Mind Fog

Oh if only I could be free to write what I want to write on this here blog. Corporate America is so much fun. It really is not meant for creative people. Do I engage in the same political power struggles as they? I suppose perhaps I do. I mean, I want to do things my way as well, right?

My doctor tells me the best thing I could do for my health is quit my job.

But perhaps I should just stop trying to be such a perfectionist and just do what they pay me to do and nothing more. Why am I not able to do that?

I hope I always remember the day, more emotionally removed hopefully, when I was told what to do, asked questions and not given time to answer, asked for reports which were never read. The days I had four separate bosses (not long ago), each of them asking me for something different.

Is the rest of the world like this?

Dear Neighbor,

Did you ever notice how, when I wanted to decorate my yard with something eye-catching, I put up a few things that didn’t make any noise? There’s a ball that changes colors at night. It is totally fucking silent. There’s a toy pinwheel type device of many colors that turns direction in the breeze. Again, silent as the fucking wind. I assume you have not been awakened at all by these items in my yard. Oh yeah, there’s the birdfeeder and the squirell-proof suet cage. Notice how there are no owls or night birds visiting it, no hooting and no shrieking at all hours? Perhaps if you took a nap, you hear the chickadees twitting away. No? Yeah, I didn’t think so. They’re pretty quiet, and the birdfeeder is quite a ways from your bedroom window.

So it is with puzzlement that after all this consideration on my behalf toward you, my close neighbor, that I consider your latest assault on my eardrums.

When your Ford Ranger, half falling apart, woke me up every morning at 5am when you started it up, I was fairly irritated, but I understood you might not have had the money to fix it.

For two years.

I was glad you were not hurt when its brakes went and you got in an accident and left it on the side of the road. I’m actually surprised you did not get in it one day and have it explode. Apparently I need to work on my psychic powers. Again, not trying to hurt you, just needed the truck gone. The sound of its exhaust reverberating through my whole house, cutting through every wall every time you went on a 5-minute errand, day after day, was just too much to bear. How many fucking loaves of bread do you need in one day anyway?

But  your latest endeavor is just a bit much. Hanging gigantic wind chimes just outside the window where I nap and sleep when I am not feeling well is not something I can forgive at this point. This is an active onslaught. The slightest breeze, once pleasant upon my brow through the open window, now brings forth a rain of of metallic clunks and clinks, clanks and bongs.

I’ve tried to consider what your motivation might be for placing these aural shards of glass next to my window? Christmas? I could be mistaken, but I thought Christmas was bells, not chimes. And these aren’t really even chimes anyway, are they. They’re more like giant organ pipes. The damn things look like a giant green jellyfish with a hat and casts on its tentacles.

I will not abide. Please remove said objects. They’re ugly and they’re noisy. If they are not gone by the next time I want to take a nap, I will beat you with them.

So I now have my second cold in two months. What fun. I’m sure it’s because I’m not taking care of myself. I’ve been on a work deadline and have had time for nothing other than sitting at my computer at my home office, trying to get my project done. I’m late on the project, and it’s really stressing me out. I’m sure that contributed to lowering my defenses. Also trying to sell my car, and everyone’s getting scared away because it has 210K miles on it.

Also looming in the back of my head is the fact that my screenplay isn’t getting written. I have a rewrite class coming up at the beginning of January, a telephone conference on it coming at the end of January, and a contest I’d like to enter by the end of January if it is in any way presentable (probably won’t be, but still).

If I can get over this work project, I sincerely hope I can take the time I need to relax, get a healthy amount of writing done, and start getting myself into a better emotional and physical space, because right now I feel like crap after about a week of relief from cold/flu symptoms. This blows.

So much for getting back on the wagon. I’m on a pretty heavy deadline at work, one that doesn’t look like it will let up until January. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get the first draft of this script done by then. I imagine what’s going to happen is I’m going to have to finish my “work” work, then bang something out in a couple of nights script-wise.

I guess that sort of thing has always worked well for me, but I just don’t know if all the nuances I wanted to add and all the things I wanted to “keep in mind” will find their way onto the page.

Perhaps I’ve been drilling them into my subconscious enough that they’ll just magically appear when the time is right. I guess I have to have some faith in my muse. It hasn’t steered me wrong so far. Every time I let go, something surprising appears — something I can’t take credit for.

It’s 2am and I’ve been doing “work” work since 2pm. Time to get some sleep.

My head is pounding. Finally got the first five or six pages of this script written. I’ve got lots of the middle pieces, but had the beginning sort of mapped in my head for months now, and only tonight got it on the page. I’m sure I’ll be needing to tweak it, but my rewrite class starts in a month and I need to get crackin’. I really wanted to finish the opening scene, but I have to go in to work early tomorrow and need to get some rest.

But at least I’m glad to finally be writing again. This is the first bit of the script I’ve written since we went on vacation at the end of June. Can’t believe it has been that long. Going to try again tomorrow night and hopefully establish a habit again.

One of the best parts is I’m actually writing in Final Draft instead of in Word, and it’s so much easier to write in a program that’s specifically set up for scripts.

Anyway, hopefully I’ll check in again tomorrow night with positive news.

There’s a rattling in my head. It’s this damn script. There are around ten pieces of it trying to group together and form some connection. It’s all up there, and I know I should just release them. They’ve been begging to be released for a couple months now, since I stopped my nightly writing routine back in June, but for some reason I’m torturing them, and they’re torturing me. Every few nights I pledge I’ll let them out, but something happens and another night goes by without my spending my butt time in the writing chair.

It’s too hot in the basement, and I hate the loud air conditioner I have down there. I’d rather watch the football game or a movie or Hell’s Kitchen. I’d rather clean the garage. I’d rather read a magazine.

And these bits of my story keep rattling around up there. They’re heavy. I think I’m afraid that once they get out, they’re going to scurry away and I won’t be able to rein them in anymore. At least if they’re up there, I know where they are even if I can’t see entirely what they consist of.

I’m going to have to deal with this at some point soon, I know…