On dreary days like these I do the things I think will clean house internally as well externally. I made my bed. I took the trash out of the room. Or what my mother lovingly refers to as my ‘dead soldiers. Empty cans of whatever caffeinated diet soda I’m drinking (whatever happens to be on sale that week) and empty coffee cups are spirited away and of course I do the backed up laundry and scoop the litter pan. I only have one little kitty. She is an orange tabby named Chyna, for the WWE wrestler. Mostly because Missy and I couldn’t agree on anything else. My room still isn’t great shakes but it’s way better than it was and I always stay on top of it. At least better than I did at the last place I did because I didn’t want my cat to crawl up somewhere and end up like the hoarders show where they find 72 cats 40 some odd of them dead. And of course a shower.
Then setting down to write becomes something of a chore, especially after all that. You want to do nothing other than pig out and watch a movie. Which I think I’m going to do a Bond marathon. Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace, and Skyfall. But even as I write that I know I’m only going to make it through one at most if any at all. I have a treatment for a television show to write for a joint venture for me a Missy. Yeah, another one of those. This story has had many incarnations. From novels to screenplays, to a book we co-wrote and I took the lead on to this television series where I may be writing the treatment but Missy is driving the bus. She’s working on the pilot. I simply do the sizzle and sell on this and act as a sounding board.
When Doves Cry has been our Star Wars, our Godfather, our Clerks, as it were. A family of characters that we never seem to be able to say completely goodbye to. As the years went by, and yes, this was our initial story together, the story, of course, has morphed over time. The book will look somewhat like the television series and vice versa. The elevator pitch is the Sopranos meets Dallas.
Often times Missy and will have arguments about things. Creative differences. And I know those rows, should the series get picked up are coming with producers and the money people, I’d rather there be no in fighting going on. To survive Hollywood we will need each other’s backs. Someone who’ll have the guts to say what’s what. Say no to the other when or if their head gets to swollen. Fortunately I have more than one person in my corner willing to be direct without being cruel. Without using it as an excuse just to be an asshole about it.
They say what you do on January 1st you’ll be doing the rest of the year, so even though I didn’t want to particularly blog or clean (the room, the litter box, or even myself) I figured it was a momentum thing.
The truth is when you recover from an episode like I’m doing it too comes in waves and stages. And just as I went on a cleaning blitz shortly before my crash, in the recovery process I had to clean up the mess the illness had left behind, emotionally, physically, psychologically, and spiritually.
Do I still feel a little wobbly, a tad fragile even though I’m on the other side of it? Yes. My mother and father left out of town to visit my aunt who is really unable to travel. And I had all kinds of anxiety. Like irrational anxiety. I told my mom I felt like the kid who had prepared for one thing and then they flipped the script on me. Then Missy flipped the script on me today. Nothing major. But it was enough to make me feel abandoned and like she was going back on her word.
She hadn’t abandoned me. She just changed things on me. And it triggered the lost little kid feeling. Nothing major. Nothing I couldn’t get my shit together on. Because the overreaction was on my part. Not hers. Now, the roles have been reversed and sometimes she handles it well, others well…she’s been known overreact too. But we’ve been through much tougher shit than this. Stuff that would break the strongest of men.
So as I heal up from my mixed episode, I know today is a day that is a slight bump. That because I got stuff done, I’m going to chalk up in the good column.