Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Bonus Points




I’m not looking to be crushed down by love, to loose my life in the arms of someone else. I’m looking for an equal who helps me breathe on this earth who helps me grow. I don’t want to lose myself to someone else to compromise and get hurt and run away crying. I’ve struggled to find myself the last 20 years. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want someone to tell me how to live life or that I should conform like the bible says, like he says.

I want to be me and live as me; follow my heart and do what makes it best for me. No one else can see inside me, I don’t believe that anyone can ever know me better than I know myself. I have failed if I can’t see myself for who I am after the work I’ve done. I know what I want to do and what I need to do and if someone can’t accept that it’s not up to me to pound it into their head because I know it’s right for me.

I’m looking for arms to hold me when I sleep. That seems to be one of the things I want. I think about that when I go to bed. Umm but also I know I have the bed to myself and a cat (Izzy) who thinks I’m her kitten and we cuddle before sleep. She takes care of my heart which is a nice trade of for what I have and will do for her for the rest of her life.

I don’t want someone to wake me up from my nightmares in the night, I want to see them to the end and get the message. I want someone who Is not a criminal and someone who makes me excited to be around them. For real, not something that I have to fake. I want someone to write music with and knows that I could love his imperfections as much as I love mine, and lord, I have some imperfections.

I want someone to love me and themselves and work on it every day, like I do. I don’t want to keep looking at men who are single (there aren’t many left) and wonder what I would need to do to make him like me just to get a little attention, but I want to find one that lets me live. I am a complete person. I want some bonus points now, some scene points for playing the life game.



Saturday, July 14, 2018

Date Night























I did something, I haven’t done since moving back to b’town. I went out on a date, by myself, to see a movie.  I go out to breakfast and coffee and write dates all the time, but a movie date with oneself is different. At least it felt different tonight. I knew I had to pick up my life prolonging anti- psychotic and left the house early because I was feeling smothered by my house I needed to “get out.”
***
My friend showed up for coffee shortly after I did this morning and we talked about writing and life and it was great.  And then the editing group met and we talked some more about writing. I’m writing a play, the first one since “Peanut Butter and Celery” like 10 years ago. And the first one that anyone has read since “Monkey in the Middle.” in 1998.

I’ve been afraid theatre wouldn’t work for me, that it would crumple up in my hand like fire and ashes… make me sad.  I didn’t want theatre to make me sad anymore. I wasn’t sure if I could do it anymore. But like a loyal friend it was right there waiting for me. Yeah that and a whole day of pasting scraps together to make it readable for another person, or three 😊.

The feed back I received was positive and caused me to think of trying to do a reading again.  The Greek play didn’t work out that well, but maybe one of my own will work… Just saying… “In Spirits Company” may live again.

I did groceries and laundry and ventured out at four o clock. Picked up some shoes, really they’re anti depressants too right? right? And bought a coffee and juice at the pita joint and sat and wrote for a bit.

Just spending time by myself without a lot of other peoples voices in my head. After all it was my first full week on the phone, and I had survived, barely, but I did.

After my third cup of coffee today (two were only half finished) I walked over to the movie theatre and watched “Oceans 8.” I really enjoyed it. I wanted it to be about two steps faster, but it was good. I even enjoyed Cate. I loved the scene where she’s flicking the lighter, as she talks: subtle and so perfect.




Monday, July 9, 2018

Not My Fault



I woke up at 5:40 this morning, and of course waking up that early led the cat to curl up with me and then I heard a PING on my phone, all before the alarm went off.

Why weren’t we loved enough it asked?

In the play I sent her last night the me character was not getting the love she was looking for. My friend and I have had lives where that question can be asked a million times over. So many times that question is followed by “

Is it my fault?”
“no”

We’re big hearts, when I tried to share that heart with others; I curled up inside myself for a long time. I’m only now learning her journey and it’s not my place to write about it.

I know one way to look at answering this question is the belief that way back before we were born we choose this life. For me I can justify it as this: I Saw a house with a piano in the country with animals and peace. I didn’t know the piano was broken and I didn’t see that I was going to be so different and so sick.

I can’t even imagine telling her she chose this life. We didn’t choose it. I realized that this morning talking to her. 

I can say that I wasn’t loved enough because I expect humans to be held at a standard of goodness and truth and trust, and there just aren’t many people that meet that expectation. One of the reasons that fueled the depression is that I didn’t reach that bar either. I thought is was my fault.  Was it my fault?

“no”

What does it even mean to be not loved enough? It means you went to a person of authority with the trust of a child be it a family member a dr a school teacher what you needed to live you’re most amazing life wasn’t there. Your piano teacher didn’t realize your piano was broken and said she didn’t want to teach you anymore, your doctor judged parts of your sex life when it was his job to cure the depression, not judge.

It means that your heart is so full of love that you had no idea, as a child in this world, how to deal with it. That when you brought it out of it’s little chest and wore it on your sleeve it was hurt so bad you put it back in your little pouch of protection.

Maybe we are born loving ourselves and fall out of it. Maybe the best part of being an adult is falling back in love with ourselves and the youthful friends left behind.


Thursday, July 5, 2018

The Right Mistake




 I thought about the last 20 years. About the Dr who said I would take this magic pill and everything would change that if I became a vegetarian I would change the world that If I recycled I would save the earth. This little planet. This little me. It’s not big steps it’s little steps so it feels like nothing is happening and one day I turn around and realize that I have made a difference but it’s been small steps on this small planet.

I may not be able to save all the animals by not eating them, but I make people think and listen even when they look at me and talk about eating bbq sausages for three days in a row. Just having a chance to talk about tofu is a small step.

I may have spent 20 years in a little depressive ball, but step by step I started to feel better and I hit forty and it all fell into place.

I can’t reach forty and be sad that it all didn’t happen overnight, but be proud of the small steps I made. The journals, the positivity the willingness to wait five more minutes, the willingness to speak what is on my Mind, even if it means doing so in a fit of tears.

I have a new postions at work, the awesome job that paid a lot did not make me happy. I did something many people who have been at work would never do, go back on the phones after 9 years. Start right back from the day one.

I go to work happy and I get to talk to people all day and on down times I write myself love letters and work on what breaks my heart and makes it heal.

For now I am where I am supposed to be I know I made the right decision. Which is difficult for someone like me to know.




Tuesday, June 26, 2018

Procrastination




My mind is a messy place. All the dreams with maps and unwritten music and people and places I will probably never meet or see. It’s been years of processing all these thoughts and images, trying to get them all to make sense and tonight I am asking: Am I sabotaging myself.

Tonight after a 7:00 shower I curled up in bed for a while, and, for the first time since the coldness of winter both cats joined me, at the same time. While I was wrapped up in a blanket, I made up stories that will never be written, about an imaginary life I will not achieve if I just lay in bed all evening making up great romances and adventures without actually getting out of my pajama’s or going to meet people.

Without actually writing stories and poems and the plays that I imagine I write.

I can image writing and working with amazing actors and actresses that garner my attention, but I can’t focus long enough to get piece down on paper, that story, that writing. I wonder if I need to speak to a specialist, if my drugs need to be tweaked, or if this is something I can get through just by writing a few journals and talking to my friends.

Also I wonder if it’s something that, if it would be taken away from me, this ability to disappear under my covers and deep in my imagination would make me sad, would take the little piece of love and hope that I have.  I think about people who become more suicidal when they go on medication and wonder if their imagination has been snatched from them too soon.

And so tonight, I googled the current crush and imagined us working on the completed play that I’m working on (it’s 6 pages but that’s but that’s better than two) and then after a few minute (Ok it might have been longer cause I didn’t want to leave the bed until the cats did.) And then I changed my focus to writing. I couldn’t get myself to wrap around creative writing, but I haven’t written a journal in a while, and have not felt confidant enough to write about this part of my procrastination, so next is to see what happens after facing this truth.




Sunday, June 17, 2018

Dear World





SO Last night I read in the news about the children in tents in Texas. I also, not only paid attention and wasn’t stoned in history class in high school, I took it in university too. (Along with Theatre and English). And Like so many people I wondered how Hitler was allowed to go so far before he was stopped. There were signs and actions that people should have said that’s enough. But now I see it happening in my back yard.

SO I’m saying lets tell our leaders that we’ve had enough.

Dear Justin and Bernadette,
I know that a lot of people are making jokes and facebook posts about Trump, But my cousins and friends are south of our border, some of us have blood in common some I’ve met through social media and now there are ones that have my heart just because they’re honest people with a dishonest president.  Are there not enough signs that this president has shown that we can stop worrying about the tariffs we’re putting on maple syrup and get those kids and their parents back together and stop so many wars of so many kinds.

That we can say this man is creating a global sociality (and economy) that is not beneficial to anyone.

So tell me what I need to do next to save this world from that man.

Candice

Friday, June 15, 2018

Little Leader




the little leader
down the street
sad again

cigarette in hand
hopscotch crisscross
the side walk

take it to the street
find it on the walk home
there’s only a few minutes
until reality sets in

World leader
on the road
lost again

map in hand
wine in  heart
a story to tell

take if from the street
all the sorrow in the day
clearing minds
until war reaches that place

Where day has
Ended; straight to hell
Time to be home

alone
little leader
alone