Sunday, November 19, 2017

Morning Time

I guess I’m rethinking weekday mornings, I’ve never been well enough to actually take action. The last 20 years has been struggle to wake up, a struggle to get every thing done before heading out the door hopefully the coffee will kick in between morning naps, egg timers, and as I go to work/school. Where I jump from break to meal losing my shit If I have to wait a few extra minutes for either because I’m so hungry.

I remember 25 years ago having huge breakfasts even resorting to salmon burgers in hopes that I could make it through the day without feeling beaten down by hours and gravity. And they didn’t help, for one reason I probably had bread around my burgers, and by the time lunch time hit I had a sandwich or walked down the boardwalk for some cross contaminated fries.

I’ve perfected the diet, I’m not afraid of a little coconut or olive oil, and decided to fry some eggs with my waffle the morning (still lots of coffee 😊)  and I made till 1:00 waiting for lunch in my new job. I walked into work happy and alert and I wasn’t thinking about food all the time.


You know what else? If I get up early enough in the morning I can relax and write and enjoy coffee and not rush around and forget to clean the litter box because I was half asleep. I haven’t mastered getting up with the alarm yet, but, I have had extra half-hours to write in my journal and not feel rushed in the morning. The new message to me is that the morning can be just as much a functional part of the day as the rest of the day.


Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Write on

I guess I want to write more. When I come home at night to sit and write, my brain is usually blank. I have to really force it to create and be focused. My brain shrugs at the shoulders and decides that there is nothing to say, nothing to write about. Sometimes I get something sometimes I don’t. Which has been acceptable till now but...

At Writers Circle, there is always something to write about, and I can write about it in any format. At Writers Circle I can do anything I put my mind to.

So my question to myself today, as I go off to spend 8 hours at my job, so I have a house to live in and write for an hour or two, when I come home. Is how do I translate Writers Circle into my house. 

How do I sit down and write almost every night?

Do I need to set up a better desk? Do I need to turn off the music? Or does the music help? DO I need more writing prompts? Or do I start every day organically and see where it leads me.

Today morning pages were about compassion, my compassion the worlds compassion. About ourselves, our world our animals. I consider myself pretty compassionate but can I be more, can I share this compassion with others?

Will these generations that are following me, say “Oh look at all the great things people have done before us…” and keep harming the planet. Oh will they be like “whoa nelly” and say we have to do things differently. Why can’t my generation do it.


To be fair there’s been a complete revolution in how to treat women in the film industry and people seem to be listening, now let's do that in how the world treats not only our millionaires, put those is poverty and our whole world.

I guess I'm offering myself two challanges...


Friday, November 10, 2017

#You Too?



I wasn’t in the industry for very long, but I had a rep that preceded my very quickly. The boys knew I wouldn’t randomly sleep with them, I was there to work. I remember one time I reminded a male co worker that I was available to work on his movie. “Ah you don’t want that role, you have to take your cloths off.” I didn’t know what he meant.

I remember through all the “knowledge” that my inner me had that I WAS  pretty, I didn’t feel the world giving it back. He just made me feel fat and ugly and rigid. I had people refuse to consider me because I was “too large” and they hadn’t even met me. They could just tell. Imagine my shock when I saw (at 40 a) a picture of my tiny cute self at 25. I was so cute. I wish people had told me that. I wish I had lived in the cuteness rather than the shame.

I couldn’t get on a set of boys who knew I would follow the rules (no guns on set boys) I couldn’t get a walk home from the boy who knew I wouldn’t sleep with him. I didn’t feel safe with these people. I guess in retrospect I’ve heard a lot of bad shit that has never happened to me, but that doesn’t mean what I experienced or felt wasn’t any less. That I knew there was something going on that my mind couldn’t identify, but my body was screaming “this isn’t right.”

My writing prompt this week for writers circle is write what you can’t see, and the above is what came out. As a first start. It wasn’t what happened to me it’s what didn’t.

It wasn’t that the boys disrespected me to my face, it wasn’t that they said said “watch out when you run through the hotel at night that you don’t get raped.” It was that they rarely said “good job glad you’re on your team,” and the one night I couldn’t handle in three years, the one night, they wanted to fire me, because I alone, I couldn’t handle, a whole hotel on my own.


I guess for the last couple (dozen or so) years I’ve let them in my head. I always thought It was my fault: I could have been stronger, I could have been this: I could have been that. But they weren’t looking for someone like me. “Frosty you would be good on any set.” I was told by one man, but I never got the chance to show it. 

I can’t spend the rest of my life, like a wife in a battered relationship saying it was probably my fault that it didn’t work. Tonight I think “It was my way out, away of an unsatisfactory unfulfilling life choice."



Thursday, November 9, 2017

Monday like an Elastic


I started a new job on Monday. Can’t say a lot about it. Still at the call centre, still with the same client. Just crawling up the stairs a bit. 

In the middle of the transfer from going from a basement in the old hospital morgue, back up on the floor, and all it’s action; I caught a tremendous cold. The last time I was able to sing, was a week ago, and my throat has been too scratchy to do more than five basic notes. Although my Base is pretty powerful.

Why I write this, is that I keep myself pretty calm on regular basis; I’m silly and can get wound up, but my mind is always able to work shit out when chaos is going on around me, and if it’s not I put on a pair of ear muffs, dissociate, and keep up what I’m supposed to be doing.

Well this week I couldn’t, my body demanded to be listened to, although my thoughts were numb to the changes: I was asked it how it felt to be leaving the group I worked with for seven years, to leave what my body knew like the back of my hand, and to go to something I still had trouble explaining to people until maybe today. Today I got it. But I just shrugged. Monday was another day, like Friday was. I walked in and walked on.

On Monday, day one of the new job, I actually threw up. All the while my mind was telling the body it was just another day, my body was wound like some sort of elastic band twisted and turned. My body was freaking out, but I had no way of hearing it, until I was leaning over the toilet.

SO there’s a lesson here, that while I appear to be calm on the outside, I am wound up tight on the inside. Maybe, now that I know this, I will listen to my body and I don’t have to exhaust myself during the day. I’ll find a way to balance my energy and find a way to heal this silent anxiety.



My aim now is to not so much worry about calming the mind as it is to listen to what my body is silently screaming, and that’s going to be new.


Sunday, November 5, 2017

the force

I began to hear pine needles
Drop to the forests autumn floor
Like hearing the sound of a single
Triangle, patter, throughout the symphony
I’m reading her poetry and for a moment
Am taken to the world where the bears
Eat salmon on the river bed
And the eagles fly over head
The kind they chose for that Robbie Robertson video
And although there was no music I knew in would be
Skin Walker. Like Skywalker has a light sabre
To break though evil the evil that is brothers sisters cousins
Family; family sticks together except when the force
Rips them apart.


                                                                  

Monday, October 30, 2017

OutBreak



Perhaps we learned a lot about spreading germs at school, about having a cold, a flu, pneumonia. How to pass it when you don’t wash your hands, or as you got older they said “mono from kissing.” But I rarely catch a cold. But there is emotional illness.

I think of the little children I read about as children that couldn’t go outside because they were delicate flowers, a push of wind would knock them over. A child that needs clean air and a germ free house, an environmentally reactive person who can’t touch newspaper and oil of olay.

There are people that need to live emotionally clean lives as well. It’s sad that we haven’t gotten to that point of making it a scientific explosion, where TIME magazine publishes a earth shattering article and people realize some people hurt differently than others. Some people get eaten up inside my the city, by the film industry, by the wrong job.

I’m think I’m an extravert, with depression. I love being with great people, but I still have to spend hours making sure I don’t get emotionally ill. I have to spend extra hours sleeping when things get too much. I have to check in with myself especially at stressful times. I find the purring and love of my Kitties relaxing. I’ve learned how to combat a grocery store or a shopping mall in small bouts.

Like someone with allergies takes a Benadryl or Auntie Jones carries a pack of wipes and hand sanitizers; I write in my journal and take a little cocktail of antidepressants to take on the emotional strain.

Someone who is emotionally ill is going to be affected by your tv shows, by your nasty remarks, and your violent outbreaks. I heard some one say “I soon won’t be able to say anything.” I say if it’s going to hurt someone you shouldn’t say it anyway.


It’s now not socially unacceptable to sneeze or cough on a “friend”. We have to realize now that like cancer, mental illness needs to be treated like a deadly virus, and that almost everything affects certain people. The "OutBreak" we are facing is not a viral one, it's an emotional one, a verbal one.


Sunday, October 15, 2017

Red Flag

It’s been a year

A year ago I had a boyfriend
For two weeks
And found it highly over rated
I didn’t have time for that shit
I didn’t have time to be raped
Or abused or manipulated
Lied to or used
I walked away from it
All
And didn’t get hurt

I listened to all those people
That came into high school
And talked about rape
And putting yourself
In bad places
Oprah always Oprah
And If I didn’t trust him
I stayed away
I stayed away a lot
Life is a red flag

There was no one
Who would have an
Honest relationship
With themselves
It’s too late now
I’m on too much Prozac to feel
Anything

I’ve had too much time to love
Myself to waste my time
Trying to make someone
Else Happy
That’s what rape culture
Has taught me:

To be alone
To wrap blankets around me
When I want a hug
Just saying hi
Is a red flag
Just the wordscoming out
Of that mouth
Is a form of rape
That look in his eyes
That look down on me
Like I’m just a child
That I’m not worth the fight

Again I’m different
Than all the other girls

I’m not one who can say

Me to