Note to…

Dear Friend,

I haven’t written to you for so long.  And I never hear from you, but I should not expect more, right? That’s the game I’m playing.  One of us is real, though I am not sure which of us it is.  I think of you often, for what that is worth. The thoughts are more of a gush of unexplainable emotion — but still, at those moments I wonder, too, if you might be thinking of me. It doesn’t change anything, but I noticed.

I listened to music for the first time in months.  Chris Isaak’s “Don’t Get So Down On Yourself” came in as a choice of the random shuffle on my iPod while I cleaned out bathroom drawers yesterday.  The song stuck with me today.

A friend I met ever so briefly in Austin during the Film Festival had contacted me earlier in the week, regarding screenwriting and starting a Facebook group.  Long story short, I started a new limited profile of myself and joined today.  The song, which yesterday I related to my circumstance, had new meaning today.  “Your friends aren’t so far away…” hit home in a good way.  She made me feel welcome in her life and experiences though she lives far east of this place.  She and the other friends we met there inspire me. They graciously show me the way to where I want to be.  But, I have to show up.  I cannot continue to hide.

You know why I hide, don’t you?  Because though I manage to fly under the radar at most events, there comes a point where I break out and become ME.  ME: In those very same capital letters.  All 5′ 2″ of aging nothing breaks out and makes a scene as though I am something special. Something big, loud, unashamed, cocky and proud– Just begging to be taken down some pegs.  Though honestly, I had no intention of overstepping, there is always someone* ready to finish me off.  They discover quickly that I am not so tough, not so bold and they find a way to remind me of my place.  Usually, I was just having a good time and clueless as to how my actions would be perceived.  To me, it’s all just performance art.  For some reason, I am consistently stunned when people take me seriously.   And while there might be one or two in the room who get it, who see me for what I am ( What is that?  What am I anyway? Answer:  Just a child of God, sweetheart.  Just a child of God and just like you).  But others — have immediate disdain for me.  I am not being paranoid when I say that.  I dance… like I dance.  I say, what I say.  I swear, like I swear and I touch, as I touch–  and I often offend.  If I were Madonna, I might be able to get away with it.  But I am not.  I am just another Italian girl who had NO chutzpah her entire life — except at the worst possible moments.  Clearly, the Norwegian “be nice” genes did not serve me well in this area. And the Italian girl in me showed up just in time to look cheap and tawdry, but not enough to be Snooky.

Except, maybe, when I write.  Here, I can say whatever I want.  If I feel like it, I can publish my notes that I wrote one night on a bev-nap.  Too bad it weren’t that easy. The challenge is to refine my scripts into something I can sell.  The challenge is to stay alive and keep my children healthy and well while I accomplish that.  That takes some work.  Much more than a drunk dial.

Before sitting down to write this I listened to Florence (and the Machine) sing DRUMMING.  I danced my heart out — and it felt so good.  I think, since I am not celebrating my birthday with anyone this year, I will take a dance class instead.  I miss dancing.  I don’t mind dancing alone.   It would be fun to take a class again.  Likely painful the next day, too, but why not?  I’ll bring my baby girl if she likes — she might get a kick out of watching me make a fool of  myself.

I am cooking a HUGE pot of gravy for Lasagna tonight.  J flies in late and he will be here before I am back from youngest son’s first violin concert.  Then we will all dine together as a family.  The kids will feel comforted and whole. I am hoping that I will as well.
And what about you?  Are you well?  How’s the family?   I hope you’re smart enough not to let this election season make you crazy.  It’s not worth it, you know.  It will play out however it’s meant to play.  That said, I hope my guy wins.

Ciao. Hugs to you all and all that rot.

me. in little letters.

P.S.  side note… While writing this I got a call that some guy from CBS.  He wasn’t looking for me, but I forgot my phone number is still on J’s website. Quite a thrill to get that call like that this far west of no where.  Since the call, I’ve found out what it was about and it is sad news  about a vet who committed suicide.  I just read the articles about the man.  Loneliness is a killer.  Hopelessness is the worst of kind of pain. God bless him.  Take him to be with you, dear God and give him peace and comfort.

Happy Halloween.  Happiness to All Souls everywhere.

*  MAYBE I will come back and list of who, what, where and when.  But meh – maybe I am just paranoid.

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About Fringe Details

I write spec screenplays. Mum of five awesome people and caretaker of 6 chickens, five cats and one smelly dog. View all posts by Fringe Details

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