Check back in a month or so and I'll have an update for you.
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Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Some times I think I've married a madman
Today, more than most other days, my DH is acting like a madman. Nothing tragic has happened -- at least nothing anyone in his or her right mind would consider tragic -- but to my DH, it seems the world is ending. I think it started with a foul-up at work -- one for which he was responsible, but for which he deflected the blame (pretty standard stuff for him - deflecting the blame that is, but this foul-up was a biggie). Then there was another mistake -- this one involving computers and software upgrades. I won't go into all of the details, but due to Operator Error, he lost a significant amount of data and some downloaded programs. Now, I would be very upset by this -- I might even slam a door or two and use a few choice curse words -- but I don't think I would load my gun and place it beside the computer. Nor would I decide that the only solution to the problem was to plan to sell all of my worldly possessions and escape on a seagoing vessel.
There have been several moments today where I have half expected to hear the gun go off -- but as I write this, I'm not convinced that it would have been pointed at him -- I think it's more likely to have been pointed at the computer. He's already slung several items across the room and beaten his keyboard like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Just now, he waltzed in to my office and made spurious threats against the software developers (none of whom he knows and please understand that he NEVER follows through on ANY of his threats -- he's just a big bag of wind) -- talking about suing them for mental anguish or blowing out their brains. I know this is probably the half gallon of Sangria combined with the half bottle of cognac talking... but he really did frighten me today. He once again tried to engage me in an argument about being trapped in this house and talked about wanting to sell it because it's never brought him anything but bad luck. For once, I didn't bite. I told him that he was being irrational and that I wasn't going to engage in a conversation with him until he calmed down.
He seems to be a bit better at the moment -- but, honestly, I just don't think I can do this any more. I was trying to wait things out until I got my new career off the ground -- now I'm thinking I should probably find a job that pays enough to meet my bills and end this craziness. Although I've never for a moment thought that he would hurt me -- I just can't stand walking on egg shells wondering what it will be that sets him off next. And if he DID ever fire that gun in the house -- either at himself or an inanimate object -- I wouldn't want to be the one to have to call the cops on him.
Yes, some times I think I've married a madman and then there are days like today where I KNOW I have! Crimeny!
There have been several moments today where I have half expected to hear the gun go off -- but as I write this, I'm not convinced that it would have been pointed at him -- I think it's more likely to have been pointed at the computer. He's already slung several items across the room and beaten his keyboard like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Just now, he waltzed in to my office and made spurious threats against the software developers (none of whom he knows and please understand that he NEVER follows through on ANY of his threats -- he's just a big bag of wind) -- talking about suing them for mental anguish or blowing out their brains. I know this is probably the half gallon of Sangria combined with the half bottle of cognac talking... but he really did frighten me today. He once again tried to engage me in an argument about being trapped in this house and talked about wanting to sell it because it's never brought him anything but bad luck. For once, I didn't bite. I told him that he was being irrational and that I wasn't going to engage in a conversation with him until he calmed down.
He seems to be a bit better at the moment -- but, honestly, I just don't think I can do this any more. I was trying to wait things out until I got my new career off the ground -- now I'm thinking I should probably find a job that pays enough to meet my bills and end this craziness. Although I've never for a moment thought that he would hurt me -- I just can't stand walking on egg shells wondering what it will be that sets him off next. And if he DID ever fire that gun in the house -- either at himself or an inanimate object -- I wouldn't want to be the one to have to call the cops on him.
Yes, some times I think I've married a madman and then there are days like today where I KNOW I have! Crimeny!
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Weeds: the poor man's psychotherapy!
I've rediscovered a really cheap form of therapy -- at least for me -- pulling weeds! After having an absolute piss-ripper of a migraine yesterday and going to bed around 7pm last night, I awoke this morning feeling fabulous! I grabbed a cuppa and headed outside to tackle the front flower beds, which resembled a miniature jungle!
There's something therapeutic about removing things that don't belong and restoring order -- and there's something incredibly gratifying about ripping unruly weeds from their foothold -- roots and all -- and tossing them gingerly over my shoulder into the waste heap. I don't recall thinking anything in particular as I toiled away in the sweltering 90 degree heat -- but I did have a wonderful sense of relief and accomplishment when it was all done.
Whatever had been bothering me these past few weeks -- whatever that sense of doom -- it's gone now. Thanks to a pile of weeds, my life seems more in control and I am at peace. I wonder how many therapy sessions it would have taken at $150 a pop to accomlish the same thing?
There's something therapeutic about removing things that don't belong and restoring order -- and there's something incredibly gratifying about ripping unruly weeds from their foothold -- roots and all -- and tossing them gingerly over my shoulder into the waste heap. I don't recall thinking anything in particular as I toiled away in the sweltering 90 degree heat -- but I did have a wonderful sense of relief and accomplishment when it was all done.
Whatever had been bothering me these past few weeks -- whatever that sense of doom -- it's gone now. Thanks to a pile of weeds, my life seems more in control and I am at peace. I wonder how many therapy sessions it would have taken at $150 a pop to accomlish the same thing?
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
What's the point?
You get up each day, shower, dress and get into a box with wheels that hurtles you through space at 65 miles per hour until you reach another box, where you spend most of your day talking to people in other boxes. What's the point? You might say "to make a living" or "to pay the rent"... but what does it all mean -- really?
My husband and I just watched Constantine last night... and it's got me thinking. He made a comment about God being a kid with an ant farm... and there are so many days when I feel like an ant -- moving earth from one place to another until something upsets it and I have to start all over again.
I used to think that raising children would be my important contribution to the Universe. Since that's not happening, I'm hard pressed to figure out what the hell I'm doing here. What's it all about? What's the purpose of it all? Some days it all seems so freakin' useless... meaningless... void.
Can someone PLEASE tell me, what's the point?
My husband and I just watched Constantine last night... and it's got me thinking. He made a comment about God being a kid with an ant farm... and there are so many days when I feel like an ant -- moving earth from one place to another until something upsets it and I have to start all over again.
I used to think that raising children would be my important contribution to the Universe. Since that's not happening, I'm hard pressed to figure out what the hell I'm doing here. What's it all about? What's the purpose of it all? Some days it all seems so freakin' useless... meaningless... void.
Can someone PLEASE tell me, what's the point?
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
I wish
When I was a child, I used to wish I could close my eyes and disappear. I don't know why, exactly, I just remember staring up at the ceiling in my bed at night wishing I could do that. Maybe it was the nights my dad was in a rage, or the nights when I'd forgotten to bring home my homework for the next day -- the days I was feeling vulnerable or less-than-perfect, as I was expected to be.
Even now, I find myself wishing the same thing -- that I could just close my eyes and disappear -- no drama, no death or funeral -- just "poof" -- gone. No more worries, no more stress, no more disappointments or obligations. No matter how many times I practice -- eyes closed tightly, full concentration, no distractions -- I wake up the next morning and realize that I'm still here. None of the problems are solved, none of the bills paid or stresses alleviated... I really wish I could figure out the secret to this disappearing thing... really, I do. It would make life so much easier if I just didn't have to be in it.
Even now, I find myself wishing the same thing -- that I could just close my eyes and disappear -- no drama, no death or funeral -- just "poof" -- gone. No more worries, no more stress, no more disappointments or obligations. No matter how many times I practice -- eyes closed tightly, full concentration, no distractions -- I wake up the next morning and realize that I'm still here. None of the problems are solved, none of the bills paid or stresses alleviated... I really wish I could figure out the secret to this disappearing thing... really, I do. It would make life so much easier if I just didn't have to be in it.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
My Life as a Musical...
Several years ago, I decided to write a musical about my life -- about the abuse, the recovery, the lessons learned, the joy and the sorrow. After finishing nearly half of the play, I had a sense that it might have some merit, so I made contact with some of the screen writers I worked with at the Family Channel back in the early 90's to see if any of them would be willing to give it a read. The couple I sent it to agreed to read it and they responded that I should really forward it to a former boyfriend of mine who was actively involved in musical theatre on the professional level in LA.
Reluctantly, I sent Kevin the play. He answered my e-mail (which I found astonishing) and agreed to read it -- but said it could take a while. For several months, I remained excited about the possiblity of hearing from him -- even though there was a scene in the play that dealt with our relationship and my reasons for ending it -- but I never heard anything and so, being my usual defeatist self, I let the whole thing go and decided that it must have been a stinking heap of dung and, therefore, unworthy of a response.
Recently, I revisited my work and read through it all -- it made me curious to see what Kevin had been up to -- so I visited his web site (which I had avoided for the two years since I sent him my play). I found out that he is now the co-executive producer for a very hot television show, has since married and is living the life I always wanted to live -- the life I once envisioned living with him.
I'm not jealous, mind you... I AM a bit wistful for what could have been... but more than that, I'm sad... I'm sad that I'm 40 years old and never had the courage to do the things that I truly loved. Whatever the reason, be it fear of failure, fear of rejection, lack of ambition or proper motivation, I have simply never been able to step out on faith and TRY to earn my living being what I want to be -- a performer. Instead, I have settled for safe alternatives... or just plain safe choices, because they certainly haven't been viable ALTERNATIVES to being a part of a creative and artistic community.
However melodramatic it may sound, at that moment I just wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. There's a part of me that tried to say, "well, if he can achieve his dream, so can I", but this was immediately followed by, "yeah, but he never gave UP on his dream and you tossed in the towel years ago."
How did this happen to me? I know there's a whole scene in my play about the role my mother played in deterring me from going to New York when I was in my early 20's and the role the abusive relationships from my past played in keeping me from going to LA with Kevin... but why couldn't I rise ABOVE those things? I watch stories of great courage and of people overcoming great odds to achieve their dreams and I think, "why couldn't I be like that?" Why do I always run away or talk myself out of every wonderful opporunity I've ever had. Geeze... maybe I need some indepth therapy or something. This is just pathetic!
One thing I can tell you: regret is a bitter pill, my friends... it rises in the back of your throat and threatens to choke you... it burns at your soul and eats away at your spirit. Regret is a dogged and indefatiguable enemy and I have yet to discover the antidote... or even a palliative treatment. I fear that this act of my play may well rival a Wagnerian opera.
Kevin Murphy Desperate Housewives
Reluctantly, I sent Kevin the play. He answered my e-mail (which I found astonishing) and agreed to read it -- but said it could take a while. For several months, I remained excited about the possiblity of hearing from him -- even though there was a scene in the play that dealt with our relationship and my reasons for ending it -- but I never heard anything and so, being my usual defeatist self, I let the whole thing go and decided that it must have been a stinking heap of dung and, therefore, unworthy of a response.
Recently, I revisited my work and read through it all -- it made me curious to see what Kevin had been up to -- so I visited his web site (which I had avoided for the two years since I sent him my play). I found out that he is now the co-executive producer for a very hot television show, has since married and is living the life I always wanted to live -- the life I once envisioned living with him.
I'm not jealous, mind you... I AM a bit wistful for what could have been... but more than that, I'm sad... I'm sad that I'm 40 years old and never had the courage to do the things that I truly loved. Whatever the reason, be it fear of failure, fear of rejection, lack of ambition or proper motivation, I have simply never been able to step out on faith and TRY to earn my living being what I want to be -- a performer. Instead, I have settled for safe alternatives... or just plain safe choices, because they certainly haven't been viable ALTERNATIVES to being a part of a creative and artistic community.
However melodramatic it may sound, at that moment I just wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. There's a part of me that tried to say, "well, if he can achieve his dream, so can I", but this was immediately followed by, "yeah, but he never gave UP on his dream and you tossed in the towel years ago."
How did this happen to me? I know there's a whole scene in my play about the role my mother played in deterring me from going to New York when I was in my early 20's and the role the abusive relationships from my past played in keeping me from going to LA with Kevin... but why couldn't I rise ABOVE those things? I watch stories of great courage and of people overcoming great odds to achieve their dreams and I think, "why couldn't I be like that?" Why do I always run away or talk myself out of every wonderful opporunity I've ever had. Geeze... maybe I need some indepth therapy or something. This is just pathetic!
One thing I can tell you: regret is a bitter pill, my friends... it rises in the back of your throat and threatens to choke you... it burns at your soul and eats away at your spirit. Regret is a dogged and indefatiguable enemy and I have yet to discover the antidote... or even a palliative treatment. I fear that this act of my play may well rival a Wagnerian opera.
Kevin Murphy Desperate Housewives
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