BadMormon

Internet You DO Love Me!

So about 4 hours after the post about being stupid and needing sex a naked friend from back in the day called, No you don’t know him, I haven’t written about him and etc but listen my friends. It’s true. I’m so much smarter now. I don’t even think he reads my webpage.

AND that check I lost? Well apparently I never got it. Do you ever wonder if you have jumped around in probable realities even though there isn’t any good science reason why that could happen? I could have sworn I got it, put it in my pocket, lost it but it came in the mail today, check dated 1-08-10, postmarked march 1st. Emailed client wondering if it had been found, sent back to her and then remailed to me and she said no. Been mailed a couple of weeks ago and she had been wondering if it had made it. I’ve peered at the envelope to see if there is a new stamp, taped up outside, etc but nothing. Funny though, the handwriting on the return address is exactly what I remember her handwriting to look like and in my dealings with her I NEVER HAD TO SEE IT BEFORE!!! wooooooo ooooo. Spooky.

I think my sex-starved brain was a little out of sync with reality for a while.

It is also confirming what I have long known, the internet is magic and loves me.

Now internet, COMPUTER! all I’m saying, need newish computer. hugs and kisses. me.

All Of It

Ok Deep breath. IN through the nose, OUT through the mouth.

Marathon few days.

Have had so much going around in my brain for so many things. Stuff. Goings on. Emotions.

GOD! I want to spill about a year and a halfs worth of typing and chatter and tell you everything that is going on but IT’S SO MUCH WORK! I used to blog pretty anonymously. It left it in that private journal state of mind and the audience gets to see the inside of a human being, hopefully in an entertaining and interesting way. Usually just self-indulgently I’m sure. It takes time to learn to write for an audience. Still not sure if I know how or not but this blog is a part of the writing and growth process. Keeps me sharp about the words that are picked, gives me more than 7 mins on stage to delve into the thoughts that interest me and see if they translate to other human beings.

But due the point in my life where I’m ready to come out with what I do, and while this blog still isn’t a HUGE publicity thing for me: some stumble across it, a few know me, many stop by due to hilarious search string and are gone again, I am accutely aware that I am opening myself to personal criticism and loss of friends who don’t like how I write about them and who don’t like the ugliness I have on the inside. Or whatever.

You can’t always tell what someone is going to be sensitive about, in person or on the internet. You don’t always know what will slip out of your mouth, what you can and can’t apologize for, etc.

As a writer who has juicy sentences and internal turmoil boiling her brains ALL DAY LONG (even if you never see it.) the answer that I want to yell back is WHY IS IT MY PROBLEM!

And this is not even what I wanted to write about. I don’t even know what I wanted to write about as I sat down here to type today. SO MANY THINGS going on. Sentences I’m a little embarrassed about, “I need to get fucked like they mean it.” (It’s been a while, yes THAT long.) and wanting to put it up there because I want to share it as a phrase, it makes me laugh, but then well, will people who know me think there is manipulative purpose behind it? I can see how it could affect this, that, or the other if they are reading it. What about my new need to publicize my shows and art and have people feel pleasant towards me?

What about the fact that there is this new resurgence in the celibacy issue in the group around me lately? Non-christian, sex-approving celibacy – a kick back against the over identification with debauchery and a concentration of taking care of ourselves first, not needing sexin up to gain approval or esteem. AND I LIKE THIS TREND! I see people making really positive choices.

However, have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where Elaine and George don’t have sex, The Abstinence, and George gets smarter but Elaine just becomes stupid? That’s how I feel. Like I can’t even think anymore. And it’s not that thoughts of sex are pushing thinking out of my mind, actually, not at all. I’m trying to think about work, think about the boy, think about what I should be doing and no go. Like the sides are mushy. I am a little worried that this last couple years of drinking more has hurt more than I thought. I’ve cut back to normal levels lately. Times when I have slept, eaten, taken care of myself and wake up again and still this space where the calculations used to go seems empty.

I’ve had a couple of aborted drunk come-ons (me on them usually) but it hasn’t worked out. Which is good I think. I like to think my trying for some action is for the right reasons, and I’ve had enough practice at the pick up game to be fine with how things work out. Their refusals were for the right reasons too. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have hit on them if I wasn’t drunk, due to the raw feeling of “how do I even get naked with a human being again, how can I ever be that vulnerable” that pervades those thoughts. Trust issues. But the drunk part of me remembers the way you can get lost in ecstasy, the shear relaxation, the sweetness of skin, and how fun that vulnerability can be. that MAYBE I CAN PAY ATTENTION TO SOMETHING AGAIN! Hell just the endorphins alone! THE ENORMOUS STRESS RELIEF!!!! I’m old, ahem I mean experienced. I don’t think I’m ugly if you turn me down. I don’t think we’re in love because I have the biggest orgasm ever. I am wired to feel it. I’m relaxing on purpose for it. That is something I’ve heard over the years, I got a little extra voltage in my reactions. I believe they were telling the truth. I’ve learned to control it, use it. Orgasms and sex become toys to me to play and relax and tease and… See why I start with my eyes and the texts when I’ve whiskyed myself up enough to forget I hate everyone?

Life’s a toss up.

This is what playing opposites on stage means. I want it, I don’t want it. Neither is the right answer, both cause issues apparently.

So you’re in this room and there are two doors and you are told that behind one door is a fairly annoying road into your future but it’s cold and the other door is also a pretty annoying path and it’s hot, which do you choose?

Annoyed or cold? Annoyed or hot? Both of course sucking to the same degree.

and obviously you have to take a path no matter what.

Default cold and annoying. Look, you can jump right over the dividing line! annoying and hot!

Maybe I’m stupid cause my brain IS all about sex. I simply don’t notice until I start writing about it. I’m tired of hearing it. My sex drive always seems to be used against me anyway, push it down, shove it away, why want it? It only makes you a prize of some sort, a slut of another.

cold and alone, hot and with others

obviously I’m not going to be living the rest of my life without romantical interactions of some sort. Hot Pants McGee, aka BadMormon, doesn’t have a problem with men turning up. Someone always comes along in the long run, years are fast now and with my libido on overdrive due to ageitis I know if I decided it has to be dealt with I can make a call, walk into a bar, get drunk in another part of town and be fine.

I know I’m looking good, starting to get the extra donuts again. Yes being me means donut guys around the city spontaneously throw in extra when the boss isn’t looking. Yes it’s only donuts. No I don’t know why it happens unless I get sexy, pouty, come hither face as I ask for the boston creme and the glazed.

So I got donuts and a play to do. That will distract me until the next naked friend comes along.

AAARRRRGGGG

Lost a check, an important check. The check that would have fed me and my son this week. Oh we have food, the canned items and dried peas and things hidden in the back you buy on a whim and never get around to making, like a bag of satay vermicilli. Just not the normal yummy food we’re use to conveniently picking up at the corner store. Feb is a hard month and this feb is a little worse. I usually end up being late with rent cause I spend the money on the essentials first and while I, in general, make enough to just cover everything it can be hard to get $1,300 together in one bank account at a time to write the check.

I just cancelled my internet service even. There’s an open one in my apt floating and often I am elsewhere stealing anyway. My emails addys are through other folks. Don’t have tv of any sort. Have two teeth that are in the root canal zone and really could use a computer that can run the lastest system.

And I’m afraid things are going to get worse. Apple opened up this pro-care training thing for CHEAP, have several stores and the computers, however much people are never happy, aren’t breaking as much, aren’t as hard to set up, aren’t scaring the crap out of the next generation – all things my freelancing helped for people.

The companies I work for are also having problems with money and downsizing and simply not having the same workload or upgrade paths so my services are not as required either.

On top of everything else I’m stressed about work and money, still, again, forever. And this week, with the lost check and feb and shows and the loss, grief, loss I am feeling, well, at least I’m not eating much these days. I look fabulous.

I had 5 clients contact me this week and before I could get back to them they fixed their own problems. We’re talking within 5 min of the contact.

sigh.

I’ve been through lean times before – .com bust, 9/11, but I just don’t want to do it again.

Time to go to a rehearsal about a show that is a comedy about suicide!

Seriously, do me, penny, (a)muse collective a favor: at least see the show. Even if I have no money and fail miserably in my professional life at least the art can be appreciated.

Found out what’s wrong with me

Planer Fasciitis This is a pain in my foot, heel/arch area, right foot, that has been going on for a few months now. I ignored it at first, tried to get new shoes, looked for a way to stay off it (impossible – my entire life is running from one part of nyc to the next several times a day, if I’m makin money.)

Basically I, the nonest-athlete of my family, has an athletic injury. Over used, under cared for. Yeah that’s about right.

Life goes on aka coping techniques

The boy came home last night. He had been gone for the weekend for a boy scout weekend, hadn’t seen him since the sunday before and the phone call at noon saying he was back in town and heading home was lovely.

Having him here is good for me as well as highlights some of the anxiety/pain/grief?

He’s a good kid too. While on the phone I explained if he came home it would mean he had to help me clean up the pig sty that I was calling the apartment. That I had been out of the house and sick all week and it was atrocious. He asked if he stayed at his dad’s would i wait to clean until tomorrow? I said no, it’s making me crazy.

“Oh, I’ll come help you then.”

Awwwwwwwwww and he did.

Let himself into the apartment, woke me from my nap, found the cold pills, brought me water and a pill to wake me up (sudafed,) talked, then went to store for the dinner items of chicken soup and garlic bread.

Right now he’s sitting at the computer earning some video game privileges by typing 300 words on why he needs to bring his text books to my house as well.

Cleaned things up without nagging.

Hugged a lot.

Teased him by calling him my valentine over and over in sappy mom voice. He ‘loves’ that.

The hard part is how much I love him. As I watch his half-manly build typing at the computer with bad music playing and his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration I feel it in my gut, the desire to have someone to punch in the arm, nod my head at my child to make them look and both of us proud and loving and smiling wide at the boy’s greatness. And later we take it out on each other. Love = lust and security.

I have these clients who are older single women. Women at 66 still looking for their true love, women who’ve mentioned being single for 20 years, women with cats and dogs and careers and not unhappy but single, single, single.

Single.

It’s not that I don’t like it, being single, I do actually. Get much more done when I haven’t got to worry about another’s emotional state or juggling schedules or aching for them to make an effort towards me. But there’s a lot of stuff I have to get over now. Like the idea that single will change. That I will meet someone who wants this weird conglomeration of a life I’ve created, will join it to do art, work, play, and strange hours along with parenthood.

Grieving the loss of a taken-for-granted future on top of everything else. I always figured at some point I would meet the person, that we would have a child, one I can raise daily and share with the love of my life. A baby that has our features and joy.

Not going to happen now. The most fulfilling role of my life is mom. It’s who I’ve been even before I was grown, the bossy girl left in charge of the room. And I’m so very glad I have my son. He’s the reason I wanted another, I love him so very much I can only see another as a blessing, joy, love, a lifetime of worth it. But I can’t ever bring another child into this world without stability. I was young and didn’t know what I was doing with the first one but I get how hard it is, the support that needs to be in place, the money, etc.

Even if I met the mythical mr. right tomorrow it will be months before I’m anywhere near trying something again (If I ever do) and years before I will trust someone to the point of building a life and by then, well, lets just say reproduction gets iffy early in my lineage.

All that to say I have to let these things go, a normal stage of human development I’m guessing, but I can’t live on the pipe dream of true forever love sold to me in childhood.

Every time I bring up my bah humbug survivalist strategy of “why should I want a guy?” I get the soothing answers, and sad sighs for my bitter “I DON’T NEED ONE!” A society reinforcing that somehow together is the thing to want.

I have been as alone in a relationship as I have been out of one. When things are bad IN one it’s worse than out because at least OUT of one it’s only me I have to deal with. I’m not trying to figure out how to get what I need from someone who can’t give it. Only me. When did this become the default negative?

Grieving for giving up the disney happily ever after dream. Can not see myself being the kind of person anymore that can make this crap work. I’m not the girl they all want with the soft ways, or understanding, or lack of rage, or make up, or heels, or boots, or pandering compliments, or tact, or whatever it is their egos need for bonding. The me I’ve always been is not one who has any idea how to fit with another and lord knows the men I’ve met and dated have never bothered to figure out how to fit into my life. Never was an option except for the 10 days of drunk fantasy talk with most recent ex. The reality of meeting the kid and seeing my real life ended that for him, though I still had/have to cope with the loss of what I wanted so badly for so long. Love, home, life with the guy who adores me back. It’s such a feeling of betrayal. That life itself has betrayed me.

Yep, all that is wrapped up in the love and pride I have watching my son struggle with making his run-on sentence of 300 words into paragraphs and adding periods for clarity.

With the boy here though I have something else to think about, a person who needs to eat so dishes need to be done, rent must be paid so work has to be booked, adulthood must not seem to awful so a smile is on my face. And frankly, with him here, it is a sincere one.

One More Thought

Things go banging around my skull and until I find a way to get it out I can’t cope so good. Don’t get me wrong 39 years on planet Fuck Me Over has given me the ability to get through my craziest moments, because I HAVE to, but to really function at my highest motion level of AWESOMENESS I have to spill my guts somewhere, somehow.

The thoughts can take a while to roll into the ball of emotional vomit forcing it’s way out though. They keep coming back, nagging me to think about it again and insisting I explain somewhere what goes on in the very center of me.

So a few weeks ago the ex was very drunk. We have been feeling kindly towards each other after the last bout of fighting and the next round hadn’t happened yet. He was outside thinking about another friend of ours who is very sick. The emotional truth of losing someone in your life who matters hit him in his gut. He stood leaning against a door weeping at the idea of it, at the pain that flared with knowing someone he cared about could die, imagining that death, that loss. His head hung down in that bubble of drunken narcissism where the outside world doesn’t even exist except as props to the pain in your own mind.

We all gathered around him. Drunk and crying we know about. I stood and held his arm. He looked up at me, again with those brimming blue eyes and said “How do you do it? I’ve never lost anyone close to me. How do you do it?”

I had no answer, no one had an answer really, those of us who had lost immediate family murmured something about you just do it, and as he ducked his head back down, still crying folks slipped back inside unable to touch him through his bubble of self. I stayed, of course, they left him to me knowing I would do what ever was needed.

And as it continued too long for the imaginary death of a sick friend, a drunken cry becoming self-sustaining, I murmured, “But you have to put it away for now. Time to put it away and go inside.” And he immediately sniffed and breathed and broke the sobs in half and said “yeah.”

“It’s easier when you’re not so drunk too.”

Again his affable self appeared and he smiled and snorted a little, “you’re right.” And he headed into the door for the bathroom, fell down a bit as I caught him enough to keep it from hurting and that was that. Our moment done. I wonder if he remembers it.

I didn’t get the significance of what I said to him though probably until this morning. That moment has played itself out in my head over and over and this morning I figured out why.

“You have to put it away for now.”

Now I’m no poster child for grief recovery, mostly the opposite. I mean the question he asked has HAUNTED me. How do I live with it? How do I live with any of it? As horribly as the thought of death hurt that man he can’t imagine how deep the reality it. How do I live with it? I just do. Every damn day of my life there is a place in me that feels that bad, that misses my dad so much, that is 11 and still waiting for him to walk in the door after work because he always has for your entire life. But to function you put it away.

You work out your psyche hideyholes. Some are healthier than others. You tell yourself you will think about it tomorrow. You live your life knowing death is shadowing you and make your choices accordingly, towards safety or risk depending on personality. If you don’t realize you’ve simply slapped some cheap plaster over the gaping wound you tend to run around looking for things to keep stuffing in there, to block up the whistling holes on the edges and that poke through the middle, if you’re lucky enough to have the plaster in the first place.

You just put it away and laugh at something and feel guilty later and keep going and time makes it easier to forget what’s in that closet and self honesty makes it easier to negotiate the mini-pits. If you are managing the caging of the grief you know it’s gonna come out sometimes, you will spend weeks on your couch if needed, you can let the pain flow for a while and then, when you realize it’s settled back down once again you put it away. Eat some ice cream. Decide how to leave a mark on this world once you’re gone. Remember to live because otherwise death is pointless.

So Now

I write.

I have this show I have to finish off. I have to figure out who to cast for parts that are pretty thankless supporting rolls. I’m wondering if it’s smart to try and write a solo show that contains other helpers in it.

I’m considering alternatives if every human being and situation going on melts down because that is what it feels like will probably happen. Not hard to simply turn things into pantomime i guess but maybe wood posts on wheels with cardboard cut outs? i can swirl them around the stage?

Tonight I surround myself with my comforts, my piggy little white clinging to middle class comforts of computers, video games, candy and drink. I look at my severe emotional issues that I keep grappling with, and which i assume are the residue of the human condition, and which a sardonic half-lip twist helps to mitigate, and know that it doesn’t matter. It will go into the script. I will eat it all day as I play pleasant for clients and son. I will find as much to laugh at as possible because there is nothing else.

I will work. So that when i finally can’t push myself anymore I may have enough to pay rent and rest.

nothing better

than a day where the campaign to remove an new friend seems to have a worked, a different friend that the ex demanded you drop is calling and now that is all awkward, and you’re sorta sick cause you are not in a good head space to go to bed and stay well, and of course, after the old fling shows up to let you know that he hadn’t thought about it at the time (when he decided you weren’t the one for him) but he misses you, (you wonderful old fantasy broad you), nothing is better than a day which you get to go on the facebook and see a tender photo of your ex, (the one you actually believed the words from, and thought you had something with that was gonna last the rest of your life, and of course that would make so much of it better cause you had help and friendship etc,) in a tender photo totem pole, head above head, his on top resting gently on hers, the other heads being the two women he ditched you for – due to rockstar hot pants and limited self-esteem. Funny how once thinking you were the most important person in someone’s life makes you feel like shit when you realize he doesn’t want you. And you’re spose to chock it up to a learning experience, and move on, and etc. Of course that will probably help as he keeps quitting everything we once did together, as well as find excuses to not speak to me, you know, so I can have my space not cause he’s so busy being popular finding an hour in the week for us to talk, like we agreed, well it’s just too much. An effort towards me is just too much to fit in with the drinking, and hanging with the women who make him feel like a hero, something I used to think he was.

Neat thing about it is that it certainly confirms all the brainwashing schemes I’ve been deeply considering, how to change my own mind into something that doesn’t ever go through this again. There has just been too much loss in my life. Apparently I simply don’t get over it.

Embarrassing Emotions

I’ve gotten thrown. I think it’s part an overwhelming amount of details and projects right this moment. None horribly difficult but all with a lot to track as well as I’m on deadline for finishing off my script. OR past deadline really. Been having to concentrate really hard on getting the most important stuff done.

I don’t like being blue, depressed and trying to figure out how to reprogram the risk taking hope moments so they take a hike and you can learn to simply work for yourself. It’s always been you, that’s the part that sticks, the thing that saves you, the part that makes you ok in the night, me, myself and I.

I can’t believe how raw 5 seconds of whispered nothing has made me.

Sometimes, especially in the mid-life crisis area, a moment will spin you. The most bitter thoughts on myself and life and surviving were triggered. And I don’t want to put them away.

Part of this is now holding it close to my chest, keep it in as much as you can, put it into the script, the act, the defensive walls. Part of it is keeping more and more vigilant as you struggle to find the way to keep yourself no matter what.

Time to start the brainwashing. Scrub the folds of the medulla oblongata into concrete opinions that will not sway you into dangerous territory again. Solidfy yourself as you’ve seen the old do and realize it was an active choice for them as well. These are the lessons life learned. This is the character built. Human, compassionate and all putting everything into my life and truly understand what boundaries are.

trying to write again

starting to take sundays home on the couch working on catching up on all the things I didn’t get finished or started the week before.

the boy and I had a lovely weekend where we talked a lot. So much. Good good talking but for a mother a bit heart breaking. I listened and supported the feelings, talked about the fact that the only person he can change is himself and etc. We have a plan. We’ll see how it works.

and i’m trying to write my show. I had a crybaby can’t cope with anything that is happening in my life at all sorta day (hiding it from the boy of course- not his problem) and once he was on the train heading to other home I walked home in the freezing rain, stopping for a bottle of Jack, and perched myself on the couch.

I had determined to have a drunken cryfest with friends coming over to support but I can’t really do it. I’ve cried and sorrowed in fits but there is too much to do. I thought I would write my script in this state. It seems perfect. I put on the itunes country, honk tonk and blues playlist on and sit, have half a shot, wait, write snippets of things that may happen but the show doesn’t come to my mind, the character runs.

My brain remembers the email I have to send. Wonders if it should read a pdf of terms and agreements that concerns the collective’s 503 status. have to compose email to guidence counselor, better set alarm for early, shouldn’t do it this late.

and with the jack in me, bad Idea.

not hammered, loose, thinking of things about this woman I’m making up, trying to fix her as a person in my head. she’s been so alive before and now it’s gone what about the website for him or him I haven’t even started, better see what I can do tomorrow Oh and I need pictures of the theater. Crap have to send email between director and sound person for what is needed on my friend’s show, did the boy get home ok? he hasn’t called, i will dial the phone.

So my show. Hm… you’re in a roadhouse. You’re getting trashed. It’s all about you. what about you, what do you babble at the patrons off this bar… OH I need to send out a christmas letter for the business. Where is that one we had done I thought i had it right here damnit! no. where did It go and why does the bottom of my foot suddenly prick hurt itch?

OH writing. Need full first draft Jan 1st to keep a decent scheduel so I don’t make a fool of myself. oph god I’m gonna make a fool of myself, what am i thinking? do I like this? ok wait, no it’s ok you’re just crazy tonight.

it’s probably the jack. Or the personal resistance to putting myself into a certain head space at this time. the alcohol acts to pull my attention away from seeing her. To only me, only myself, only the things that won’t go away even when I neglect them.

oh what have I forgotten!

have started a to-do list. have a really hard time to remember to look at it. Everything has been in my head for so long. unless it’s a project. daily to-dos – no problem. now…sigh.

i’m not really complaining but trying to figure out how to cope. That word again. I’ve used it about 20 times today. Cope.

i think it’s the issue.