More than a few times over the course of the past couple of days, I've felt a lot of optimism leave me. And yet I gotta keep going, and put on a happy face despite the grueling schedule, and the steady stream of people letting me down for this, that, and the other reason.
Everyone has up days and down days. These are blah days. Hoping they'll be better this weekend, as I'm housesitting again. Sitting poolside can't be all bad, right? Naaaaaaaaaah.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Quick Experiment
This is a quick one because I’m swallowed by rehearsals for Polka Dotted Platypus.
After church this past Sunday, I was walking across the parking lot and closed my eyes. Then I decided to see how far I could make it walking with my eyes closed. I wasn’t going to hit anything in the immediate vicinity.
So I walked about 10 steps, opened my eyes briefly (while still walking) to check on my progress and make sure no cars were coming, and closed my eyes again to walk another ten steps with my eyes closed. Another peek on progress, and again walking with closed eyed.
Amazing how solid the ground feels when you do that. And what a silly thought – of course the ground is solid. The ground is not going to turn to jello just because I closed my eyes. But there’s something strange about walking with your eyes closed for more than four steps that suddenly makes you think that.
And it suddenly hit me that this is an obvious metaphor for life – you’re literally walking in the dark, and only occasionally do you get a flash of the direction you’re going. You just get a tiny peek, and then it’s back to the darkness again. But the peek is supposed to be enough to tell you #1 – This is the way you’re going. #2 – This is the way you’re SUPPOSED to be going. #3 – You’re not going to hit anything. So just trust me enough to keep walking this way without seeing.
Seriously everyone, if you can find some parking lot or other wide open space where you can take ten steps with your eyes closed, it’s a pretty weird/interesting thing.
Oh, and I got a replacement cell phone so I'm back up and running! Yay!
After church this past Sunday, I was walking across the parking lot and closed my eyes. Then I decided to see how far I could make it walking with my eyes closed. I wasn’t going to hit anything in the immediate vicinity.
So I walked about 10 steps, opened my eyes briefly (while still walking) to check on my progress and make sure no cars were coming, and closed my eyes again to walk another ten steps with my eyes closed. Another peek on progress, and again walking with closed eyed.
Amazing how solid the ground feels when you do that. And what a silly thought – of course the ground is solid. The ground is not going to turn to jello just because I closed my eyes. But there’s something strange about walking with your eyes closed for more than four steps that suddenly makes you think that.
And it suddenly hit me that this is an obvious metaphor for life – you’re literally walking in the dark, and only occasionally do you get a flash of the direction you’re going. You just get a tiny peek, and then it’s back to the darkness again. But the peek is supposed to be enough to tell you #1 – This is the way you’re going. #2 – This is the way you’re SUPPOSED to be going. #3 – You’re not going to hit anything. So just trust me enough to keep walking this way without seeing.
Seriously everyone, if you can find some parking lot or other wide open space where you can take ten steps with your eyes closed, it’s a pretty weird/interesting thing.
Oh, and I got a replacement cell phone so I'm back up and running! Yay!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Annoyed
I lost my cell phone on Saturday. Upsetting for a few reasons. Number one, I don’t lose things anymore. I really don’t. I misplace them, meaning I recognize they’re missing, I don’t worry about it because I know they’ll turn up, and then they do. I made a very conscious decision back in 2005 to be more organized about my stuff, and it’s pretty much worked. I don’t remember the last thing I lost. I ALWAYS find it.
But this was different. When I realized it was missing, there was no sense of Oh, it must be back at the house. Instead there was a creeping dread of it’s gone, SUCKA! I tried to put it out of my head and go on about my evening activity, which was attending an acquaintances’ play, but I couldn’t shake the creeping dread, and I ended up leaving at intermission (it was a really bad play, that influenced the decision as well.)
I get home, use my land line to call my cell, nothing. I search the car with a flashlight, nothing. I recall the last time I used it was back at the other theater that will become my home away from home for the next two months, as we’re in pre-production on Polka Dotted Platypus, my new play. It must be at the theater. I bet it’s not.
I spent the rest of the weekend in a severe state of annoyance. Number one, because I’m now chained to my computer at home where the land line is because I have to be available via phone for some graphic design issues surrounding Polka Dotted Platypus, number two, I use my cell phone as my alarm clock, and now I don’t have an alarm clock and number three, I DON’T LOSE ANYTHING. Except my mind.
I get word last night that they checked the theater, and no cell phone. The only thing I think could’ve happened is that it fell out my car, purse, pocket, whatever, and is lying in the street or it got run over by a car somewhere. I change the outgoing message on the cell to reflect that you’d better email me or call my land line if you want to reach me, and I arranged to get another phone this morning, it should arrive sometime this week.
In a fit of weirdness, last month I had typed all my contacts from my cell phone into a Word document, in case something like this ever happened, so there’s no loss there.
But there were more than a few text messages I had saved over the years that are now gone. Some of them I saved to mark certain periods in my life. Some of them were quietly meaningful, and proof that at one point, some men found me attractive. Others were flat out blackmail material in case the wrong person crossed me. Some people keep scrapbooks, I kept old text messages.
The thought then becomes that this must be God telling me to move the f on, and not hold on to such reminders. But can reminders be bad? After all, you don’t see anyone losing photo albums from their wedding because it’s BAD to mark/remember and/or cherish things like that.
Does God really want us to walk around with an empty text message cache in our cell phones? Interesting to ponder, maybe.
Anyhow, if any of you texted me this weekend, I’m not ignoring you, I just didn’t get it. I should be back up and running by the end of the week, fingers crossed.
And I backed up my computer just to be safe.
But this was different. When I realized it was missing, there was no sense of Oh, it must be back at the house. Instead there was a creeping dread of it’s gone, SUCKA! I tried to put it out of my head and go on about my evening activity, which was attending an acquaintances’ play, but I couldn’t shake the creeping dread, and I ended up leaving at intermission (it was a really bad play, that influenced the decision as well.)
I get home, use my land line to call my cell, nothing. I search the car with a flashlight, nothing. I recall the last time I used it was back at the other theater that will become my home away from home for the next two months, as we’re in pre-production on Polka Dotted Platypus, my new play. It must be at the theater. I bet it’s not.
I spent the rest of the weekend in a severe state of annoyance. Number one, because I’m now chained to my computer at home where the land line is because I have to be available via phone for some graphic design issues surrounding Polka Dotted Platypus, number two, I use my cell phone as my alarm clock, and now I don’t have an alarm clock and number three, I DON’T LOSE ANYTHING. Except my mind.
I get word last night that they checked the theater, and no cell phone. The only thing I think could’ve happened is that it fell out my car, purse, pocket, whatever, and is lying in the street or it got run over by a car somewhere. I change the outgoing message on the cell to reflect that you’d better email me or call my land line if you want to reach me, and I arranged to get another phone this morning, it should arrive sometime this week.
In a fit of weirdness, last month I had typed all my contacts from my cell phone into a Word document, in case something like this ever happened, so there’s no loss there.
But there were more than a few text messages I had saved over the years that are now gone. Some of them I saved to mark certain periods in my life. Some of them were quietly meaningful, and proof that at one point, some men found me attractive. Others were flat out blackmail material in case the wrong person crossed me. Some people keep scrapbooks, I kept old text messages.
The thought then becomes that this must be God telling me to move the f on, and not hold on to such reminders. But can reminders be bad? After all, you don’t see anyone losing photo albums from their wedding because it’s BAD to mark/remember and/or cherish things like that.
Does God really want us to walk around with an empty text message cache in our cell phones? Interesting to ponder, maybe.
Anyhow, if any of you texted me this weekend, I’m not ignoring you, I just didn’t get it. I should be back up and running by the end of the week, fingers crossed.
And I backed up my computer just to be safe.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
And Then Everything Changed. Again.
Life is changing again. Naturally, I’m freaked out.
Tomorrow I start a new temp gig in the story department of a New Unnamed Movie Studio. It’s totally low man on the totem pole, but in a department I’ve always wanted to be in. So many of my temp gigs land me in places I would never willingly go on my own, but that’s where the assignment funnels me to. This one was one I spotted, called in a few favors, and wrangled on my own to wiggle in there. My temp agency is stunned that I brought them my own gig, especially given the current economic climate (apparently, not a lot of temp gigs out there.)
I think the speed of which it came together (three days tops) unnerved me. Also the realization that my life will again change drastically from what I’ve been used to lately. No more 9:45am Bodyworks class on Tuesdays, no more afternoon power naps. No more creative cooking experiments for lunch. I doubt I’ll be able to hit five days at the gym anymore, though I’ll certainly try.
This is all idiotic whining, of course. The greater good is that I have a temp gig in a place I want to be in. So who cares if I don’t get to write four hours a day anymore.
I’m never ready for change, so it might as well snatch me up even if I think I’m not ready and carry me along until I get used to it.
‘Cause I was getting bored. You know it’s bad when you’re drinking tequila four nights straight (but I write much more funnier dialogue with it!) And I know I prayed somewhere in the past two weeks Um, God? Am I supposed to be doing this? If there’s somewhere else you want me to be, would you, you know, move me?
I think I was referring to writing my Purple Monkey script. But this appears to be God’s answer anyway.
I’m buckling up. Wincing, but hoping this leads to something pretty awesome. It probably won’t, it may not even last a month. But here’s hoping anyway.
Tomorrow I start a new temp gig in the story department of a New Unnamed Movie Studio. It’s totally low man on the totem pole, but in a department I’ve always wanted to be in. So many of my temp gigs land me in places I would never willingly go on my own, but that’s where the assignment funnels me to. This one was one I spotted, called in a few favors, and wrangled on my own to wiggle in there. My temp agency is stunned that I brought them my own gig, especially given the current economic climate (apparently, not a lot of temp gigs out there.)
I think the speed of which it came together (three days tops) unnerved me. Also the realization that my life will again change drastically from what I’ve been used to lately. No more 9:45am Bodyworks class on Tuesdays, no more afternoon power naps. No more creative cooking experiments for lunch. I doubt I’ll be able to hit five days at the gym anymore, though I’ll certainly try.
This is all idiotic whining, of course. The greater good is that I have a temp gig in a place I want to be in. So who cares if I don’t get to write four hours a day anymore.
I’m never ready for change, so it might as well snatch me up even if I think I’m not ready and carry me along until I get used to it.
‘Cause I was getting bored. You know it’s bad when you’re drinking tequila four nights straight (but I write much more funnier dialogue with it!) And I know I prayed somewhere in the past two weeks Um, God? Am I supposed to be doing this? If there’s somewhere else you want me to be, would you, you know, move me?
I think I was referring to writing my Purple Monkey script. But this appears to be God’s answer anyway.
I’m buckling up. Wincing, but hoping this leads to something pretty awesome. It probably won’t, it may not even last a month. But here’s hoping anyway.
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