next week and the three short films I’ve made.” “Yes, but…” And she continued to insist that I need focus. That I need focus. That I NEED FOCUS. I stopped short of either braying with laughter or smacking her in the head.
When I stand up before the capacity audience (okay, so it’s about 40 people) at the Ark next week, screening my first major work, “Cinderella Drives A Pick-Up,” I will stand up there and sing a new song. I will sing my own song, a tune of my own making, a song that only I have written. Sure, there were collaborators on the way who helped with some of the notes or some of the phrasing, but it is my own song. I will stand in front of those people – friends, family, collaborators, support group – and I will stand on my own two feet, no appendage supporting me, although more support than I have ever had in my life. But it will be me. Just me. Flaws, perfection, angst, and joy all rolled into one. And every frame that is on that screen, for better or worse, will be mine.
I am beginning to own my life. I know I’m a long way from truly owning it and maybe that’s why I’m still single. I don’t think I can share my life until I can truly own it. It’s hard because there are times when the loneliness runs very deep. Like when Cute Boy says good night to me and hugs me close then his arm lingers around my waist a moment longer before he lets go and it makes me want to just lean into him and have him hold me and … just hold me. But even if he could, I’m not sure I am ready. I don’t want to chance losing all that I have struggled for on a whim and throwing everything away just to be held close.
I will stand up next week, in front of Cute Boy and the OOMA and all those others who supported me and those who maybe tried to support me in my former life, and it will be the beginning of a new life for me, in that single night. This is the culmination of all of my struggles and all of my passion and all of my heart and my hurt and my anger and my pain and my desire and my everything. It is an achievement I never, ever thought possible and that my ex almost had me convinced was not possible. But Tuesday night, that possibility will come to reality and, for better or worse, it will be my reality.
I did this. I left a life that was killing me. I started a new life – blindly and naively and painfully. I tackled a career that is impossible, partly because of the career itself, partly because of being a woman of a certain age, partly because it’s just impossible to actually be that tiny percentage that actually succeed. I left behind almost everybody who I thought was important to me, although a few of them still linger around the edges. I walked away from the person I had become, a person I did not like, a person who was no one and sought to create a new persona, someone I would like, someone who was a person, someone fully formed.
I tried to make that person someone that the OOMA would want and embrace and love. I tried to make that person someone that those around me would respect and reflect what they told me they saw when they looked at me. I tried to make that person someone I am not because I did not know who I am. I tried to be what I thought I was supposed to be. And I ended up creating the same potentially disastrous illusion I had created during my marriage. I created someone who was not real and not true and not me.
On Tuesday, I will finally stand before all of you as the beginning of the real Susan. I am finding the truth of the soul who lives inside of me. That truth is a soul who is confident and wounded, who is wildly passionate and cautious, who loves without thinking and wants without understanding, who knows now what she is good at and what she is not good at, who is beginning to not need the hand-holding and babying of “is this good? Please tell me it’s good.”
I know that this is good. That this song is the song I should be singing. And I know it is a better song.
“And I thought, "Yeah, that's what I'm trying to do, isn't it? Sing a better song.”
And I have been singing better songs for a while now.
It hit me how far removed from my old life I have become in such a short time the other night, chatting with an acquaintence from my former life. She remarked on my artwork, remarked on my talent and then said, “You should have a manager.” I was touched, thinking she meant that my art was that good. “I mean,” she continued, “you have so many talents. It’d be great if you could just find someone to help you focus your talents on something.” My response? “Like my directing career.” “Yes,” she continued, “but really help you focus and get moving forward in one direction on something.” “Like my directing career.” “Yes, but find something that you can focus on that expresses your creativity and can move you forward in something.” “Like my directing career? Like the feature I have premiering next week and the three short films I’ve made.” “Yes, but…” And she continued to insist that I need focus. That I need focus. That I NEED FOCUS. I stopped short of either braying with laughter or smacking her in the head.
When I stand up before the capacity audience (okay, so it’s about 40 people) at the Ark next week, screening my first major work, “Cinderella Drives A Pick-Up,” I will stand up there and sing a new song. I will sing my own song, a tune of my own making, a song that only I have written. Sure, there were collaborators on the way who helped with some of the notes or some of the phrasing, but it is my own song. I will stand in front of those people – friends, family, collaborators, support group – and I will stand on my own two feet, no appendage supporting me, although more support than I have ever had in my life. But it will be me. Just me. Flaws, perfection, angst, and joy all rolled into one. And every frame that is on that screen, for better or worse, will be mine.
I am beginning to own my life. I know I’m a long way from truly owning it and maybe that’s why I’m still single. I don’t think I can share my life until I can truly own it. It’s hard because there are times when the loneliness runs very deep. Like when Cute Boy says good night to me and hugs me close then his arm lingers around my waist a moment longer before he lets go and it makes me want to just lean into him and have him hold me and … just hold me. But even if he could, I’m not sure I am ready. I don’t want to chance losing all that I have struggled for on a whim and throwing everything away just to be held close.
I will stand up next week, in front of Cute Boy and the OOMA and all those others who supported me and those who maybe tried to support me in my former life, and it will be the beginning of a new life for me, in that single night. This is the culmination of all of my struggles and all of my passion and all of my heart and my hurt and my anger and my pain and my desire and my everything. It is an achievement I never, ever thought possible and that my ex almost had me convinced was not possible. But Tuesday night, that possibility will come to reality and, for better or worse, it will be my reality.
I did this. I left a life that was killing me. I started a new life – blindly and naively and painfully. I tackled a career that is impossible, partly because of the career itself, partly because of being a woman of a certain age, partly because it’s just impossible to actually be that tiny percentage that actually succeed. I left behind almost everybody who I thought was important to me, although a few of them still linger around the edges. I walked away from the person I had become, a person I did not like, a person who was no one and sought to create a new persona, someone I would like, someone who was a person, someone fully formed.
I tried to make that person someone that the OOMA would want and embrace and love. I tried to make that person someone that those around me would respect and reflect what they told me they saw when they looked at me. I tried to make that person someone I am not because I did not know who I am. I tried to be what I thought I was supposed to be. And I ended up creating the same potentially disastrous illusion I had created during my marriage. I created someone who was not real and not true and not me.
On Tuesday, I will finally stand before all of you as the beginning of the real Susan. I am finding the truth of the soul who lives inside of me. That truth is a soul who is confident and wounded, who is wildly passionate and cautious, who loves without thinking and wants without understanding, who knows now what she is good at and what she is not good at, who is beginning to not need the hand-holding and babying of “is this good? Please tell me it’s good.”
I know that this is good. That this song is the song I should be singing. And I know it is a better song.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
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?
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?
Friday, September 14, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
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!
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!
Saturday, September 08, 2007
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.
"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.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 03, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My favorite still life
I did this a week or two ago and just got around to scanning it in. I'm so proud of this one. It's one of those milestones we have in training, where you see everyone doing this and when you get there, it's another level you've achieved. I love this one, did I mention that? It makes me feel like an artist, like I know what I'm doing. If nothing else, this job has given me that gift, the gift of opening up my artistic potential.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Every breath I take...
Just got back from the LA Free Clinic (god bless them). Been struggling lately with my quarterly bronchial infection.
Well, the good news is all my drugs and the visit was free. I'll have enough stuff to keep me breathing for probably 3-4 months.
The frightening news was that I am currently breathing at 60% of my lung capacity. The biggest change in my life over the past year (asked the doctor), my mother and her cigarette smoking. Big surprise, she's not supposed to smoke in the house or around me but she's in denial and blaming my lack of air on Twyla.
Oh, well, such is life. I guess she'll stop when they put me on oxygen.
Until then, I guess I can stick my head out of the window at home and lock her out of the car when she smokes.
Well, the good news is all my drugs and the visit was free. I'll have enough stuff to keep me breathing for probably 3-4 months.
The frightening news was that I am currently breathing at 60% of my lung capacity. The biggest change in my life over the past year (asked the doctor), my mother and her cigarette smoking. Big surprise, she's not supposed to smoke in the house or around me but she's in denial and blaming my lack of air on Twyla.
Oh, well, such is life. I guess she'll stop when they put me on oxygen.
Until then, I guess I can stick my head out of the window at home and lock her out of the car when she smokes.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Don't box me in.
These are the days when I feel like I don’t need therapy, I don’t need this blog, I don’t need any advice on finding myself because I have found myself. It is the kind of day where I know I am multi-faceted and hard to define and someone who cannot be summed up in a single sentence and I’m fine with that. After all, the people I love in my life cannot be defined in a single sentence. I can try: Chairman – generous, charming, funny, sweet, talented, gifted – but that doesn’t really describe the person who is Chairman; Monica – silly, twisted, dark yet not, smart, funny, clever – but that doesn’t get to the soul of Monica. I could go on but you get it.
The times I struggle the most and am the most depressed are the times I feel like I have to fit myself into a box. Not just a box but a box whose size I don’t know, whose shape I don’t know, that is too small and too cramped and too limiting to actually cram myself in there. Most of the time, the box is created by someone else and I figure I have to stuff myself into it to be loved by them. Sometimes, it’s a box I create myself with that person’s name on it, maybe figuring I’ll mail myself to them when I finally manage to cram myself into it, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the size of a shoebox, sometimes it’s a refrigerator carton. Doesn’t matter, the box is still too small.
It may come from never having that box defined when I was younger. Being the youngest in the family of over-achievers, there were no restrictions put on me, no definitions put on me, which seems like it’s amazing. But it’s crippling because there never seemed to be any real value to what I was doing because no one was invested enough in it to make me feel that it was as exceptional as what my other siblings were doing. Everything was “fine” so I went through most of my life being “fine.” Nothing bad, nothing good, just “fine.”
So when I met my first husband and married him, I tried to figure out what box that meant I should put myself in. He wanted to be a chef and run an elegant restaurant and be the host with me at his side. That sounded great. He’d run the place, I’d be at his side, beaming like the trophy wife I think I expected to be. I’d be Mrs. TSS and that was “fine.” Maybe eventually I’d have my own dance studio because I loved dancing and teaching and I was very good at it. But, in my head, I was just “fine.” I’d be better putting myself into the role of Mrs. TSS and making sure he excelled. That was the box I gave myself. But he escaped out of his own box before I could even see what size mine was and maybe that was a good thing.
I got trapped in a very tiny box at the end of my second marriage. It started out quite huge and seemed to be a box that fit. Mrs. RMJ. That was me. We were a team, if one of us succeeded, the other one would. I think maybe we stuffed both of ourselves into the same box and then ran out of air. I fought to break the top off the box and see what was outside, he wanted to duct tape the box closed with both of us inside. It took me a long time but I broke through that top and found myself falling a very long way to the table outside of that box.
I constantly want to be what you want me to be. And yet, confining myself makes me lose myself. The more I am free to explore and escape and climb and search and tunnel and swing and dig, the more I am me. Some people are comfortable in that box, some people crave that box. Some people aren’t even aware they’re in a box yet I can see it surrounding them, even though they can’t. Those are the ones I want to tear the top off of their boxes and reach down and pull them out. But I digress. I can only deal with my own box, not yours. Sorry if you’re stuck, you gotta want to get out before I can help.
The hardest thing is avoiding climbing into that box. I want to do it because it makes it easier sometimes. I think, “If I’m this, then this is what will happen.” And it doesn’t. Then I’m angry and depressed and frustrated because then I don’t know what box I should be in.
Some of us defy boxes. Some of us cannot be confined in such a finite way. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy if you’ve found a box that fits and is comfortable and you can do laps in. Those are good boxes. But some of us just want to float free and avoid being sealed in. We are too big for boxes, we are too restless to be locked in, we are too big to put a top on. You’ve got to let us be free. I have to let myself be free.
It sounds easy. Just be. Be who you are. Be what you are. But without letting myself accept that I cannot be one thing, I can never just be. Until I can feel like this every day, where I know my need to be unfettered is not flakiness but what makes me stable, my avoidance of boxes is not an aberration but an embracing of my nature, my complexity is the truth and simplicity can come from it, until I can feel like that always, just being is impossible.
So for today, I’ll just be. I’ll be complex. I’ll be artistic. I’ll be a teacher and a director and a writer and a woman and a girl and a dame and a producer and a daughter and a divorcee (twice over) and a glamour girl and a tom boy and a difficult woman and a nurturing woman and a… you fill in the blanks because I’m done trying to.
The times I struggle the most and am the most depressed are the times I feel like I have to fit myself into a box. Not just a box but a box whose size I don’t know, whose shape I don’t know, that is too small and too cramped and too limiting to actually cram myself in there. Most of the time, the box is created by someone else and I figure I have to stuff myself into it to be loved by them. Sometimes, it’s a box I create myself with that person’s name on it, maybe figuring I’ll mail myself to them when I finally manage to cram myself into it, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the size of a shoebox, sometimes it’s a refrigerator carton. Doesn’t matter, the box is still too small.
It may come from never having that box defined when I was younger. Being the youngest in the family of over-achievers, there were no restrictions put on me, no definitions put on me, which seems like it’s amazing. But it’s crippling because there never seemed to be any real value to what I was doing because no one was invested enough in it to make me feel that it was as exceptional as what my other siblings were doing. Everything was “fine” so I went through most of my life being “fine.” Nothing bad, nothing good, just “fine.”
So when I met my first husband and married him, I tried to figure out what box that meant I should put myself in. He wanted to be a chef and run an elegant restaurant and be the host with me at his side. That sounded great. He’d run the place, I’d be at his side, beaming like the trophy wife I think I expected to be. I’d be Mrs. TSS and that was “fine.” Maybe eventually I’d have my own dance studio because I loved dancing and teaching and I was very good at it. But, in my head, I was just “fine.” I’d be better putting myself into the role of Mrs. TSS and making sure he excelled. That was the box I gave myself. But he escaped out of his own box before I could even see what size mine was and maybe that was a good thing.
I got trapped in a very tiny box at the end of my second marriage. It started out quite huge and seemed to be a box that fit. Mrs. RMJ. That was me. We were a team, if one of us succeeded, the other one would. I think maybe we stuffed both of ourselves into the same box and then ran out of air. I fought to break the top off the box and see what was outside, he wanted to duct tape the box closed with both of us inside. It took me a long time but I broke through that top and found myself falling a very long way to the table outside of that box.
I constantly want to be what you want me to be. And yet, confining myself makes me lose myself. The more I am free to explore and escape and climb and search and tunnel and swing and dig, the more I am me. Some people are comfortable in that box, some people crave that box. Some people aren’t even aware they’re in a box yet I can see it surrounding them, even though they can’t. Those are the ones I want to tear the top off of their boxes and reach down and pull them out. But I digress. I can only deal with my own box, not yours. Sorry if you’re stuck, you gotta want to get out before I can help.
The hardest thing is avoiding climbing into that box. I want to do it because it makes it easier sometimes. I think, “If I’m this, then this is what will happen.” And it doesn’t. Then I’m angry and depressed and frustrated because then I don’t know what box I should be in.
Some of us defy boxes. Some of us cannot be confined in such a finite way. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy if you’ve found a box that fits and is comfortable and you can do laps in. Those are good boxes. But some of us just want to float free and avoid being sealed in. We are too big for boxes, we are too restless to be locked in, we are too big to put a top on. You’ve got to let us be free. I have to let myself be free.
It sounds easy. Just be. Be who you are. Be what you are. But without letting myself accept that I cannot be one thing, I can never just be. Until I can feel like this every day, where I know my need to be unfettered is not flakiness but what makes me stable, my avoidance of boxes is not an aberration but an embracing of my nature, my complexity is the truth and simplicity can come from it, until I can feel like that always, just being is impossible.
So for today, I’ll just be. I’ll be complex. I’ll be artistic. I’ll be a teacher and a director and a writer and a woman and a girl and a dame and a producer and a daughter and a divorcee (twice over) and a glamour girl and a tom boy and a difficult woman and a nurturing woman and a… you fill in the blanks because I’m done trying to.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Anatomy of a new life
08/14/07
Anatomy of a new life
Two years ago, I ventured into this new life. I blew into it, screaming “yippee” at the top of my lungs. No more controlling husband. No more anger and bitterness and fighting and just pure moments of hatred between us. I was free. Yee-ha.
And I leapt into my new life with both feet, never looking back. Okay, maybe peeking back occasionally. I had a new roomie, I had a new home, I had a new life. What’s not to love? I went to Vegas with someone I adore, had the best time I’ve ever had in Sin City. Jumped into my first 48 Hour Film and “Cinderella.” I thought I owned the world. I had found and embraced my destiny – even had it tattooed on my left wrist. Fuck you, ex-hubbie, and the control freak horse you rode in it! I rule! I lost my heart to someone, hopeful that he would find it and bring it back to me, making me realize I could let that organ out again to play. It was an amazing year. I thought the rest of my life would be this fun-filled, slightly disorienting ride.
Then, about a year ago, reality crashed in. Moved into a temporary place, my father’s health took a nosedive, my heart was not returned to me but left lying on the floor, ignored and abandoned. The loss of my marriage began to hit me, crippling me, making me doubt that I had made the right choice. I had the same amazing friends surrounding me but I began to realize the friends that had chosen to be left behind, that simply dropped out of my life, whether by design, by choice or simply by life, it was not important. That they weren’t there was. I began to wonder what the hell I had done. Yeah, sure, living this insane, unconventional, creative life has its benefits but it also has its detriments. There is no footing, there is no surety, there is no balance sometimes. And the person I had hoped would be there – who had been there at the start – was not there anymore and I felt abandoned and alone again, grieving for something that should have been, could have been, would have been, but never was.
I have sleepwalked through the last year of my life. Sure, on the surface, I was there, I was moving, I was present. But my soul and my spirit were not. They were off somewhere, trying to regroup and reform. I was in a haze, moving forward because there was no other choice but to do so. But I couldn’t see the path anymore. I became slowly but surely sucked into the abyss, being pulled down by those stupid clowns, convinced that I was going to be alone, moderately successful but never to the level I wanted to be, and always left standing by the side of the road, waiting, wanting, craving, but never having.
I hadn’t dealt with my feelings about my marriage or its end. I hadn’t dealt with things left over from my childhood that led me to choosing both of my ex’s. I hadn’t dealt with a lot of things and now they were kicking my ass. Once again, I found myself ready to give in and give up. RMJ was right. I was a failure. I would be nothing without him. I had made the biggest mistake of my life. And my friends knew it. It wouldn’t be long before they left, too.
A very dark night a few months ago – as well as a very angry email from someone who loves me – made me stop. I had come very close to once again throwing in the literal towel and this time, instead of a bottle of pills, it was going to be the freeway divider at midnight at 80 mph. Seemed somehow poetic to die by freeway at midnight near downtown LA. I’d make the news.
But I made it home. Barely. I read this email from my friend and it really sunk in. I was in serious trouble and it wasn’t going to get better by avoiding it. I had worked too hard for my life to throw it away. I thought I had put my marriage behind me but I hadn’t. I had just put it in a box and hid it away, hoping to never look at it again. That’s what my family does. Put things away, don’t ever look at them again.
I have returned to my therapist. I have finally begun to really deal with why I chose both my ex’s, why I feel alone and abandoned, why I feel like I don’t deserve anything in my life. I thought that by now, I would be past him and me and us and 18 years and asking why. But I’m not. I think I’ve only begun to ask the really important questions. The answers are not easy and the questions are terrifying. But at least there are answers and I think finally, after two years, the healing has begun.
Anatomy of a new life
Two years ago, I ventured into this new life. I blew into it, screaming “yippee” at the top of my lungs. No more controlling husband. No more anger and bitterness and fighting and just pure moments of hatred between us. I was free. Yee-ha.
And I leapt into my new life with both feet, never looking back. Okay, maybe peeking back occasionally. I had a new roomie, I had a new home, I had a new life. What’s not to love? I went to Vegas with someone I adore, had the best time I’ve ever had in Sin City. Jumped into my first 48 Hour Film and “Cinderella.” I thought I owned the world. I had found and embraced my destiny – even had it tattooed on my left wrist. Fuck you, ex-hubbie, and the control freak horse you rode in it! I rule! I lost my heart to someone, hopeful that he would find it and bring it back to me, making me realize I could let that organ out again to play. It was an amazing year. I thought the rest of my life would be this fun-filled, slightly disorienting ride.
Then, about a year ago, reality crashed in. Moved into a temporary place, my father’s health took a nosedive, my heart was not returned to me but left lying on the floor, ignored and abandoned. The loss of my marriage began to hit me, crippling me, making me doubt that I had made the right choice. I had the same amazing friends surrounding me but I began to realize the friends that had chosen to be left behind, that simply dropped out of my life, whether by design, by choice or simply by life, it was not important. That they weren’t there was. I began to wonder what the hell I had done. Yeah, sure, living this insane, unconventional, creative life has its benefits but it also has its detriments. There is no footing, there is no surety, there is no balance sometimes. And the person I had hoped would be there – who had been there at the start – was not there anymore and I felt abandoned and alone again, grieving for something that should have been, could have been, would have been, but never was.
I have sleepwalked through the last year of my life. Sure, on the surface, I was there, I was moving, I was present. But my soul and my spirit were not. They were off somewhere, trying to regroup and reform. I was in a haze, moving forward because there was no other choice but to do so. But I couldn’t see the path anymore. I became slowly but surely sucked into the abyss, being pulled down by those stupid clowns, convinced that I was going to be alone, moderately successful but never to the level I wanted to be, and always left standing by the side of the road, waiting, wanting, craving, but never having.
I hadn’t dealt with my feelings about my marriage or its end. I hadn’t dealt with things left over from my childhood that led me to choosing both of my ex’s. I hadn’t dealt with a lot of things and now they were kicking my ass. Once again, I found myself ready to give in and give up. RMJ was right. I was a failure. I would be nothing without him. I had made the biggest mistake of my life. And my friends knew it. It wouldn’t be long before they left, too.
A very dark night a few months ago – as well as a very angry email from someone who loves me – made me stop. I had come very close to once again throwing in the literal towel and this time, instead of a bottle of pills, it was going to be the freeway divider at midnight at 80 mph. Seemed somehow poetic to die by freeway at midnight near downtown LA. I’d make the news.
But I made it home. Barely. I read this email from my friend and it really sunk in. I was in serious trouble and it wasn’t going to get better by avoiding it. I had worked too hard for my life to throw it away. I thought I had put my marriage behind me but I hadn’t. I had just put it in a box and hid it away, hoping to never look at it again. That’s what my family does. Put things away, don’t ever look at them again.
I have returned to my therapist. I have finally begun to really deal with why I chose both my ex’s, why I feel alone and abandoned, why I feel like I don’t deserve anything in my life. I thought that by now, I would be past him and me and us and 18 years and asking why. But I’m not. I think I’ve only begun to ask the really important questions. The answers are not easy and the questions are terrifying. But at least there are answers and I think finally, after two years, the healing has begun.
Hard to beat...
Coming home tonight from the Ark, driving over the Sepulveda pass, no traffic (miracle!), Bob Seger's "Hollywood Nights" blasting out of my brand spanking new black Ipod on my decent stereo in my POS Hyundai, followed shortly by Keith Urban's "Slow Turnin'." It's about 70 outside, lovely breeze blowing through my back windows. Clear sky, the Valley glittering below me as I crest the 405.
Nope, doesn't get better than this.
Nope, doesn't get better than this.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
My first check
Behold, my first check for directing:
I can't stop smiling, even though this has been a challenging experience.
I am now a paid director.
About f***ing time.
I can't stop smiling, even though this has been a challenging experience.
I am now a paid director.
About f***ing time.
Summary of August 3, 2007.
Summary of today
Okay, yesterday, really.
Woke up realizing it’s my ex’s birthday. Great way to start the day.
Typed my ass off in the morning.
Couldn’t find anything cute to wear to the “preview” tonight of my new show. God, I need to lose a ton of weight.
Got to MR to corrupt the creative souls of children. My regular partner in crime is off this weekend. Her substitute got the time wrong for the first class. I have no keys. Kids started showing up. Got in to the studio almost 45 minutes late. Couldn’t leave at 5, like I was supposed to in order to get to the preview early.
Oh, and the air conditioning broke down – again.
Found out the MR guy who repairs the air had the keys all along, lives very close, could have let us in earlier and could have locked up so I wouldn’t have had to hang around.
Fought traffic at 6:45 to get to Santa Monica by 7:30-7:45. Arrived at 7:30.
Don’t really want to discuss tonight. The show went fine and all. Other things, behind the scenes, that I’ll blog about some day. Sum it up with the fact that I’m listed in the program as “Susan (director).” No last name with my bio. Apparently, I have become like Madonna and only go by my first name. The answer to my query as to why this is was simply, “Oh, I guess I missed that. I guess we should change that before we print up new ones.” Nice to know my time and talent are appreciated.
Blew out of there, as apparently did everyone else. Very tired. Should have gone home since I’m getting up before dawn to go help my dearest Chairman with his yard sale at 6 AM. But, nooooo.
Stopped by Molly Malone’s (bar in Hollywood) to listen to the Piper Downs, one of my favorite bands and a group of my favorite people. Am very, very glad I did. They blew away my blues with their simple joy in playing. I love these guys. They are some of the finest musicians on earth and if you want some killer, kick-ass, straight out rock and roll, check them out. They rocked so hard tonight. Greeted me with such friendship and love that the rest of the day faded away to the strains of “Stutter”.
Drove home, avoiding the swerving and the drunken and the just simply LA-ian drivers.
Now, I’m wide awake, it’s 1:21 AM and I have to get to bed. I’m not going to say get to sleep because I don’t know if actual sleep will actually happen. But at least lay down, close my eyes and breathe for the first time in days.
Here’s to a better tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday, writing with my “team” – the fabulous David S. and the amazing Monica H. Trying to make the comedy part of the Ark film an actual comedy. Sorry, Erik, I know now that pairing you with the other writer was not a good blend and I hope to get another chance to work with you on something else. Focus on your kids, give them much love, and everything else will figure itself out.
Okay, rambling now. Must stop typing…..
Okay, yesterday, really.
Woke up realizing it’s my ex’s birthday. Great way to start the day.
Typed my ass off in the morning.
Couldn’t find anything cute to wear to the “preview” tonight of my new show. God, I need to lose a ton of weight.
Got to MR to corrupt the creative souls of children. My regular partner in crime is off this weekend. Her substitute got the time wrong for the first class. I have no keys. Kids started showing up. Got in to the studio almost 45 minutes late. Couldn’t leave at 5, like I was supposed to in order to get to the preview early.
Oh, and the air conditioning broke down – again.
Found out the MR guy who repairs the air had the keys all along, lives very close, could have let us in earlier and could have locked up so I wouldn’t have had to hang around.
Fought traffic at 6:45 to get to Santa Monica by 7:30-7:45. Arrived at 7:30.
Don’t really want to discuss tonight. The show went fine and all. Other things, behind the scenes, that I’ll blog about some day. Sum it up with the fact that I’m listed in the program as “Susan (director).” No last name with my bio. Apparently, I have become like Madonna and only go by my first name. The answer to my query as to why this is was simply, “Oh, I guess I missed that. I guess we should change that before we print up new ones.” Nice to know my time and talent are appreciated.
Blew out of there, as apparently did everyone else. Very tired. Should have gone home since I’m getting up before dawn to go help my dearest Chairman with his yard sale at 6 AM. But, nooooo.
Stopped by Molly Malone’s (bar in Hollywood) to listen to the Piper Downs, one of my favorite bands and a group of my favorite people. Am very, very glad I did. They blew away my blues with their simple joy in playing. I love these guys. They are some of the finest musicians on earth and if you want some killer, kick-ass, straight out rock and roll, check them out. They rocked so hard tonight. Greeted me with such friendship and love that the rest of the day faded away to the strains of “Stutter”.
Drove home, avoiding the swerving and the drunken and the just simply LA-ian drivers.
Now, I’m wide awake, it’s 1:21 AM and I have to get to bed. I’m not going to say get to sleep because I don’t know if actual sleep will actually happen. But at least lay down, close my eyes and breathe for the first time in days.
Here’s to a better tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday, writing with my “team” – the fabulous David S. and the amazing Monica H. Trying to make the comedy part of the Ark film an actual comedy. Sorry, Erik, I know now that pairing you with the other writer was not a good blend and I hope to get another chance to work with you on something else. Focus on your kids, give them much love, and everything else will figure itself out.
Okay, rambling now. Must stop typing…..
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
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.
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.
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