The bad things in life tend to repeat themselves in some weird cycle, like purgatory laundry day.

Like the past week, yay, the haze comes back in its yearly appearance. Last Wednesday, it smelt like burning rubber when it rained. The next day, I felt slightly woozy in the afternoon and was fighting a fever. Come Friday, I was gasping like a fish out of water. With all this H1N1 flu thing going around, one tends to get slightly paranoid. So I went to the doctor, who told me to wear a mask if I'm expelling stuff through my orifices, and to stay away from public events. Wonderful. I had to go see what they did to my play that night.

Thankfully, sleeping all day helped me go through that 2 hour event. In case you're wondering, it didn't really impress me. There was a bit or two that was insightful and well orchestrated, but for the most part, it was just, "meh". It was something I'd keep my name on, but I'd rather not talk about it, really. I've lost my pride in it.

After that, the entire weekend was spent in bed, trying to breathe through a trachea that felt starchy. It was as restful as it can be, I guess. Again, I've been through this before and I'm wondering what the long term effects are going to be.

So tonight, Sunday night. I'm wondering how I'm going to make it through the week. I still feel tired. And I don't relish the hour long train ride/crush I have to take to work. Plus, as usual, I feel like quitting my job. Something else that isn't new, eh?

I can't even rely on writing now, because I seem to have lost that bit of mojo too. I've sort of given up on some of the silly writing goals I made earlier this year. Sure, persistence of a dream is a good thing, but fuggit, I'm tired. And I didn't even have the decency to make famous writer before I made unfamous burnt out writer. So sorry, no autographs for the lot of you.

There surely has to be another way of doing things. Grin and bear it? Quit and hit the road? Fall into a bottle? I'm sure worse things have happened to people. But everything is just sad and grey over here and I've forgotten what it means to be happy. Remind me?

So tomorrow, my 10 minute play will be staged. I won't be there.

I probably won't be there on Thursday either, when they stage it for the second day.

Friday? Not so sure. Saturday is a strong maybe.

I'm ambivalent about this.

No, actually, I'm depressed as hell.

Why? Because the people I really care about, the people I want to be by my side, won't be there with me. I've never felt so lonely in all my life. I may as well just keep my stories in my head, because they're not doing me any good either, out there. Like Shakira says, "What's the point of being on TV everyday, if you won't watch me..."

This really does not feel like much of an achievement. And please, I know you mean well, and I do wish you're here too, but I'm tired of wishing. If I had a fortune, it's all gone down the wishing well.

Now, I'm going to save up all my energy to try not to bawl like a baby at work, because that would be kind of sad.

Things I saw:

Yesterday, I was on my way home on the train when I saw the most adorable twin boys aged about six. They were likely to catch anyone's eye because of their mischievous identical grins, haircut and clothing, similar all the way down to their shoes. Today, I was riding the same segment of the train (but not necessarily the exact same cars), when I saw a different set of twin boys, both sharing the same mullet cut, identically dressed, and about the same age as the ones I saw yesterday!!!!!!

Two different set of twins two days in a row? Maybe I've lost my sanitary... (see previous post)

Wait for it...

I see everything twice, twice!!!



Sanity is Sanitary

Speaking of my previous post, I went back the day after I noticed the sign, and guess what, it said sanitary, and not sanity... Maybe I was imagining it after all...

Something strange happened to me at the ladies washroom at work yesterday.

Nothing outwardly bad, so don't worry. I was, well, doing what I went to washroom to do, when I noticed this sign on the wall, and, it struck me as odd. Not because I've never before seen a sign on the wall in the washroom, or because the wrongness of this sign suddenly hit me. No, I've known there was something terribly weird about the sign ever since I've started working there (more than a week ago; and I'm working in an office, not the ladies washroom, but, augh, you get what I'm trying to say here). What was bizarre, is that I never got the pun in the first place. Instead, I was fixated upon the perceived typo behind the ill-conceived sign. But, in a "eureka" moment yesterday, I finally realised that the sign was funny, and not just grammatically (and contextually) incorrect. I'm slow, so sue me!

Here's what the sign said:

"Please dispose of sanity products in the bin provided. Thank you."

Ok folks, I've got another problem I need your opinions on.

Background:

Some time ago, I sent in a play script to a local theatre festival. The thing is run as a sort of contest: scripts would be chosen based on an anonymous point system, and then directors and actors would audition as well. The director would choose their scripts and actors, and everyone would get together, and stage the play. In the end, judges as well as the audience gets to vote for their favourite play, actors, scripts etc.


Problem:

I seem to be having some problems with the director, or she's having problems with me, or I'm just overly paranoid about things.

1. At our first meeting, it went ok, except she said my script was too long (if it goes over the time limit, we get disqualified). So, no problemo, I went home, made the changes and sent it to her. There was an understanding that it may require more cuts, but we'd find out during rehearsals when the actors try it out.

2. I couldn't make it for rehearsals. When the director emailed us with the time and place, I told her that the time blocked out were alright, but not the place, because I have no car and it was all mostly in the evening in a deserted location. I got no sympathy at all regarding this; not that I was expecting any, but why ask me in the first place if I could make it and not react when I can't?

3. After a few rehearsals, she came back to me and said that they need to make a lot of changes. Because my script was too wordy and went on too long. And it would be better if the actors acted stuff out instead of talking it. I sent her another rewrite, but she's reluctant to change it at this point, because the actors have all worked out the movements and stuff, and it was kind of my fault for not being at the rehearsals in the first place. Of course, she didn't open the rewrite to have a look at it before chiding me for not being there at practice. She did not give me a copy of the changed script; I'm guessing it's in note form on her paper.


Discussion:

Am I being bullied here? Is my reluctance to go to a scary, deserted place indicative of the lack of professionalism on my part? Should I discuss this with higher ups, meaning, the festival director (who has indicated that she's there to help with just this kind of problems)? I'm thinking of pulling out my involvement. I don't mean that I want to withdraw the play, that would be unfair to the crew. On the other hand, I need to protect my work, because my name is attached to it.

The thing is, while I think I'll avoid writing plays in the future, I still want to get published in Malaysia. I don't want to do anything that may make them think I'm unprofessional or difficult to work with. Any ideas?

Thanks!

Kinda tired of all this,
Angie