Monthly Archives: May 2005

Back to the drawing board

I’ve been offered my old job back. It’s kind of funny, to end up back where I was. At least it’s in an air conditioned building now, before it was brutal working there in the summer. So I guess I’ll take it, I need the cash. And I’m going to keep looking for work, a coffee shop would be nice. Editing would be REALLY nice. Whew, life after school is weird so far. I’ll get used to it. At least I’ll be making money again. I start working on Monday. I already know their computer system well, so hopping back on the phones won’t be too bad. It’s just temporary, while they need the staff. That’s fine by me, as long as I can get another job in time.
Anyway, aside from that I’m just hanging out with my ma, goofing off. Soon it will come to an end. But I sure am glad to know I’m not going to struggle to find a job soon.

The long day

Today I drove with my mom and a friend out to Merritt to pick up my stuff. Merritt is my Dogville. I lived there for four months during adolecence and left being totally crazy. Oh, nobody said I was crazy, but I was, crazy. Add to that the fact that my only outlet was at the shooting range, and watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, and Lampchop’s Playhouse, before Lambchop died. I was going to pull a Columbine if we’d stayed, I was being bullied and sexually harrassed that much. Maybe that’s why years later when Columbine did happen, I thought “Hasn’t this already happened?”
Anyway, bad memories, BUT my stuff was there from when I left Vancouver. It’s been shuffled around the country staying in different relative’s basements or storage areas. And now I finally have it all! Opening the boxes was like christmas. It probably sounds really materialistic. But most of my stuff are books, videotapes, film, and items of personal sentiment. Like the Marvin the Martian figurine my mom gave me. Oh, and diaries. Tons of diaries. I’ve kept diaries since I was thirteen. Some people burn theirs. I don’t want to burn mine. They’re kind of useful for me to remember where I was at specific points in time. And who I was.
Anyway, me and my things are reunited after a very long day. Hurrah! I feel somewhat more normal, I haven’t had my stuff in years. Now I just have to fit it somewhere.

I am a bad rat mom

This morning I woke up, looked around all groggy, and then realized that Clive’s cage door was open. He was not inside. I remembered falling asleep while he was crawling around. He was no where on the bed, and my apartment is still quite a bit messy. Added to this the sudden realization that there was Warfarin in the apartment for the mice.
I was in a state of distress when I found him curled up, happily sleeping in a garbage bag. Rats will be rats, after all. I picked him up and kissed him and said “I’ll never lose you again!”
He’s such an old rat, I’m amazed at his determination to keep living. It’s inspiring.

And when I don’t speak . . .

I spent time with my family today, which was so lovely and wonderful, except for the dangling participle that became involved, and things got very ugly. My family are such sticklers for proper english. Maybe that’s why I don’t often speak.

It’s true, some of you may have wondered about my tendency to not say much of anything from time to time. The real reason is because I am crazy. But aside from that, since all I’ve ever known is shyness, I’m pretty used to my cycles of speaking/not speaking. I have noticed the following interesting trends:

I can speak with up to three other people around. Four or more are out.
I can’t speak to anyone I think is really grand.
I can email people, but that’s not really speaking is it?
I can often be coaxed to speak if given food or pot. Actually, that last part was a lie, I just wanted to see if you’d give me pot to make me say something.
When manic I can speak to anyone, including seven strangers in a bar in Saskatoon one holiday night, and I was so talkative and friendly that soon the whole bar was chatty and someone even trusted me with their hundred dollar bill to go get change.
(I did come back, I was crazy, not evil)
I often find it difficult to think of things to talk about that aren’t going to freak people out. There is a stringent process new friends have to go through during which you can figure out where the boundaries are.
Confessions are my chocolate, I love hearing other people’s dirty secrets.
Ghost stories are also useful at getting my interest.
One on one conversing is usually the best way to talk to me, IF I am not in a weird environment, which I can sometimes be found in, where disco lights are spinning and there’s some naked girl on a stage, or almost naked, and everyone’s pushing and horny. Yeah, so that basically cancels out talking to me at a bar or an event. Also I don’t often tell people, but I have poor hearing and it’s just not the best environment for me. Yep, little disability heads up to you all.
Filmmakers talking shop, come on, sooooooo sexy! I love those gatherings,like in film school when we were accumulating a debt and learning on equipment older than ourselves. (It has all changed since my days there already, they have a decent number of computers. Although I am sad to see the Steenbecks go.)
I will sometimes interject a conversation with an off kilter comment in the hopes of being able to converse. One time I was at a barbecue of some people I had only gotten to know a short time. It was a nice sunny day, we drank Pims, someone was talking about how they fed McDonalds to people in jail. I said “Oh yes, my babysitter used to go to jail all the time, she said they gave you McDonalds for every meal. It was disgusting, she hated McDonalds.”
“What did she go to jail for?”
“She stabbed her boyfriend.”
A curious silence ensued.

Really though, I am chatty when I’m in the mood. I guess Virginia Woolfe was right, manic depressives are cameleons.

Take a chance on Me

Last night I downloaded as much Abba as possible. I am now listening to Waterloo. I love that song.
“How could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I lose!”
My mother bought me some kicky new shoes for my birthday, they are lime green and ultra cute.
Finishing school has left me feeling somewhat bewildered. I need to figure out some crucial things about my life, like how I plan to make a living, how I can finish this script so I can get funding, looking into further training programs in directing (ie Sundance), and then some more personal issues related to my own health up-keep. It’s all really startling, almost as weird as graduating from high school, but not as shocking. I mean, then I had to move out on my own.
It is a funny thing, moving out on your own. I survived on pizza by the slice for the first year, and lived in a one room apartment in a dodgy neighborhood. Once there was spilled blood and coffee at the bus stop. I was lonely most of my first year.
Then I ended up living with some leather girls and much fun ensued. Fetish parties, poppers, floggings, stories of dirty adventures, ecstacy, I was a bad ass.
I dare not do ecstacy again because of my medications. The mushroom trip to the hospital was quite enough thank you. But I like being around people on e, all that hugging. It can feel pretty religious, just loving everyone for who they are.
I hope I can find a nice job that isn’t soul shredding. It would be great to get work as an editor, because I love editing! WHO KNOWS!