Last night, I finished my latest rewrite of my latest script after midnight on my birthday. (Do I need some commas there? ) Today, I will proof it for typos, go over it again, and then send it in to Bluecat, a few hours before the final deadline. This is my re-submission from an earlier Bluecat deadline and many of my changes were due to notes I’d received from the readers. (I love Bluecat — their notes are incredible. Most contests do not offer that incentive).
So…We’ll see. After this deadline, I’ll receive more notes and if I haven’t vastly improved it based on whether I place in the contest, then I will send it into a script doctor and pay for some advice on how to fix it.
Though I know it still has problems, it’s not perfect — I like the script. I’ve distinctly told my point of view. I’ve told my truth. (NOTE: THIS IS NOT MY LOGLINE): It’s a futuristic story about how we as a human race destroy ourselves. It’s called The Hum.
I’m not writing the logline, because it just doesn’t fit the theme of this post.
The theme of this post is, it’s my birthday!
I’ve been dreading this birthday. Dreading it. My goal was to be thin, shapely and sexy and on some beach somewhere wearing a bikini in celebration after I’d met with industry folks to discuss my script.
Obviously, I didn’t reach my goal. In my view it was not that lofty. I could have ( should have) at least done the “thin, shapely and sexy” part, but I didn’t.
Instead I am about 10 to 15 pounds overweight, haven’t been running or to the gym in months. My stomach feels gross because of all the yucky food I’ve been eating. Instead of a warm beach, I am sitting at my desk, clicking away here and listening to cars drive by on wet roads. Snow is predicted today.
I told everyone in my family that I would not celebrate my birthday this year. (I think I already explained why in previous posts), and I meant it. I pulled my old facebook page and started a new one with 94% less friends than I had before just to make sure none of my old pals would write my age in a big fat numbers on my page. Salt in wound.
but this morning…
I thanked God sincerely for my birthday. I am happy to be here. I am happy I finished my script. I am happy that I am going to the skin doctor and I will be happier if he removes a tiny mole and it tests out to be nothing.
This evening, I will attend my oldest son’s cross-country awards pot luck dinner. There, ( I was given inside information) the boys on the team will present my son with a Letterman jacket that they all chipped in to buy for him. This will be the most beautiful birthday I’ve had in a long while, to see my son, my beautiful son, honored and appreciated in such a gracious way. I am so grateful. I am so amazed at those boys, and the coach. I invited one of my son’s most special teachers. She seems excited to come. As a teacher who has devoted her life to teaching special needs kids, it means a lot to her as well to see one of her students appreciated by regular peers. She, was the one person who encouraged both my son and me that he would be capable of participating in a a typical high school sport — not just Special Olympics. And now this. I am so touched by the sentiment and it hasn’t even happened yet.
Yes, I am thanking God for this birthday. It feels good, too, that though I am not on a beach, I’ve been able to say how I wanted to spend this day. For the last 6 years I’ve felt sad that J hasn’t been here to celebrate with me, but this year — it doesn’t hurt so bad at all. I’ve gotten used to it. I don’t really feel it anymore. Besides, dinner and a cake with candles isn’t what I want. I am not sad about being older — as I said, I am happy to be here.
My dread was not about age. It was about accomplishment and doubting my worth, and whether that I have something to offer — something that I can be proud of.
Today is my gift: I accomplished a determined rewrite; I will make deadline — And my child is loved and appreciated by others, not just me.
P.S.4:43 p.m. My folks just came over with a chocolate cake and a card. Inside the card my mother wrote: ” We still celebrate this day — its one of the most important days in our lives. Love, Mom and Dad”
Earlier, J sent flowers. At first I thought the delivery person was the Jehovah Witness, so I hid. She kept ringing and knocking — I thought “Wow, pushy” as I crouched low by the sofa. She looked in the window. I think she saw me. Then my phone rang.
“Hello? Is Patricia there?’
“Who is this?”
“The Flower shop. I have some flowers for you…”
I felt so dumb. I am truly forever young.