myspace.com/jennadg07

Hi everyone!!!

so time is only allowing for me to blog on one site and, for the time being, MySpace wins...

i'll catch this one up -- at some point...

best,
jenna

Universal Health Care if you please

Yesterday I got asked out by another drummer: for those of you keeping score at home – that’s four drummers in two weeks (to clarify – this excludes anyone from the past – I have developed the ability to be a good girl and maintain boundaries with friends and acquaintances. Yes, me of all people, has learned to be respectful and to make healthy decisions).

And setting up my bass lessons down in Fairfax, the bassist says, “Are you sure you’re not a drummer?”

“Why, whattaya mean?”

“Well, for one, your energy is all over the place. And then you’ve got the whole left-brain/right-brain thing….I think maybe your place is behind the skins.”

“Um, yeah, so I kinda have this theory about drummers and that theory goes along the lines of: drummers are fucking crazy.”

He smiled.

“I’d like to stick with the bass.”

------------------------

The biggest revelation that’s came out of the past few days is the fact that I think I may find myself transitioning into a cinematographer.

Think about it:

Cinematographers are the liaisons between the director and the lighting & camera departments. They are the communicators, the composition connoisseurs.

In yesterday’s meeting with the Producer, I was showing him some of my Pioneer Square shots that I thought could pass as London.

“You took all these pictures?”

“Yup.”

I told him my theory on me maybe taking a crack at shadowing a DP at some point…

Yes.
Yes.
Yes.

I had an amazing county hospital experience yesterday. What a ride. What a range of emotions. What a blatant demonstration and reminder of why I swore I would never buy a piece of property in this country.

I
Can’t
Wait
To
Get
To
Europe.

And, lucky me: London’s calling.

The blood of filmmakers

I realized something lately. I realized that the people I relate most to, the people that I feel most comfortable around; the people that I am insanely attracted to are the crazy artists.

Filmmakers.
Musicians. (especially drummers – damn them and their rhythmic tendencies…)
Painters.
Photographers.
Actors.
Visual Artists.
Tattoo Artists.

Adam said it best the other day, “Face it, you’re always gonna be attracted to the fidgety geniuses.”

I – fucking – love – artists.

------------------------------

The last time I was producing for film, I thought I would never be able to enjoy watching a movie – ever – again.

I lost my ability to sit back and enjoy watching a film. My detail-oriented mind was too busy processing what was going on behind the scenes, behind the camera. I saw the continuity issues everywhere, mismatched props and lines that were 1/10th of a second out of sync with the print.

I saw the extras and the PAs. I saw the always-disappointing craft services. I saw the long production days and all the shots that were lost due to time, due to lighting, due to budget.

I saw the everyday process that is entering the thinktank and trying to figure out how to salvage the beautiful story that’s trying to unfold.

I saw, everyday, walking into an amazing adventure. Everyday on set is full of unlimited possibilities, crazy encounters.

I saw the masterful art that is the collaborative climactic chaos of filmmaking.

I love being on a film set: the charge, the excitement, the whole “capturing what feels real, what feels present.”

I love making it happen.

I can’t wait to be on set again.

What can I say?

Filmmaking is in my blood and my veins are:
pumping, pulsating and thirsty.

--------------------------------

On the side:

Speaking of pumping, pulsating and thirsty:

It comes as no surprise that I scared off the ridiculously cute ex-mormon writer/religious studies virgo boy from the san fran trip. He’s 24 and full of artsy-angst.. We met on the flight and then ended up sitting right next to each other on the 45 minute BART-ride.

We talked empirical fall-out and the abolishment of religion.

He asked me out.

“Do you know that with all the 30 to 35-year-olds that I’m head over heels for right now, you’re the first boy who’s had the courage to ask me out?”

He smiled wide.

“Is that a yes?”

“That is most definitely a yes.”

We agreed to coffee at SFO before the return flight. I arrived on crutches and he helped me navigate and we had stellas.

We agreed to a second date this week and then I had to open my mouth. I had to use my words and using my words gets me into trouble.

“So you’re a virgo and an ex-mormon…I’m guessing that means you’ve got a lot of pent-up sexual energy that needs releasing.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“Sorry. I’ve been accused of coming on a bit strong lately.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. Still wanna go out again?”

His smile morphed into a sly smirk and he slowly nodded yes.

“Attaya boy.”

(He hasn’t called.)

Damn.
Damn.
Damn.

------------------------------

Speaking of blood:

I’ve gotta hit up the hospital tonight – it simply has to happen.

I’ve been really good about listening to signs lately and in the past couple days, I’ve had 5 different people tell me that the whole bruising and swelling migrating up to my knee is indicative of blood clotting and that, in severe cases, I could be at risk of a stroke.

And if my blood is clotting, I need to know as I’m getting a lot of tattoo work done right now. So. After today’s meeting, a cab ride up to Harborview has gotta happen: nothing says kickin’ Thursday night quite like a county emergency waiting room.

Nice.

--------------------------------

Speaking of meetings:

I’m four hours away from the follow-up with the Producer and, for the life of me, I can’t seem to find my notebook from the meeting with Original Writer. I think I might’ve left it in Fairfax.

Son
Of
A
Bitch.

Oh well. I don’t really need it anyway – I can remember most of it…I think.

--------------------------------

Speaking of Fairfax:

Thanks to Dave for letting me interrupt his work-day so that I could get the naked “blood & ink” iPhoto CD out of this damnable laptop = that’s a BAD Cilantro.

Lesson learned: no more naked pix on the laptop. Period.

---------------------------

Lastly:

Thanks to 303 for the movie last night. We may not have watched much of it, but it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

And, truly, thanks for the pitch deadline.

That is the one thing that I really

Have
To
Make
Happen.

------------------------------

Mobility if you please

It’s decided: I’m not getting out of my pajamas today.

Fuck it.

I can’t very easily leave the house anyway.

There’s that word: house. Yes, the house. What to do about the house?

Yesterday, I found my house. It’s perfect. It’s so me, it’s ridiculous. It’s mine if I want it. I have to decide w/in the next four hours.

The house is in Fairfax, CA, a sleepy little hippie town that’s an easy 30-minute commute into the city (San Francisco). It’s two blocks down from my friends/family.

I had one of the best weekends of my life. It was glorious.

But do I commit to a rent of this magnitude?
Am I jumping the gun?
Am I resisting if I don’t go for it?

------------------

As a fun & added bonus, I’m on crutches now.
I need to stop moving now.
I need to get centered now.
I need to take care of myself now.
I need to write this TV pitch now.

I’m meeting with (new feature) Producer on thurs to download everything from meeting with Original Writer.

I have a huge series of calls on the TV Show this week: huge calls.

I have a photo shoot for MoveOn on Wednesday.

After a few days of over-exertion on a sprained ankle topped off with a not-exactly-easy travel day, I can barely stand up on my own.

Hmmm, how am I going to hold onto my camera? Damn it. I need to get a higher res camera.

---------------------

Oooh!!! So I do have to leave the house today: new Air & Arcade fire. Sorry foot/ankle, it’s just gotta happen.

------------------------------

And then there’s the walking. Walking is a ginormous part of my writing.

Walking is a huge part of my decision making process.

I have to write this pitch this week.

I have to decide on this house today.

And I am immobilized.

--------------------

Clever move, Universe…

Love if you please

This morning as I lie awake and look outside at the rolling northern California hills, I am at peace.

I think of my Writing Partner and how well he’s gonna fit into this project.

I think of how happy I am for him that he’s found his chill Gypsy Traveling Girl.

I think of my Kansas City Boys and how they always make me laugh.

I think of my 303 Ethical Slut Partner in crime & how grateful I am to have found him.

I think of the reconnection with Tattoo Artist & how grateful I am to have found him.

I think of Apple Boy & how much fun we have together.

I think of NY Filmmaker Boy & how grateful I am to have reconnected with him – I can’t wait to be in NY again. I can’t wait to see him again.

I think of my LA Soul Sister & how Joshua Tree is just around the corner.

I think of my North Carolina Parallel Life Path Partner & how he and I are gonna put together one amazing fucking shoot this July.

I think of the Stone Family & how very much I love them.

I think of my amazing Brother, Dad & Mom whom have remained loving & as supportive as they can be as I take this Artist’s Journey.

I think of the reconnection with my cool as hell cousin & how I hope we can unwind in Hawaii together.

I think of my British War Bride & how much she’s taught me about strength & struggle.

I think of my two Amazing Mentors and how blessed I am for their guidance.

I think of my Cape Coral Girl & how I can’t wait to show her the city that saved me.

I think of my Fairfax Family & how our lives have so seamlessly merged.

I think of Seattle, San Francisco, LA, Las Vegas, Nashville, NY, Hawaii…I think of all the travels and all the great people I’m gonna meet along the way.

I think of my photography, my book, bass lessons, creating the tattoo works in preparation for the shoot, the screenplay, the TV show.

I think of my New Sagittarius Writing Partner & how our paths have so easily merged.

I think of the love & joy & bliss that is emanating out of me, that is bleeding out of my soul.

And I smile long and hard.

For, at the moment, I may not have someone as close to me as I’m used to having, but this Saturday morning as I prepare for this meeting, my friends, I am far from alone.

-------------------------

On the side:

I agree with Dave, I don’t think the foot is broken, but I also don’t think I’ll be hiking the mountain tomorrow with him either. Looks like MOMA’s back on – or we’re thinking of a chill picnic somewhere w/the family and photography – sounds perfect.

I can walk, but it’s not with out throbbing, intense pain.

-------------------------

Tonight is “Little Miss Sunshine” with the family. The Academy Award winning Screenwriter of this little jewel just transitioned his working life with that of Pixar…

It just so happens that I happen to have a Pixar connection…

Nice. Nice. Nice.

(This is all good.)

San Francisco if you please

At this moment, I am exactly where I need to be right now…

Intuition told me that the trip down to San Francisco was going to up the frequencies of the synchronicity-laced vibrations…I knew it was only logical…

But I continue to find myself in a state of sheer and utter disbelief regarding the volume and magnitude…

I’d love to relay it all right here, right now…but I’m still processing.

I’m still adjusting.

I’m still trying to breathe.

-----------------

After a killer breakfast with a great friend, I had gone maybe the 100 or so feet from his truck to the check in counter at SeaTac.

I made it that far before the first thing happened.

------------------

And it’s all just so beautiful.

And bittersweet.

I can see so many things right now that are bright & exciting & full of hope & prosperity and then I swing my head & my heart northward to the city I love filled with the people that I love and desire….

And I realize that I am standing in the center of this waterfall…

Alone.

It’s okay to be alone.

An entire year of severe depression taught me what isolation is.

And now I get to see singularity from the complete 180. This is what it’s like to be fully immersed in pure creative pulsating light – alone.

And don’t get me wrong = I love it.

But this uber loving cancer girl who loves to spread the love is looking for someone to share this with…it truly is such an amazing ride.

----------------

There’s much, much more to come – but not tonight. I could easily write for a few hours, but I’ve got to try and get some sleep.

On the side:

The extreme pain in my chest, courtesy of the folks @ Apocalypse, has been replaced by the debilitating pain in my right foot.

“I can’t f@cking believe this. I make it this far and I’m gonna miss the meeting tomorrow b/c we’re gonna have to go to the hospital in the morning b/c my g@d damn foot is broken.”

“I don’t think it’s broken, but I can totally drive you to the meeting tomorrow if you can’t walk on it – all you have to do is make it thru the day.”

-----------------

Here’s to hoping the pain is tolerable enough to make it thru the next 24 hours…

(good time to revert to semi-newfound mantra: i can do this.)

Divorce if you please

All right. Fine.

This blog has gotta happen.
It’s gotta happen before this weekend.
It’s gotta happen before tomorrow’s tattoo session wherein I’m transforming the “eternal” wedding band.

Sorry everything else: this takes precedence.

Thematic overtone: it’s not that things can’t last forever, but we must do our best to remain flexible and adaptable. We must be willing to accept and have the courage to evolve within our relationships when changes present themselves.

For those of you keeping score at home, I’m talking about my marriage: more accurately I’m talking about the dissolution of my marriage.

Hey, boys & girls, we made it nine years = a hell of a lot longer than the bets were waging!!!

It all ties into the whole:

Having made the pact with myself to stop letting fear dictate my decisions and to stop waiting until I’m “not poor anymore” before I feel “comfortable enough” to be an artist.

As many of you know, the implementation of this theory has been working out for me quite well.

And it ushered in even more change.

The “Adam + Jenna” relationship has shifted.

On Valentine’s Day Adam and I decided we were finally ready to part ways.

We’ve known for a solid couple of years now that we were far better writing partners and best friends than we were lovers and spouses.

And we knew that we were making ourselves nothing short of miserable by trying to force everything else around it.

We’ve been discussing separation for quite some time now, but never moved forward (fear, isolation, poverty….)

I came to the realization/revelation that we can absolutely go our separate ways. And it doesn’t have to be full of drama and pain. If we recognize that we’ll both likely be happier either alone or with others….than what’s the hold up?

I just decided that we could figure out a way to work out the details.

And we have been.

So, we decided to focus on what works for us when it comes to maintaining a relationship: the creative writing partnership. Granted, we’re both doing individual projects, but after 5+ years of writing together, we’ve definitely got our “bouncing board”/ editing thing down.

And major things are happening with our projects.

-----------------------

So, yea, the saga of Sleep Deprivation Society continues….and is growing rapidly. And not only with the projects. I finally got the domain name and am in the process of compiling the layout & content for the site. Agent meetings are in the works. (Lots of amazing things are in the works.)

And then there’s everything else.

There’s been a magical renewal in Adam and I’s relationship – such a weight has been lifted. We love each other enough to say, “Let’s stop just sustaining and set one another free to live, love & explore (but hang onto the stuff that works really, really well).”

Our friends keep saying, “My God, you guys are having the best divorce.”

It’s true. We are.

And we’re hanging out with others a lot and fucking enjoying ourselves.

Damn, why didn’t we do this earlier?

Because we had to live thru all of the shit that we’ve been thru, I guess.

-----------------------

It’s been a wild ride – and it’s only getting better by every – single – waking – moment.

Meet the Producer

Two Sundays ago I sought solution from composition. I went out and took a few hundred photographs.

My initial goal was to hit King Street Station and, although I did eventually make it down there, I had several stops along the way.

I ended up at Pike Place Market thinking, “Why am I here? I don’t really have that much of an emotional attachment to this place.”

I ended up at a local artist’s jewelry stand. She’s had the same location for 35 years. I was immediately drawn to an amber rectangular ring.

She laughed.

“Amber brings you peace and calm. You need this right now.”

I paused.

“You have big things on the horizon and you can do it. You need to relax, though.”

“Okay. You have my attention and you’re obviously a damn good salesman.”

Chuckles. Giggles.

“Just an old lady who knows what she sees.”

I bought the ring – a going away gift to myself.

--------------------------

Then I ended up at Elliot Bay Book Company. I immediately started taking pictures: books, lines, and words.

I noticed this guy watching me, smirking. He didn’t have the “I’m going to hit on you energy” more arty-hippy-laid back kinda “gets it” energy.

He approached me.

“May I ask what you’re photographing?”

“Everything actually. It started a couple weeks ago – I just started seeing composition everywhere and I can’t stop capturing it. And I’m a writer so to be in a bookstore taking pictures is kinda like my best afternoon ever.”

Cut to: the fact that he’s a local producer who needs a solid screenwriter for a feature rewrite.

Cut to: him totally understanding the creative oasis that I’m in right now.

Cut to: him attaching me to the project.

Cut to: me flying down to San Francisco this weekend to get some quality face time with the original writer.

Cut to: an ETA of preproduction rolling out (in Seattle) six months from now: September. September is when the TV show wraps production.

Cut to: bliss.

------------------------------

Here’s where it gets crazy.

That night after dumping the 300 pix, Adam pulled up an ottoman and we hit play to see the virginal, pre-edit capture.

And then it rolled by.

“Whoa. Did you see that?” he asked.

He stopped the eloquent iPhoto display and clicked on a singular image. And there it was: captured above the main entrance to Pike Place Market was a giant green banner that read “Meet the Producer.”

I never saw it. (It’s posted under my myspace pics.)

------------------------------

Initially I saw it as the quirky premonition that I was about to meet this local producer.

Then I realized it might have been about meeting myself. It looks as though there’s a strong chance that I might be able to get a D.P friend of mine attached to the feature. I’ve immediately gravitated towards more responsibility with the project.

And then, of course, is the TV show.

Cut to: me realizing that I’m evolving – not only into a writer, but into a producer, too.

----------------------------

On the side:

My Oscar party was a total bust. Original Writer called beforehand and I ended up working thru most of the night. It was great actually. We barely watched the Oscars b/c we were both too busy writing. (adam & I were too busy writing – each on our own projects = this is a good thing!)

That, and a lot of our friends are currently, what I’m calling, “afraid of us.” Sometimes it’s hard for me to relate to the fact that not everybody understands.

On the side II:

I’m finding that my favorite thing to write in is part pajamas/part outerwear like a stocking hat or a scarf.

On the side III:

I’m drowning in post its.

On the side IV:

Sasquatch line-up includes: Interpol, Arcade Fire, Dandy Warhols, I would assume Death Cab will be there…

This year, man I think I can make it – I think I may actually find myself in town – but I gotta say, I won’t be a bit disappointed if I happen to find myself elsewhere…

On the side V:

My Bel to the Baines lease expires at the end of March. wow & damn. I can truly say that I am going to miss the living hell outta living in this building.

A final On the side:

Happier pic of me coming soon – had to put “exhausted & determined” up for awhile. By this weekend I predict “relaxed & full of laughter.”

--------------------

Catching up with all the rest

This weekend it’s gotta happen. The following 3 blogs have got to get written:

1. Meet the Producer
2. Divorce if you please
3. Surrender if you please

This week was, again, unrelenting & amazing:

I fly down the coast on Friday afternoon for a Saturday meeting with the original screenwriter of the new feature project that I am now a part of.

I’m doing a photographic portfolio submission for Moveon.org (can you imagine – me getting paid to shoot rallies & protests??? Have I created heaven on earth or what???).

And I found a place to display three of my top acrylics – for sale – at very nice prices.

(For those of you keeping score at home – I’m in need of a little “start over” fund.)

And I committed to modeling for a photo shoot over the weekend of my birthday. (Think pin-up girl meets tattoos.) I’ve wanted to model for this particular organization for a couple years now….and it presented itself, so I figured, “fuck it – my does well try the shoot out and see what the outcome is.”

The shoot is my 29th birthday present to myself so I’ve got a good 4 months to get heavily into Bikram Yoga and finish up some tattoo work.

------------------------------

So yea, by Friday:

I get to see my incredibly awesome friends = god, I can’t wait to see them. I can’t wait to get into Fairfax again, to get in the city again.

As totally 100% in love as I am with Seattle, I can’t wait to get the fuck outta this city, for a minute at least.

But for the moment, I have a tremendously important deadline that I missed yesterday and I’ve got until noon to wrap it up and get it out the door. And I’m making breakfast for a friend at 9:30am before I have an 11:00am meeting. So that gives me 2 hours…..guess it’s time to stop blogging.

It looks like I am in no way, whatsoever, going to get any time off this weekend, and well, no(s) across the board for next weekend too….

Hmmmm.

Perhaps I need a vacation weekend. A non-work related weekend. I’ve been craving & aching for Hawaii ever since I left – methinks it’s time for a long weekend…

But now, it’s time to write.

----------------------

On the side:

Thanks to Rj for the post-massage outing: good laughs + good Mac products. What more could a girl ask for?

(Well for starters, a smoother evening would’ve been accepted. Guess I can’t manifest everything that I want….at least for now…and that’s okay – I’m already pretty blissed out with what I’ve got!)

All right seriously. I have to get to work.

Circles if you please: part II

I can see how blogging came into my life at the precise time I needed it to. Again, I realize I may one day regret putting it all “out there,” but it’s proving a good channel for management and release. (Methinks I’m gonna need all the management & release aid I can get…)

-------------------

Yesterday’s tattoo session was so exactly what I needed.

I hadn’t seen Tattoo Artist since fall of 2005 (2006 was a bit on the broke and miserable side.) As soon as he recognized me he said, “It is you. You look like a totally different person.”

“I am a totally different person.”

As we settled into his space, I was honest from the get go, “I’m so sorry to do this to you, to purge, but I’ve got a shit ton of stuff that I have to vent about.”

He waved me off and replied, “I tell people that my job is these 3 things in this exact order:

1. Therapist
2. EMT
3. Artist

But, please, purge away. Let’s get caught up.”

It’s been an incredible couple of weeks, but I had just spent the weekend telling immediate family and close friends about the divorce. I was emotionally 100% exhausted.

(Note: “Divorce if you please” is in the works, so for those of you that we haven’t explained it to yet…please bear with us as we’re doing our best to tell people in as timely and as comfortable of a time as we can muster.)

After catching up, we got back into our old swing.

Tattoo Artist and I have a connection of understanding. We get together and talk the basics: music, film, photography, art, travel. But we always find our way to the good stuff: stolen elections, conspiracy theories, assassination attempts, revolution, and riots.

Yes, this boy and I connect on the stage of our socio-political frustrations; i.e. let’s evolve faster/why aren’t we there yet -- fire and anger.

“Whattaya thinks gonna happen in 08?” he asked.

“There’s not gonna be an election. We’ll be at war with Iran and God knows who else. Bush’ll declare martial law and abolish Congress. They’re not gonna give up now, not after they’ve come so far.”

“Are you gonna stay to watch the empire fall?”

“I dunno. I really want to. I really crave it. I wanna see the corporations crumble. I wanna see class war. (It’s true, I do.) Not so pacifisty, is it? “But I also am at a place of peace, acceptance and creation.”

“You could always watch it fall from Europe. All you’ll have to do is turn on the BBC. You’re not gonna wanna come back, you know. I’m telling you, you, are going to fall madly in love with Europe.”

“I know.”

It was really good timing to see Tattoo Artist again. I desperately needed some release and he and I needed to come full circle from our last encounter. Things got a little outta hand with the over-the-top flirtation, likely my fault (but partly the fault of the tattoo).

Yesterday as I arrived, I was not 10 feet inside the shop when he blurted out, “Just so you know, I’m seeing someone.”

“O-kay. Well, just so you know, I’m only here to get some work done.”

Wide smiles were exchanged.

Re: my continued stress management --

He suggested I look into Bikram Yoga, which I had already done and plan on starting classes in San Francisco.

We talked tattoo artists that are in San Fran & LA and I decided that I think I still wanna try and come back to Cap Hill every 6 or 8 weeks. Fly in for a few days, get some work done, see my friends & loved ones. (I don’t have to live here, but I can visit for Christ’s sake!)

I told Tattoo Artist, “I need this. You understand, right?”

He was working around my wrist at the time, lots of bone. He laid on a little added pressure and I gasped ever so slightly.

He smirked.

Yes, he gets it.

----------------------

This morning, I’m running back down to King Street Station. I’ve got some train tracks to capture. Very fitting this series of transportation, because if there’s one thing that spot on, it’s that movement is on the horizon.

Circles if you please

In celebration of the synchronicity & uber inner-connectedness of energy that has blanketed my past two weeks, my present, and my future, please check out my latest pix from today’s tattoo session.

(myspace.com/jdg07)

Thanks, Jack…

A place to live if you please: part II

Yesterday I bought the first piece of furniture for my new apartment: a kick-ass wooden bench. Walking by the garage sale, it popped and I immediately wanted it.

The guy selling it said, “I fucking love this bench…but it’s from a past relationship, and I have to move on. I just do.”

“I totally understand. How much?”

“Forty.”

“I’ll take it.”

I smiled so wide when I realized I had just purchased my first piece of furniture. Never mind the fact that I no longer have a place to live! It’s not really that immediate of a rush…it’s gonna take a few months to settle the debt and iron out the kinks…but still.

I need to be where I’m not gonna be distracted for the next couple of months. Bouncing between LA and Las Vegas, I’m going to have pockets of “time off.” And I need to decide where that’s gonna be.

The three options are:

Seattle.
Joshua tree.
San Francisco.

My plan for the whole “let’s go figure out where to call ‘home’ for the next couple months” was an afternoon of photography. My intent was to get swallowed in composition. (Let the answers surface thru the lines, shapes and colors.)

(Bench) on the side:

Buying the new bench, I couldn’t help but to question the whole wedding shower phenomenon. What about divorce showers? That’s when people need shit!

It’s decided: in a few months, once I figure out what city I’ll be residing in (still feeling the NY pull) I’m throwing myself a “divorce shower.”

---------------------

So I got lost in the city for a good four hours: took some amazing pictures as part of my “transportation” series.

When I left Bel Baines, my head was throbbing with unanswered questions. I wasn’t really stressed but I was very aware that I had some major decisions to make to say the very least.

I started walking and for four hours – didn’t stop taking pictures.

Three weeks is what I’ve got left– three weeks to say my farewell to the city I’ve grown to love so very, very much.

Seattle:
The city I finally decided to stop running in.
The city that I found acceptance in.

Not to mention all of my favorite perkity perks:

Vivace
Zeitgeist
Victrola
Hana
Ali baba
Madison
Baguette Box
Stumbling Monk
Summit

(Notice the order: caffeine, then food, then alcohol, then friends…. ;))

Adam
Kevin
Randall
Ben
Shaun
Margaret
The Rivelands
Kim
Buskha
My paintings
My home
The neighborhood
Cal Anderson – especially when Mt. Rainier is visible
The Olympics
The sunsets
The charge in the air
The city that I lost everything in…
The city that I found so much more…

---------------

By this morning, I had my answer… I know where the “time off” pockets will be.

---------------

I stopped at Zeitgeist yesterday for a pick me up. There’s a new photo series on display: pretty decent stuff, but nothing that wowed me. I checked out the prices…

And I remembered my half-joking concept of putting together a 3.2 pixel show. I suspect it won’t be that long before I’m able to upgrade to a higher res camera. But remembering the 3.2 show, and having recently started the portfolio binder, the printing.

Two new creative endeavors have born as of late that I wanna try and complete by the year’s end:

1. The Book
2. The Photography show

Now…if I can only settle down long enough to focus on the show. (Oh, yeah, the show = remember that?)

-----------------

On the side:

Irony (def.): deciding to tattoo the Chinese symbol for “eternity” on the back of your neck in lieu of a wedding band.

Non Sequitur:

Yesterday a friend reminded me what I have to do on Tuesday in order to get the passport rolling.

Five hours later, my calendar had hinted that I may have some true down time at the year’s end and then a call came in: I had an invite from a very dear friend (and fellow photographer) to go to Europe during that window of time.

Just like that.

-----------------

A place to live if you please

One of my favorite things that came out of the Seattle Public Library series was the “it’s good to have…series”:

“It’s good to have living room.”
“It’s good to have a place to write.”

Suddenly those phrases bear new meaning.

Yesterday my “3-weeks left” timeline hit me. I found myself photographing my apartment into the early hours of the morning: capturing, remembering. After being a depressive energy-vampire for almost an entire year, I’ve been doing my best to not only clean up my own personal living space, but that of the building around me.

I’ve been trying to perk up the place. i.e. “Hey everybody. Sorry I was an ass for a year. Here’s some cool shit.”

Flexcar.
Bike Storage.
A groovy circular fire pit/garden area.

And I feel like all of that is slipping away – dissolving before my very eyes.

--------------------------

I’ve been feeling a pretty immense pull towards the desert. Odd for me, the heavy water sign who dehydrates beyond belief in the desert. But then again, I will be bouncing btw. Las Vegas & LA for a good chunk of time.

A friend has a friend who lives two hours outside of LA – the desert oasis. Joshua tree, Jacuzzi under the stars – the full package. I’ve been checking out the calendar & trying to figure out a hiatus before this pitching frenzy ensues.

--------------------------

Due to the massive changes that’ve recently occurred, yesterday left me questioning if I’d be able to remain at Bel Baines whilst intermittently hopping back into Seattle.

And I found myself wishing that I had somewhere else to go. For a minute, when I thought West Seattle Tattoo Artist girl was still here, I thought about crashing with her. Last I heard, she was looking at houses.

Now, of course, last I heard, she’s no longer in WA state.

Damn.

Then it came in yesterday:

The friend of the friend in the desert is looking for a tenant. Here’s a snippet from the email:

“Ok, here is an interesting prospect I will throw out there, not REALLY knowing what is going with you and what you want/need at the moment, my friend Jeanne, in the desert, is looking for a tenant (the one she had lasted only a few days -- I'll tell you that story) . . . only 2 hours from LA, quiet place to work. The energy can be really powerful, overwhelming even, there. Anyway . . . if you find you need to be in the area more but don't want to be in LA . . .”

----------------------------------

So. What to do? I’ve been trying to locate the answer via analysis and that isn’t getting me anywhere but head spun.

Where will I be less distracted and more able to focus on what I need to be concentrating on?

Here?
By myself, alone in the desert under the stars?

I’ve got a couple of incomplete paintings that’ve been calling and I’m doing a King Street Station & Metro “transportation” shoot today.

Perhaps the answers will surface thru lines and colors.

----------------------------

On the side:

I’ve had my cell phones under the maintenance/insurance plans for, well, forever – up until recently. I upgraded and thought, “Why exactly do I pay $5/month on insurance that I’ve never once had to use?” So I dropped it.

Addendum to on the side:

I fucking hate how there’s regulation on insurance and how it relates to us having to insure the material things that we own but not our own health.

This was one of the main reasons why I sold our car. It drove me insane to be paying auto insurance when I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor.

Anyway.

Cut to: yesterday.

Now with the sans insurance on the newish phone – I dropped it; not once but twice.

And it shattered my display screen. (The image behind the display screen is a painting I did of Adam and I.)

(Thanks for the jab.)

Tattoos if you please

So far when it comes to artistic output I’d say that I feel most comfortable with writing & photography.

Painting has a tendency to get me into trouble.

Painting has a tendency to embarrass the living shit outta me.

I think I had reached a place recently where I decided against blogging about this, but it really is too damn funny not to share. And it’s coming full circle, so I figured what the hell.

You see, there’s this painting. It originated from a vision I had while meditating. The vision bore the message of, “give birth to yourself.” Visually, I saw a being that was being transported thru an orb of light.

I painted it and it meant so much to me that I had it tattooed on my right calf.

Cut to: Seattle – fall of 2005. I decided to have it touched up. My tattoo artist turned out to be a really cool guy that used to run with an anarchist pack in Europe. We bitched about the U.S., we laughed our asses off – we really got along.

“So what exactly is this on your leg? Explain it to me again.”

I did.

He smirked and the artist next to us chuckled.

“What”

“Do you think that maybe it looks like something else?”

More laughter.

“Oh you mean the pussy thing? Well, yeah – I mean, technically that is a channel of rebirth, a portal, right?”

So the funny thing about this goddamned tattoo is that I never saw it – EVER – as resembling a pussy – not until numerous quantities of humans started pointing it out to me.

Now that it’s tattooed on my body (rather largely I might add) – now I see it.

Son of a bitch.

So, that day, an array of pussy jokes painted my tattoo session – so much so that we had to keep stopping b/c we were laughing so hard. And suddenly, as he colored into the lines of my orbish-painting, it felt immensely more intimate.
The laughter and pot-shots diminished and the tattoo was nearly completed.

At the time, their award-winning Asian artist was just arriving back from a stint in Japan. The space was excited in anticipation of his arrival. He got back while I was being worked on….walked into the room, looked down at my leg and grinned, ear-to-ear and exclaimed, “Nice pussy.”

Again, more laughter erupted.

That session ended with the tattoo artist asking me out. At the time, I told him I didn’t think it was a possibility but agreed that we certainly hit it off.

Cut to: yesterday.

Thru a friend I had reestablished a connection to a really cool girl, the tattoo artist who originated the “pussy” tattoo. She was supposedly living in West Seattle now.

Turns out she’s already moved again and is now living out-of-state.

Damn. I’m craving some work.

Cut to: today.

I decided what I wanted next and went back into the shop to make an appointment.

-----------------------

This time it’s circles only – no more orby ellipses -- no more things that can resemble any vaginal-related jokes whatsoever.

And for those of you that have regular access to my acrylics, I challenge you to seek out the volume of “orbs” that present themselves... I swear, it’s always behind my conscious knowledge….

That’s what makes it so damned funny….

Angels if you please

I forgot to include this in my earlier blog and it’s a classic demonstration of my newfound relationship with synchronicity.

Yesterday as I was examining my dwindling checkbook and absorbing the extreme changes that are currently taking place, fear tapped on my shoulder.

“Are you sure you can handle this? You asked for the intensity. Remember?”

All things considered, I feel like I’m managing remarkably well. I’m smiling and laughing and hanging out with others more than I have in a very long time. And for the past two weeks, it’s been raining messages of, “It’s okay. You’re in a safe place and are going to be taken care of. Keep moving forward.”

So yesterday right after fear was knocking I heard a voice, plain as day, say, “Angels are watching over you.”

Immediately afterwards I slipped downstairs to pick up the mail and I had a package: a used book that I had ordered off of Amazon.

Here’s the kicker.

Out from the front cover of the book slips a card. Guess what’s on the cover: an angel. Inside it says, “Jenna – happy Valentine’s Day” – smiley face/wink.

(This from a complete stranger, mind you.)

-------------------------

And then in the afternoon, it started to sprinkle bliss again.

Clarity

Valentine’s Day brought monumental change to the DeLacey-Gillick household.

It has been an amazing and much needed blessing.

And everything else is shifting rapidly.

My 4 and ½ week window that I thought I had just regained to prepare for the pitches is now cut down to 3 weeks and once that period hits, I’m going to find myself traveling a lot.

I’m so very thirsty for it.

Next week the passport has gotta happen – there’s just too many good things manifesting right now and I wanna put some energy in the direction of international travel.

My instincts tell me that over the course of the next few months, I’m going to find myself being truly tested – let’s see just how flexible, adaptable & strong I can really be.

-------------------------------

On the side:

Reconnected with my uber-cool west seattle girly tattoo artist yesterday. I let her know that regular work is on my horizon – I need my grounding tools to help me make it thru this.

------------------------------

And I had to google “how to boil an egg” for the second time last night. ;)

www.ehow.com/how_1163_boil_egg.html

Am I fucking crazy? I can hold all this shit together and make incredible things happen, but at 28, I have to re-google “how to boil an egg.”

He he.

Change is on the horizon

Last night, exhaustipated beyond recognition, I fell asleep in the bathtub.

Two important things to remember when falling asleep in the tub:

1. Keep your head above water.
2. Be prepared for the shear hell that is waking up 1 and ½ hours later pruned & shivering.

----------------------

Yesterday I nearly found myself in southern California for a week. The momentum on this show is pulling me forward faster than even I can keep up with. It was a roller coaster of a day and it verified two things:

1. There’s a lot of interest generating around this show.
2. I’m going to be taken care of until it sells.

----------------------

In closing craziness, this damn book won’t leave me alone. By 1am last night I had outlined what I guess can be best described as the table of contents – all 50 elements and I realized that I’m probably gonna have to increase the volume by about 50%. I highly doubt this will be a problem.

I’m dying to dive into it. I’m dying to get out and work on my Feb photo series, but if there’s one thing I learned yesterday, I need to buckle down and hammer out the sweetest pitch I’ve ever put together.

------------------------

Finally, my office is shrinking. Computers, files, projects, drafts and imagery are blanketing me (and making it very hard to find either one of my phones when they ring).

I’m loving it, but man, I need a bigger office. (I suspect this will happen soon.)

One last gift before the night is thru

Starting last Monday, it began sprinkling bliss.

By tonight it was an unrelenting downpour.

Swimming through this newfound sea of immersion, somehow we have found the clarity that has been fogging the shores of our containment.

--------------------------

The key is to put energy into the parts of a relationship that work, and to allow the release of the parts that work no longer.

Every day for the past nine has been nothing short of miraculous.

Again, I could get used to this.

Love & Goals

As usual I have a hundred thousand other things I should be doing other than blogging, but fuck it.

As the Universe aptly timed, I intended on today’s blog being “Polyamory if you please.”

But, to be honest, I just don’t have it in me to concentrate. I’ve got a room full of ticking clocks and their alarms are all about to start ringing.

--------------------------

That being said, last night while reviewing my 2007 To Manifest List, I was chicken-scratch updating it with the progress I have and haven’t made and in the spirit of sharing and being on display here’s what it looks like:

Accept myself fully as an artist. -- yes. i think I’m there
Accept myself fully as everything else. --yes. quite close

Sell “Soak” -- working on it
Sell “Ballroom Underground” -- so, so working on it
Settle Debt -- working on it

Start taking a regular yoga class -- nope
Chant daily -- nope
Stop all self-injury -- doing pretty well with this, overall

Read at least 3 nights a week -- not even close
Compile the screenplay collection. Print and read one script every week. -- started, yes

Complete “Story” by February -- not even close
Write a new short script by March -- hmmmm

Complete “A People’s History” -- haven’t touched it

Sell MyDemoWorld -- know where I wanna go…but haven’t moved on it yet
Sell Permagrin Pies -- haven’t done anything with this

Discover & implement what the next major writing project is (be it an individual or collective project). – yes! this has been a major one

One painting per month. -- yup, so far

Complete Avatar through the Master’s level -- working on & towards

Sell Modern Wreckage -- yes, working on
Sell disintegrate -- yes, working on

Blog goal of 4 days per week -- i don’t think I needed to set a goal for this ;)

Buy a loft in Pioneer Square -- no longer a desire of mine
Take photography classes -- no classes but I am shooting, editing, & printing

A good digital camera -- doing okay with what I’ve got for now
A good digital HD video camera -- yes, working on it

Obtain Passports for Adam and I -- haven’t done anything for this yet

Transition into the living artist lifestyle. Every day creating. Every day open to personal development, growth and expression. -- yes, most definitely

New Mac laptops for Adam and I. -- refurbished iBook “Cilantro” has joined the
family

Adam’s home studio. The G5, large monitor, Pro Tools. Whatever he needs.
--working towards ProTools

Transition musical library onto external HD and iPods. -- yes, working on

A comfortable wardrobe for both of us. -- whatever

Dental & Eye care. -- ha ha ha

More tattoos. -- craving them, yes

A kitten. -- not yet

Volunteer. -- when exactly….?

Friends. I’ve got to start sharing my life with others. Yoga & Avatar should help. -- yes

Take a cooking class. I want to start creating with food more. -- no cooking classes yet, but I am semi-preparing halfish meals

Reach and maintain ideal body weight of 130-135 lbs. -- almost there

--------------------

The show has been flourishing.

I was able to define my new major writing project and was not all that surprised to discover that it is a book. I’ve already got the first 2/3 outlined. It’s just pouring out, connecting and making sense.

I miss screenwriting, and am wanting to somehow find some more time for it, but perhaps the Universe is telling me to practice on the craft a little more…you know, actually finishing “Story” would be a good thing. And my “rewrite your heroes” thing seems to be working for me pretty well.

The other major thing has been the photography. Along with the goal of a monthly series, I just recently started printing up a few of the favs, which lead to frames, which lead to the birth of the portfolio binder.

Good times.

--------------------

So, I feel like, for perhaps the first time in my life, I’ve been truly loving my inner artist child. (She is grateful.) And that, my friends, is the best damn Valentine’s Day gift I could give myself or anyone else.

----------------------

May this day bring you laughter and love.

Tuesday night

Tonight I discovered what is soon to be a frequent occurrence for me:

1 part lawn(ish) chair
1 part ottoman
1 part balcony
7 parts candles
1 part incense
1 part bowl
1 part glass of red wine
1 part laptop

I could get used to this.

Organization if you please

Yesterday as I was plotting out my upcoming workweek I got overwhelmed.

“It is inhumanly impossible for one person to accomplish all of this in seven days (five if I intend to give myself a weekend off which hasn’t happened for quite some time).

It’s okay though. The productivity will help get me thru the stress (I think).

Anyway, I was thinking, “I need a reward. I need the Universe to give me a little something that says, “It’ll be okay, here’s a little treat.”

As do all things in my life, I was almost instantly rewarded in threes.

First was an audio CD that my mentor in LA recommended as a tool to help me out with the development of the verbal pitches.

Then I received a book that was highly recommended by a friend.

Then I received a pretty fine ass refurbished and fully loaded iBook from my neighbor across the hall. It was one of those decisions that had to happen. I had to make the gamble and invest in it b/c I’m going to need my own laptop desperately in the upcoming months.

It’s amazing, though. Things that I need: tools, laughter, resources, they’re all just floating into my space, falling into my lap (which I am very, very grateful for).

Hmm. How far can I go with this I wonder?

----------------------

So here I sit, daily, surrounded by my overflowing tools of organization:

Two computers
Laser Jet printer
Digital camera
Two phones
Palm pilot
Hard copy binder of daily, weekly, and monthly goals
Seven notebooks
Two inboxes
Three separate filing trays
And oh do I get lost in the post its

I gotta admit that I absolutely thrive in controlled chaos.

I love deadlines. I love the procrastination and the mad dash to the finish line. I love delivering.

---------------------

Yup. Still sounding like a producer.

2007: The Year of "Let's make it Happen"

2007: The Year of “Let’s make it Happen”

The thing about resistance is once you’re able to release it; you’re amazed at how smoothly things flow.

I feel like so many of us live inside this bubble world of how we envision, how we imagine, our lives to be, regardless of the category of desire: career, lover, geographical home-base, social life, friend base.

We want to travel. We want to explore. We don’t want to be tied down to jobs we loathe. We want to be better, more productive artists.

We want to be more of whom we allow ourselves to be when we’re alone with ourselves in our heads.

Overtime, somehow, we convince ourselves that the utopian reality we imagine our lives to be “one day” is never something that’s really attainable.

Fantasy.
Dreamland.
(“Get your head outta the clouds. It’s time to grow up already and join the ‘real world.’”)

I’ve written about this before, but I’ll say it again:

We create our own versions of reality.

So take that first step towards the place that you desperately want to be – even if it scares the living hell out of you.

You’ll find that it’s not so bad. It’s manageable. It’s exciting. (The Universe will reward you and illuminate the next step.)

Before you know it you’re closer to the utopian reality than you are to your old reality.

--------------------

The phrase “let’s make it happen” has been on a relatively constant recycle for the past couple of years. It’s a regular in a friend’s vocabulary.

I’ve recently started noticing it more, for it’s obvious simplicity.

For example:

“Let’s make it happen.”
“We should make it happen.”
“We gotta make it happen.”

Words. Sentences. Composition. Language. How often do we actually process words for their literal meanings?

A good friend of mine, going four or five years back now, had a Japanese foreign exchange student staying with him. The student and I were conversing, practicing “real” American English. I described a (then) recent experience as “crazy” and my story was lost in translation.

“What does she mean, crazy?” she asked, eyebrow forked.

“She didn’t literally mean crazy. She’s being lazy. She calls herself a writer but is really being quite lazy with her vocabulary,” my friend replied.

Ouch. (He had a point.)

--------------------------

It’s no secret. I’ve always had a really hard time placing money alongside art.

And I rather recently recognized that this likely has a rather substantial correlation to the fact that I haven’t made any at it.

(I think I’m finally ready to start collecting.)

--------------------------

Creativity is flowing all around me. It’s flowing for a lot of people right now that I care very deeply about.

And for those of you that it’s not flowing for, the only thing that’s holding you back is the belief that what you desire is unattainable.

--------------------------

So, whattaya say, everybody? Here’s to 2007 being the year that we all “make it happen.”

It's happening

This all comes back to New Orleans. It all started that night that I was magnetized to the innards of that dive blues bar. Meeting some locals and hearing their stories, all with the beauteous backdrop of the live, warm, vibrational wavelengths of the blues.

I was blessed with a substantial amount of downtime on that shoot and had a lot of time to explore. I drank in all the artists, pouring their hearts out on the streets, open and on display.

And something happened. The part of me that had given up on everything ignited. The part of me that swore I’d never stop fighting, regardless of the difficulties and circumstances, surfaced.

I remember calling Adam that night after leaving the blues bar and all I could do was cry. I was sitting in some dark alley off of Bourbon Street sobbing uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity.

“I’m wasting my life. I’m holding back. These people have lost everything and they’re singing in the streets.”

The following night a co-worker took me out on a bender.
And I made a pact with the Universe that I wanted another shot.
The following day I was approached to develop the show.

--------------------

LA has been flooding my memory bank lately and I can’t help but to take it as a sign that production offices will be out of LA (and not NY). It makes sense: I need to come full circle with my LA experience.

During my tenure at Production Company Hell (let’s call it PCH, shall we? Actually the offices where just off of the PCH), I flourished…up until the point where I crashed.

I was the first intern to get hired into the company and quickly took on more and more responsibilities. At one point the CEO sat me down and said, “Okay. Rule number one is you don’t tell anyone your age (I was 19). Rule number two is you don’t tell anybody about your education (or lack thereof). I had a swarm of interns underneath me that had their masters and doctorate degrees from the UCLA and USC film programs for Christ’s sake.

As time passed I started hearing a lot of, “You’re going to make one helluva producer one day.”

I giggled. I blushed. I ate it up.

As more time passed and it continued to consume more and more of my time, my life, my responses morphed into, “No I’m not. There’s no way in hell that I’m gonna do this with the rest of my life. Absolutely not.”

Cut to: now.

The messages that keep coming my way re: the show are, “They’re likely gonna want you to stay on board, at least for the pilot season, as a producer…you know, to get it off the ground.”

“But I’m not a producer. I’m a writer.”

“Uh-huh, right. But this is your project. You are the nucleus of this thing. Who else is gonna steer the ship?”

Then it hit me.

We now have two LLCs under us: Sleep Deprivation Society, which houses the screenplays and now the show.

This is the third TV show we’ve created. The first one we were hired to develop and the second one was a parallel development to a new Spielberg/Burnett show that’s debuting soon.

We’ve written four screenplays, two of which have been optioned.

We’re currently shopping around an entertainment industry-based website concept (no. 1 on the list is the Spielberg/Burnett team that beat us to the punch with the show’s counterpart).

“Holy shit. I’m producing. Son of a bitch. They were right.”

-----------------------------

Last week while en route to Madison Market I had to stop at Vivace on Denny: I had an “aha” moment (it’s been raining these) and I had to write it down. Scribbling on a napkin, grinning ear-to-ear, I couldn’t help but to think, “It’s totally happening. I’m turning into this crazy writer that’s ducking into anywhere she can find a napkin.”

No bullshit: I currently have seven notebooks going, broken down by various content. Three of them have to be with me at all times.

The countdown is on: the pitches roll out in six weeks. And I’m going alone. I have the show pretty much set. What’s gotta happen now is the composition of the verbal pitch, the rehearsal and memorization, and then being able to deliver it w/out it feeling rehearsed and memorized.

And I have to work on reigning my energy in a bit. (Thank you to all the friends that have been putting up with my uber high-energyness.)

------------------------------

So – it’s on. It’s happening. And this time my head is truly in the game. This time I’m not gonna walk away, no matter how intense it gets...

When it rains, it pours

I cannot even begin an attempt at accurately capturing the mind-bending oddities that have been this first week of February.

Channels, gateways & portals have all opened up and energy has been flowing & vibrating around me from all directions.

It has been incredibly intense and I can’t help but to wonder how long it will continue.

Perhaps this is my “new reality.”

--------------------------

Traffic

Next on the rewrite your heroes list is Stephen Gaghan’s “Traffic.”

144 pages.

Ouch.

I started off by spell-checking the thing.

Most frequent words that spell check didn’t recognize:

Cokehead
Methhead
Clusterfuck
-------------------

Nice.

I can't quite tell what's happening

For once, I am at a loss for words.

Today was full of more synchronicities than I thought was possible to experience.

This week’s surrealistic elements continue to multiply as the hours roll past.

I want to try and express some of the things that have been happening and I don’t even know where to begin.

It’s been a wild couple of weeks…..and for the life of me, I can’t stop smiling.

Mental Health Days

Growing up, Adam’s mom allowed for what she defined as “mental health days.” Whenever life got too overbearing, Adam was able to stay home from school and veg out, recover.

I thought this was such a brilliant concept. Although, in hindsight, I likely would’ve never graduated had I taken such liberties. Every other day would’ve been a mental health day.

After Gray Monday, I surrendered to the fact that my Tuesday was primed and lubed for nothing less. For the record, it’s really hard for me to give myself time off, but I’m learning that if I don’t, things get worse -- fast.

So yesterday was nothing more than painting, picking up a gift for a friend’s newborn and talking with several friends that are peppered across the country.

I had to sacrifice another day’s forward progress in order to prevent a mild mental disconnect. And it was so worth it.

I made it until about 2:00pm before the pain in my right ear had me nearly vomiting. I pondered a trip to the hospital. This is, by far, the most physical pain I’ve experienced in quite some time. Instead, I consumed what was left of my share of the brownies, resulting in about 2 and ½ hours of alleviation.

I also swallowed as many homeopathies as I thought could apply to my situation. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep for about 4 days now.

Last night, I got out for a cool stroll around the neighborhood: it was cool and foggy and gorgeous outside.

For the past couple weeks while the show’s LLC paperwork has been processing, I’ve been trying to formulate the exact pitching plan of attack. Something’s been missing and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the solution has been marinating and percolating on my mind’s peripherals.

Last night on the walk, the solution surfaced, just like that. The answer was right in front of me.

And so, once again, I recognized the fact that I needed to ease up on trying to force things forward. I took a day off and by the day’s end had the answer to the question that’s been plaguing me for weeks.

---------------------------------

On the side:

I have an email rule and that rule is: no emails after consuming more than 2 drinks. I doubt I have to explain this rule any further….

The thing with this rule that’s been snagging me up recently is the fact that the limit has a variable reaction to the amount of food that is consumed before the drinks. As I said I haven’t been eating and at night have been having a glass of wine to try and help me to sleep.

I get overly loving and esoteric when I drink (which is far better than the old aggressive and unrelenting predator that used to come out).

Luckily, my friends are understanding enough to forgive any correspondences that may find themselves the result of my experiments.

This drinking rule also heavily applies to blogging. Sometimes I read over a blog and think, “ What the fuck am I doing? Am I crazy to put this shit out there?”

But what do I care? I recognize that it has the potential to come back and bite me in the ass, but for the time being, I’m having fun. I was able last night to define my blogging as theatrical voyeurism. (And here I was just thinking that I had gotten past the whole wanting to be the center of attention….) ;)

What can I say? I’m a storyteller.

----------------------------------

Gray Monday

Yesterday, the fog never lifted. It was beautiful. It was reminiscent of January 2006 when we were getting heavy into the no sunshine for weeks phase.

It was appropriate.

My week started off with an intervention for my dying neighbor. I’ve been doing my best to help her with meds, groceries, cooking, cleaning, etc., but she’s been continuously deteriorating. Knowing I’ve got travel on the horizon, I went to the owners.

“I need help. I’m getting in over my head here.”

It ended up being this amazing morning of lucid, intimate conversation, just the three of us women. The owner and I realized rather quickly that we’re were going to have to be vulnerable and share ourselves in order to get the old lady to open up to the fact that she needs some professional help.

It was emotionally draining.

Then around four, a call came in from a lesbian friend of mine. We’ll call her Fremont (neighborhood she lives in). A quick history of Fremont and I: we share mutual friends from Florida and met thru them. The second time I met Fremont, was summer of 06 when I was deep in the trenches. I was ragingly pissed off and depressed and I was looking into finding a way out of the U.S. for a couple of years.

She also dances with depression from time to time and has an admitted drinking problem.

That second meeting was at the Saloon, a pub in Pioneer Square. We ranted and bitched over five, count em’ five, pitchers. Ouch. I got lost trying to find my way home that night. (Navigating the trek from Pioneer Square to Capitol Hill is not exactly rocket science.) Finally finding Belmont Ave., Adam was kind enough to not harass me and even fed me. I passed out -- hard.

For the record, this is why I do my best to not socialize with alcoholics. The inner-saboteur, bloody pissed off budding revolutionary likes to come out and play, and she doesn’t get to steer anymore.

We’ve hung out a few times since then under the guise of, “hey let’s get together and drink less then we did that one time.”

The last time we hung out we were both in bright, positive places and we had a remarkably good time. She had just started dating someone new and had the whole “new infatuation” thing going on: can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do anything but think about the next time you’re going to see the person again, checking your email every 25 minutes to see if the new object of desire has sent anything..

That place is such an intoxicating place to be. I sat back and allowed her to gush.

Back to yesterday’s call.

“Hey, what’re you up to? I’m in Capitol Hill. Wanna meet for a couple pitchers?”

God, did I.

“I really can’t. Rough day and as much as I’d love to wash it down, methinks that isn’t the best course of action for me at the moment. Everything okay?”

“Girlfriend cheated on me Friday night. I finally decide to start dating again after 4ish years and, right outta the gates, man.”

“I’m so sorry.”

When they started dating, New Girlfriend told Fremont that she was dating other people and that she was, in no way, willing to explore exclusivity. It was an open relationship.

“Wait a second. Did you say she cheated on you? I thought she was upfront about the fact that she was already seeing other people?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what?”

Silence.

“You fell in love with her and wanted her for yourself.”

“I thought I could handle it, but it’s really hard.”

“I know. You also knew from the start that she was a game player and loved being the center of attention. You identified the fact that this girl was likely gonna hurt you.”

I know this place. I used to be attracted to only the guys that would hurt me. I think it was spun out of my need to take care of/save/rescue others, which stemmed from me doing a hefty amount of the raising of my younger brother.

The brother and I were comrades. He’s hearing impaired and I was always so over-protective of him. Both parents were alcoholics. Both parents were always with abusive partners. I had my work cut out for me. He ended up being a wildly popular and quite talented basketball player.

He’s currently finishing up grad school and married a stunningly beautiful and bright girl in August of 2005. At the reception, my uncle (and Godfather) and my Grandfather both took the time to let me know what a good job I had done raising him.

I’d never sought out any thanks; he was my brother, of course I was gonna look out for him. But it was a really loving gesture they both made on that day.

I lost a good couple of years in my late teens to a lost soul that I was trying to rescue. He was older and took me for a pretty bad ride. Restraining orders were involved.

Then in college, I paired up for awhile with a drummer who was a loud mouth and liked to be the entertaining heart of every party. I knew from the get go that he was going to hurt me, but I didn’t care. I was really into him, far more than he was ever into me.

He was hilarious and he was angry and he was the extrovert party favor that I was at the time.

He told me from the very beginning that he was never gonna “let me in.” Our relationship was never gonna be anything more than just-for-fun.

I fell in love.

That Christmas I flew up to Minnesota and drove my car back down to Florida. He was with his family in Missouri and I stopped in for what was supposed to be a few days.

We met up with two of his friends (boys) that night and started bar hopping. I was 18 and had a not-so-convincing fake i.d. We landed at a stip club and, no shit, all these strippers excitedly made their ways over to greet him.

I turned to one of his friends, “Oh, it’s like that.”

“Yup.”

His two friends were really cool, much nicer than he was, so I decided that I was gonna hang out with them more so than the boyfriend.

Boyfriend caught on and ordered me a lap dance.

“You’re not into this, are you honey?” asked the over-sized DD cups.

“Sorry. Fake tits just don’t do it for me.”

She dismounted and strutted away. I smiled, thinking, “I always wanted to say that to a stripper.”

We changed up venues and continued to drink our way across town. I eventually got thrown out for the fake i.d.

Back at his parent’s house, he had passed out somewhere and the two friends and I were scavenging for food.

One of them glided his hand down my arm.

“So, Boyfriend said that he’s cool sharing you with us.”

“He said WHAT? Where is he?”

I started packing my things. They apologized, halted my departure and talked me into sobering up first.

The next day, his mother told me that she thought I was too nice for him.

Boyfriend and I got the house to ourselves and I proceeded to tie him up to a bed. That was during my “I like to tie up boys phase.” My intent was simple: disrobe, tie, excite, and leave.

Somewhere between excite and leave, I decided that maybe I could leave a couple hours later. I knew this was likely going to be our last time together.

Returning back in Florida three days early, my stranger-than-fiction roommate asked why I was back so soon.

“I realized Boyfriend is a complete and total asshole.”

“You JUST realized that?”

Then I thought I was pregnant (from Boyfriend). I told him. He was honorable enough to go to the doctor with me: false alarm -- we were not pregnant.

He never spoke to me again.

Shortly afterwards, I totaled out my car in a drunk driving accident.

Then I met Adam and was introduced into the pot-smoking art crowd. Thank fucking God.

Adam and I are now going on nine years. Nine years. That blows my mind. We were damn kids when we got married, had no idea what we were in for. And, I think, as we’ve grown, if we were both single, we would possibly not entertain the idea of marriage. Marriage creates obvious boundaries and borders. I can see how this could come off as ironical, but we’re both big fans of not closing ourselves off to others…

Life is all about relationships, sharing lessons & laughter with others.

Several years back, I was the one who was really pushing for us to open ourselves up to others, and I was the one that struggled with the jealousy at first.

In 2005 & 2006, when we were working & living together 24/7, it got pretty insufferable. We noticed that everybody started to referring to us as a singular entity. I remember correcting somebody on it one time.

“We are actually separate individuals, you know.”

“Well, yeah, you are, but it’s also kinda like you’re not, you know?”

Back to Fremont: I apologized for not meeting for drinks and told her to take some time with the situation.

“Let’s reconvene next week and have a pint or two instead of a pitcher or two.”

I hung up and got outside for some air. Turning the corner, I ran into a guy who was sobbing. A friend approached him from the opposite side of the street.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” the friend inquired.

“Grey fucking Monday,” was the response.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I offered.

Can I just say how great it is to be in a place in life where I don’t allow myself to get entangled with people who (I know) are gonna hurt me?

John August and the Eternal Sunshine edit

I have something very embarrassing, and very funny, to write about. However, I’m trying to decide if it’s something I really wanna blog about. I think I do, as it’s not something that I’m not doing a very good job of hiding as it is…..and, as do all pesterly things that demand my attention, it keeps on surfacing all around me….in more ways than I can deny.

And it is really funny.

It’s one of those things that’s very much falling under the category of “just go with it.”

But it’s not really a Monday morning blog. It’s a little more along the lines of a “gearing up into the weekend” blog.

So for today, I’ll share my love for John August & my recent experience with the Eternal Sunshine edit.

John August came into my radar ala “Go.” I feel like a lot of my friends assume that I’m only into dark, arty films. But I love anything that’s clever, entertaining, well written and well executed. I love “Go.”

One of the most often heard pieces of advice that I’ve received over the years as far as screenwriting goes is, “Get your hands on spec scripts. Read as many of them as you possibly can.”

This was easy as hell when I was in the industry. Covering scripts was part of my job. Although I didn’t get to do it as much as I wanted to. I was too busy coordinating with the studios, with the agents, with all the other executive assistants in town. I was too busy deciphering complex legal documents and trying to translate them. I hated it (and the knowledge I attained through my tenure has continued to benefit me to this day.)

I’d always bring armloads of scripts home to cover on nights and weekends and then I’d end up in the office well into the nights & over the weekends and Adam would read and cover the scripts for me. ( (To those screenwriters, I apologize….you had (at the time) a Sound Effects Editor telling our story department to “pass.” ))

Anyway, our VP of Development (who was an uber cool guy) would always usher me over to the enormous pile of incoming scripts and say, “Here. You wanna learn about screenwriting? Read these. This is how NOT to write.”

Nine and a half times out of ten, the writing was deplorable.

That VP of Development had an entire wall of specs. I loved it. He and I shared an unspoken understanding of how fucked up the environment was that we worked in. Countless times throughout the day make I would make my way into his office, the only space that had even a remote hint of chill energy. I would kneel by him and let the wall of scripts overtake my field of vision.

“This place sucks,” I would bitch.

“Yeah. Wanna get the hell outta here and go get me a falafel sandwich?”

“Yes. Anything.”

We would always escape in each other’s shared smirks whenever we’d get lost under the weight of the hell that was that damn production company.

I’ve lost touch with him over the years, but would love nothing more than to reconnect with him...

After leaving LA, I noticed how difficult it is to get your hands on good spec scripts. Most things to be found online are shooting scripts. And for the ones I am able to scavenge, I can never really be sure of the draft date that is listed. In other words, how many times has the draft I’m reading already been rewritten?

Give me the original. I want the original.

Ever since the VP’s wall of scripts, it has been a desire of my to create my own. I always let the cost stand in my way: that’s a lot of paper and toner cartridges. But I’m tired of excuses and I’m tired of succumbing to my false belief that “there’s not enough” money.

So three weeks ago I downloaded Kaufman’s “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

Only my Screenwriter software was not agreeing with the Final Draft version that was available. This meant I had a lot of editing to do.

So along with downloading and reading a script a week, I started reading screenwriter’s blogs. I love how observant writers are. They’re always listening for that next great piece of dialogue to snag. They’re always on the hunt for a clever pairing of words, for the key that unlocks the mystery of the not-quite-there-scene. They’re always capturing and regurgitating the backwards-ass ironies of every day life.

And, for the most part, they can be fucking hilarious when they’re not holing themselves up during their cavernous isolationist periods.

I highly recommend the following two of August’s (non-industry-related) blogs:

1. A message to Dr. Phil

http://johnaugust.com/archives/2005/a-message-to-dr-phil

A lot of the blog comments are pretty good on this one, too.

2. Don’t panic as you hit the panic button

http://johnaugust.com/archives/2005/dont-panic-as-you-hit-the-panic-button

For the panic button, be sure and read the text first and then click on the picture of the sign so that you can read, line for line, exactly what it says.

Anyway, I don’t think it was August’s advice (for the life of me, I can’t remember who said this) but it was a screenwriter and his advice was to type word-for-word your favorite scripts. The whole follow what you love mentality. Get into the rhythms of your idols: their structure, their set up, description, dialogue.

The stubborn pioneer that wants to pave her own way has always felt this path to be too time consuming, too laborious.

“Damn. That sounds like work.”

And then it happened kind of by accident. I was proofing the Eternal Sunshine download and I started to notice a lot of the description had dialogue in it. So I combed the entirety of the script, reading only the description and I shifted the occasional dialogue hiccup that was in the wrong place.

Then I combed the entirety of the script reading the dialogue only and I found that a lot of the dialogue had description in it.

Obviously some software formula glitch. I tried, for a while, to find the quick-key fix. (It wasn’t meant to be found.)

This resulted in my reading, editing and polishing Charlie Kaufman’s nearly original script (twice). It also allowed me the perspective of reading the story from the perspectives of: description only and then dialogue only.

I got a feel for his cadence, the “realness” of his dialogue.

I found out that the original script was a lot heavier than what ended up on screen.

The last ten pages, literally, had me shivering.

“Damn. That Charlie is one dark motherfucker.”

And I laugh at all the passes we’ve gotten. Not to pat ourselves on the back or anything, but we’ve been blessed with some detailed and bountiful praise. But the catch is always that it’s just “a little too dark.” (Really. Like darker than “Requiem for a Dream”, “Boys Don’t Cry”, or “Happiness?” Darker than Kaufman’s original of “Eternal Sunshine?”)

Tangent. Steering it back to conclusion crossing.

I have a clean, hard ESOTSM copy that I can read as an all-inclusive piece. And I have restarted the project that was born years ago: the wall of scripts.

Flirtation if You Please

I’ve already blogged about the importance of art therapy and laughter, both positive forms of release. Flirtation knocks on the door, “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

In my mid-to-late teens I was an outrageous, over-the-top, excessively embarrassing in hindsight flirt, but not in the positive form of release sort of way. I used my sexuality as a tool for manipulation. It was all about mind games. I don’t know what I liked more: the boys or fucking with their heads. (Okay. I do know what I liked more.)

Yes. I was “that” girl.

My junior year of high school I paired up with a gorgeous, equally sexually charged senior girl. Our friendship was centered on our love of male mind fucking.

My only collegiate experience was in a recording arts based environment. Lots of techie musician boys with a disproportionate male-to-female ratio. I was in heaven.

After Adam and I left LA and landed back in Central Florida, an amazing girl came into our lives and, for a short time, naturally blended into the relationship that was previously “Adam & Jenna.”

Over time, her father and her father’s (now) wife became my/our spiritual advisors. I’ll never forget the first time I met her father. I showed up for a group “breath work” session.

Branching off to further explain:

(a snippet from his website)

Breath of Life, Breath of Fire, Conscious Connected Breathing, Circular Breathing and Rebirthing are all variations of an ancient breath technique…

When you arrived on this planet, independent from your mother, you took your first breath almost immediately. It was vital that you learn to breathe before all else. The Buddhists call the moment of birth “The Great Forgetting.” Rebirthing is a breath process one could easily call “Discarding Forgetfulness.”

(Out of respect for their anonymity, I am not naming names or any of that goodness. If you would like to find out more about Rebirthing, please email me and I will provide their web information – with their permission.)

Back to the first time I met him:

I was the only person that showed up that night for the group session. After a rather uncomfortable silence, he inquired, “So. You and your husband are involved in a ménage a trois with my daughter?”

“Uh, yeah. I gotta get the fuck outta here,” said the voice in my head.

I didn’t know how to respond, so he dove right in.

“Nobody else is showed up tonight. You created this you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“You created this so that we could be alone and talk.”

[Granted, I may consume my fair portion of mind-bending initiators, but I swear to you, my trippiest experiences to date have occurred when I’m completely sober.]

That night became the first of many spiritual therapy sessions. Having never met the man, he started off with, “Now, to set the record straight, your sexuality is not going to get you anywhere this time. Your parlor tricks won’t work here. Not with me.”

I shivered and felt as though he had picked me up and pinned me against the wall.

How did he know about my old patterns (or what I had thought were old patterns)?

Note: the girl that liked the manipulative mind-fuckyness of flirtation is also the same girl that wanted to be the front-and-center-of-attention actress.

I can look back at her now and can laugh. I remember how jealous she would become when her partners would flirt with other people and can easily call her out on her hypocritical insecurities.
----------------------------

At 28, I’m in a place now where I can appreciate the art of flirtation for the positive pure release that it is. It’s a good stress-reliever. It’s sets the stage for smirks, smiles and laughter. And, of course, it’s important to connect with others, again, regardless of our titles or boundaries.

I like that what I’m attracted to now are the intellectual, expanded-mind, arty folks. I love stepping into a place of calculated strategy & wordplay with said individuals and I can only hope that Adam takes the same comforts & liberties.

-----------------------------

On the side:

Today, on one of Seattle’s signature grey & drizzly days, nestled under a tree in the middle of barren Cal Anderson Park, this girl was playing this remorseful melody on her trumpet.

It was so beautiful.

Also, after a round of antibiotics, my right ear is still in tremendous pain. So, I pull my perspective back and say, “Okay, so energetically-speaking, what is it that I’m currently hearing that is causing me pain?”

Or

“What am I not listening to, what am I ignoring to listen to, that is causing me pain?”

Damn it.
-------------------------------

Laughter is the Best Medicine

Laughter has gotten me through this week. Caring for my dying neighbor, I have needed it.

To everyone who did his or her best to get me giggling and guffawing, here’s a couple back your way on this beautiful Friday morning:

1. Google

Last night while preparing dinner, I had to google “how to boil an egg.”

It was for an all-organic Spinach Salad:
Spinach
3 boiled eggs
Red onion
Fresh grated Parmasean cheese
Honey Mustard Vinaigrette
(simple & delicious)

It was paired with a loaf of Essential Bakery Pugliese bread, Swiss, Gouda, and Cheddar cheeses, and organic Spaghetti & non-meatballs.

Toss in a little red wine and candlelight and it made for a lovely Thursday night with my cute-as-a-button husband.

I am left to ponder…where was I before Google?

2. Orange Pudding

This one comes courtesy of the latest Stranger:

Hot Tipper Bryan visited a downtown T-Mobile outlet, where he was promptly assaulted by stink. Its source: a little girl, who’d reportedly plunged a hand down her pants and come back with poo, which she happily hucked onto the carpet, the rolling waves of stench instigating what Hot Tipper Bryan described as “ a minor stampede to the exit.”

“But here’s the best part,” writes Bryan, who lyrically characterized the toddler’s output as “orange pudding.”

“As her parents attacked the carpet with wads of napkins, the little girl wandered around picking up floor-model cell phones with her poopy hand, exclaiming with total seriousness, ‘Mommy, it’s time to phone home.’”

Rising to the Surface

So, along with “real job”, I thought I’d share some other words that are surfacing a lot lately:

Vortex
Manifest
Belief/Believe
Understand/Understanding
Grateful
Consume/Consumption
Illusion
Implement
Patience

I’ve also been photographing a lot and imagery that keeps showing up in my composition include:

Stairs
Lines
Lines
Lines
Design/Shape/Form
Cold Temperature “feeling imagery”

I’m defining an acrylic series for 2007. My paintings have started to develop similar elements naturally and I feel ready to take it to the next level. I’m tossing around ideas, but I’m fitting it into my “one painting per month goal” which should give me a 12-piece series by the year’s end.

As well, I’m going to do the same with photography, only more. I’m gonna do a series a month. January broke down into two series that were both familiar territory: Freeway Park & the Seattle Public Library (Central). Looking over these pictures, some of them damn good, I can’t help but to think, “Well no shit they’re good pictures. How hard can in be to capture beauty in those places?”

February’s photographic theme is transportation. King Street Station has recently received a pretty major facelift: I think that’ll be a good place to start.

Pedestrians. Metro. Cabs. Bicyclists. Monorail. Light Rail construction. I-5 Congestion. And it’s looking as though February and March will present frequent use of SeaTac again. I miss flying. I love flying. Being in the air, above the clouds with all the light and colors bouncing around: I love it. And it’s time to pitch this show. (I can do this.)

Other than that, the deadline for Sicily is tomorrow (they’re willing to extend late entries till Monday, Feb 5th). If there’s one thing I’m consistent with, it’s being late.

The four blank canvases that are waiting for Sicily to find them stare at me now as I write.

“Fine. I’m coming.”

The "Real Job" Part II

I forgot to include something in yesterday’s rant.

Without fail, all of the “non-real” jobs I’ve held in the past felt pretty fucking real to me.

From corporate coffee slinger to film executive, I’ve had my share of work experience over the course of my journey on the artist’s path.

I think as we ‘climb the ranks’ (in the working environment) we somehow forget that all jobs have their difficulties, their stresses, their unreasonable demands, hardships, and discomforts.

I observe. A lot.

I watch how we treat each other. I watch how suits treat baristas, servers, cashiers. I watch how executives treat executive assistants. I watch how management treats the workerbees.

I watch the dueling egos.

Most of the indie coffee houses out here now have a “no cell phone” policy. In other words, “If you’re too busy, too important, too 'above me', that you can't exude the common courtesy to look me in the eye and speak to me, then I’m not going to make your fucking 2% short vanilla latte.”

Good!

So, to conclude this “Real Job” morning-after breath, I invite you all to reexamine the way that you treat others in regards to your interactions with them while they are in their work environment (and of equal importance, I invite you to observe how others treat you while you are in your work environment. How do the two compare?)

Remember, we’re all just trying our best to survive.

And what we do to “make our living” is not how we live our lives, is not who we are.

The "Real Job"

“The Real Job”: how I’ve grown to loathe this phrase.

Again, I intended to blog about something else today, but these three words have been surfacing a lot recently and I’ve gotta get em’ outta my system. Purge. Purge. Purge.

(I’ll do my best to not bare my fangs.)

I first started noticing it during our tenure with Front Row Productions. Our typical schedule had us flying around the country and working about 10-12 days a month. (This left plenty of time for writing.) However, in the busier stretches, as many of you know, we would be home in Seattle 4-5 days a month if we were lucky.

----------------------------

A snapshot:

-18 to 20-hour production days in a fast-paced, high-stress environment
- 500 lbs of equipment to haul all over the country: airports, cabs, shuttles, hotel elevators, ballrooms
- consumption largely based around energy bars (it’s not easy being a vegetarian in Las Vegas, Orange County, or any of the other atrocious geographical locations we find ourselves in
-and you wanna talk about project management & multi-tasking….there’s nothing quite like production coordinating in a live environment to show you just how capable you truly are.
- this remains, as of yet, the job that I made the most money at. (I sometimes look back at the money we were making and am utterly amazed. “Even with the miserable conditions, how the hell did we walk away from that?” It was affecting our health, that’s how.)

-------------------------------

Adam and I share a strong work ethic: whatever, wherever we find ourselves, we give it our all. We perform to the best of our ability.

This has crushed me on several occasions in the past: whenever I’ve delivered a product to an employer that was even a fraction askew of perfect, it weighed on me heavily. I couldn’t let go of delivering something that wasn’t 100%.

Working this hard, fighting to get ahead, we marched forward.

And then we’d hear it from family and the occasional friend, “Maybe it’s time for you guys to find real jobs.”

“If only you guys could find real jobs.”

(In their defense, I would slip into the illusion on occasion and utter the very same words.)

Sunday night at a movie, a good friend who I have a lot of respect for, a friend who constantly reflects the “real job paradigm” back at me, ran into an old friend and her new boyfriend.

(This friend of ours is the collage artist who works in corporate advertising (i.e. the “real job”).

“So, are you still at XYZ (restaurant)?” she inquired.

“Ah, hell no. Haven’t been there in a couple years. Doin’ the “real job” thing now. Kinda scary,” he replied.

I cringed.

Then last night, reading a comment on an acquaintance’s personal survey: he said something along the lines of, “life will be good once I can leave XYZ and get a ‘real job’”.

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I also encounter the “real job” conversation when I tell people that I’m a writer, artist, etc.

“So. What’s your real job?” (i.e. How do you make your money?)

As Americans we sure are obsessed with defining ourselves by how we make our money. (More money = more consumerism = better, newer, slicker gadgets = better self-worth.)

Sorry. I refuse to enroll in that.

Parked dutifully alongside “Real Job” is “Real Education”.

We define ourselves by our degrees, by our jobs: Doctorate trumps Master’s. Master’s trumps Bachelor’s. (“You only have a Bachelor’s? God, what can you even do with a Bachelor’s anymore?”)

And anything less than a Bachelor’s leaves you at the ‘not quite a civilized member of society’ status.

I ask you, how does this fairly equate to the continuously escalating costs of higher education? How do we, as Americans, compare to European nations offer continuing education on a tier-based pricing system (or at no cost whatsoever)?

Are we really so crass as to think that we are better than another person because we have a “Real Education”, or a “Real Job”?

Part of my 2006 meltdown centered around me denying myself: my desires, my ambitions, my core. I was ashamed and full of fear that ‘everybody was passing me by’.

I wanted to relate to others. I wanted my parents to be proud of my choice to pursue a communicative, artistic path. I wanted to feel like I wasn’t disappointing everybody who always thought I could “be so much more”.

A wise and intuitive friend commented during that period that she was sometimes concerned for me/us. She said something along the lines of, “Sometimes I think that you’re afraid of mingling with ‘normal’ people, with ‘average’ people. Like you get comfortable holed up in your adorable little safe apartment and don’t want to enter the real world.”

(Good friends don’t hold back. That comment hit home and hit hard and I continue to examine it to this day.)

“Real Job.”
“Real Education.”
“Real World.”

I tried to conform myself and sought out the “real job”. I even considered going back to school.

And then I almost died.

----------------------------------------

We are not our jobs.
We are not our degrees.

We are not our titles.

We are all connected, loving, creative beings of light that are continuously living and growing and participating within our own individual journeys.

-----------------------------------------