Two Fridays
Friday July 29
Been working through a lot of old stuff lately, even remnants of past-life issues!
For example: I cried for a day after remembering two people very important to me in a previous life somewhere in the middle east. One of them apparently was my son and - needless to say - he died horribly.
I'm sporadically remembering names and dates.
This is possible now.
If it had happened before I would have been overly concerned with trying to find out more. Using vague memories of previous lives to get out of this one.
Getting sidetracked is easy if you want it.
I need to stay focused.
It's a subconscious processing of old stuff, let's keep it at that.
Meanwhile, while I am writing this, my mother is badgering me with emails about two pages I told her to cut - they add nothing to the story and repeat things and information from previous pages (as we repeat stuff in our lives I guess).
Friday August 5
Been dead tired these past three days.
First I worked intensively on five pages of comic book script, with sketches, numbered speech balloons (if that's not the right word, you can feel what it means), story background, some fun ideas and some brilliant ideas.
Tuesday I worked my ass off to finish it and send it to my mother, who was jubilantly impressed and overexcited and immediately began constructing new pages out of it and in her enthusiasm forgot to save them.
She is now, again, at page two, but I'm too tired to look at the results.
Wednesday I had a 'progress-talk' at the Social Security building.
Drained afterwards, as usual after talking to someone for an hour - especially someone with seeming power over my circumstances.
However, she considered it mostly positive what I told her and I agreed. She could see through outer appearances, which was nice and reminded me to do that more often as well.
I get stuck sometimes (for a short while) percieving myself as I think others do.
Yesterday my father visited the town I live in. Yes he did. And I didn't immediately drop everything to comply. No I didn't.
We spent an hour and a half together (more than we have in the past five or six years). We walked to the center, had lunch, talked, and walked back to the train station.
Any longer and I would have disappeared, as I was already fading after forty-sixty minutes, but all in all it went well. As in I didn't pretend to be someone I'm not (funny, successful, worthy).
I was who I was at that moment, so there was no need to beat myself up afterwards. It went the way it went and I was who I was and that's that.
In the afternoon I called my sister because I felt she needed it, which was also okay. I wasn't the wise, spiritual, helpful big sister because I was tired myself, but I was who I was at the moment and that's how things go.
I'll be going there soon; it will be nice to spend some time away from this moist armpit of a town. My punching bag is growing mold in the shed and my throat needs some dry air.
[Just now I was sitting in the yard, between rain showers, and a butterfly sat on the back of the chair, next to my head. It fought to hold on with its tiny insect legs on the smooth plastic surface, and when it nearly fell off it flew away after bumping into my cheek.
Despite all the rain I'm getting lots of butterfly action this summer.]
No amount of sleep can undo this kind of fatigue.
Still, this week I started noticing a, yes, what to call that? Some sort of centered-ness? No. A kind of security within myself? A ground floor. A steady place, a ... I really don't know what to call it.
I do know it got me through the week, through which would otherwise have been sheer panic. There were nerves, fear and tensions but through it all there was this thing in the middle of it.
It has something to do with resolve. Focus.
Everything is allowed within the context of my assignment.
Everything to get me Further.
Been working through a lot of old stuff lately, even remnants of past-life issues!
For example: I cried for a day after remembering two people very important to me in a previous life somewhere in the middle east. One of them apparently was my son and - needless to say - he died horribly.
I'm sporadically remembering names and dates.
This is possible now.
If it had happened before I would have been overly concerned with trying to find out more. Using vague memories of previous lives to get out of this one.
Getting sidetracked is easy if you want it.
I need to stay focused.
It's a subconscious processing of old stuff, let's keep it at that.
Meanwhile, while I am writing this, my mother is badgering me with emails about two pages I told her to cut - they add nothing to the story and repeat things and information from previous pages (as we repeat stuff in our lives I guess).
Friday August 5
Been dead tired these past three days.
First I worked intensively on five pages of comic book script, with sketches, numbered speech balloons (if that's not the right word, you can feel what it means), story background, some fun ideas and some brilliant ideas.
Tuesday I worked my ass off to finish it and send it to my mother, who was jubilantly impressed and overexcited and immediately began constructing new pages out of it and in her enthusiasm forgot to save them.
She is now, again, at page two, but I'm too tired to look at the results.
Wednesday I had a 'progress-talk' at the Social Security building.
Drained afterwards, as usual after talking to someone for an hour - especially someone with seeming power over my circumstances.
However, she considered it mostly positive what I told her and I agreed. She could see through outer appearances, which was nice and reminded me to do that more often as well.
I get stuck sometimes (for a short while) percieving myself as I think others do.
Yesterday my father visited the town I live in. Yes he did. And I didn't immediately drop everything to comply. No I didn't.
We spent an hour and a half together (more than we have in the past five or six years). We walked to the center, had lunch, talked, and walked back to the train station.
Any longer and I would have disappeared, as I was already fading after forty-sixty minutes, but all in all it went well. As in I didn't pretend to be someone I'm not (funny, successful, worthy).
I was who I was at that moment, so there was no need to beat myself up afterwards. It went the way it went and I was who I was and that's that.
In the afternoon I called my sister because I felt she needed it, which was also okay. I wasn't the wise, spiritual, helpful big sister because I was tired myself, but I was who I was at the moment and that's how things go.
I'll be going there soon; it will be nice to spend some time away from this moist armpit of a town. My punching bag is growing mold in the shed and my throat needs some dry air.
[Just now I was sitting in the yard, between rain showers, and a butterfly sat on the back of the chair, next to my head. It fought to hold on with its tiny insect legs on the smooth plastic surface, and when it nearly fell off it flew away after bumping into my cheek.
Despite all the rain I'm getting lots of butterfly action this summer.]
No amount of sleep can undo this kind of fatigue.
Still, this week I started noticing a, yes, what to call that? Some sort of centered-ness? No. A kind of security within myself? A ground floor. A steady place, a ... I really don't know what to call it.
I do know it got me through the week, through which would otherwise have been sheer panic. There were nerves, fear and tensions but through it all there was this thing in the middle of it.
It has something to do with resolve. Focus.
Everything is allowed within the context of my assignment.
Everything to get me Further.
posted by M. at 3:32 PM
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