Category Archives: Drama Queen



Last month… and the month before December, and the years before 2006, I got through pretty damned well, in spite of it.

But Tonight — Oh Dear God… I’ve always wondered what a nervous break down felt like…

and since I’m not checked into a mental ward, yet, I might still not know —

but the scream.  All I could do was scream.


My kids ran for cover, picked up their crap, ran for cover and I screamed.

To no one.

begging for mercy…

and then tears, followed by all the thoughts of why? and why not? and why the hell am I fighting:

Autism, weak employment, obsessive screenwriting, visions of grandeur, Diabetes and carb counts, single motherhood, poverty, debt, broken vehicles — (as in dead vehicles), friggin’ chickens (Yes Sorine, Friggin’ chickens), contest deadlines, daydreams, school schedules, syllables, class schedules and work that is not mine:  papers to write that I sign with my son’s name, university requirements that don’t belong to me. Why am I beating my head against this same, damned, wall?  The emails, the phone calls, the waiting lists, the rotation of caseworkers, the letters, the appointments, the conferences, the meetings, the clutter, the cats, the dog, the mess, the colds, the vomit (not mine), the tears (not mine) , the loneliness, (mine, his, theirs), the guilt, (all mine), the shame (mine again) — Why THE HELL did I leave L.A.?  Why did I feel like I OWED because I fell in love and had children? Why can’t I be a gambler, a Meth addict, a stoner, a smoker, a thief, a slut, a villain, a Party Girl, a wino, a cheat, a scoundrel, a racist, a lawyer, a politician, work on Wall Street, work in “sales,” be a lousy shit of a mother who doesn’t give a crap? Why am I not those things?

Why am I THIS?

This is no Lion’s Den that will ever be praised, written about or documented.  This is no proud moment of achievement in spite of great odds.  This is no shining moment that shows Your Awesomeness. (Yet?) Where’s the power? Where’s the strength to get through?  Lead me to that pile of ashes — Let me soak in it, bathe in it, roll in it. Give me a bag of marshmallows to roast if I am not a Phoenix.  I’ve run out of the ability to keep it up, stay focused, faithful, trusting.  I’m down to an 1/8 of a mustard seed.  That’s it.  I’m tired.

I’m so ineffectual…


Jesus H. Christ — I’m begging you.

believing and having faith in you as always — but please, please I’m waiting for this promise:

Matthew 11:28-30 – Come Unto Me. “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Any time at all…


I admit I have knack for digging more tunnel the minute I see a crack of light.  Seems it is the way I was crafted…

Not pointing fingers or anything…



Status Update

I just added my blog address to my Twitter page.


I hide.  I hide a lot.

But every few months or so — I attempt posting my blog for people ( who? Could be very creepy, icky people) to read the stuff I write.

As soon as I know my posts are available, I become afraid.

What am I afraid of?  Easy question, easy answers:

  • YOU might be a sick son-of-a-bitch and reading my blog to hurt me in some sick, twisted way that I will have ZERO control over.
  • I will find a way more sick and twisted to retaliate.
  • YOU will think my writing sucks.
  • I will readily admit my writing sucks.
  • YOU will read all my posts
  • I become aware that within my posts I’ve made endless promises to myself and that I have broken them all.
  • You note that I am full of shit and that all my proclamations and affirmations are more bogus than your own.
  • I will have to go into hiding again.

and I will.

I give my attempt at going public to last for less than one month.  That’s probably all I will be able to stand. I am hoping that if you bothered to click on my link at all, you will be merciful and at the worst, bored.  If you’re bored — Move on.  That makes two of us attempting to do the same thing.

In the meantime,  after posting this dribble I am going to work on my other stories.

Ciao.  See you in the virtual funny papers.


P.S.  My writing doesn’t suck.

What Can I Say? (#2)


My daughter says, “you always do that thing, Mom.”

Me:  What thing?

Daughter: “that thing when you’re self-effacing.  You always do that… It’s like you can’t help yourself.”

Me: “…”

Daughter: “Mom?”

Me: “… can you give me an example?

Daughter: “Mom, Don’t do that…”

Me: “I’m just writing the truth.  That’s not self-effacing.”

Daughter: “I don’t want to get in a fight with you.”

Me:  “I’m not fighting!  I just don’t understand!

Daughter (groans): “Here we go…”

Me: “Maybe I just like cheap humor.  I’m cheap like that.”

Daughter: “See?  You always do that!  “

Where’ve I Been?

I’ve not been to London to see the Queen, but I’ve been busy. I auditioned for a play in January, got the part, and now April 1st, it’s over and done.

I feel guilty for not writing, of course, but on the other hand what’s the use of regretting what I can’t go back to change? I am here now. I am here again. Writing. It’s not as though I was doing nothing creative. I was an actress in a play, you know? That thing I used to do — Acting. The show was Steel Magnolias. I played the part of Truvy ( Dolly Parton played the role in the film version). The fact that I showed up to audition and made it through a successful run, with my kids and my voice still in tact all the way until strike, is plenty to be proud of. And then, on Easter Sunday (yesterday), I finally returned to church. The play had ended on the previous Palm Sunday, but I had not been to a service since January because of vocal cord problems. That, and I managed to catch a cold the first week of rehearsal that lasted until opening-night. After the service, however, a woman approached me as my kids and I were nearly to the parking lot. She grabbed my arm and said, “I just want you to know, you were brilliant…” Her out-of-context statement shocked me. I had no idea what she was talking about. Then she added, “in the play. I saw you in the play and you were brilliant.”

She elaborated about not just my character but the whole cast. She thanked me for being in it. She told me she had not wanted to go to the show — wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about seeing the play. But she said after she saw it, she wept, so unexpectedly moved by the play and our performances.

I was amazed. And grateful. It felt good to be acknowledged for something I do well. Something I have hidden away for too long. So. Maybe I will act again. I am considering renewing my S.A.G. card even though I live in Timbuktu or something like it.

But for now, I am back here. Writing. But this time, I have a sense of renewal, a sense of ability and confidence that I’ve not felt before. I think I can do it this time. After all, at least one person in this world says I’m brilliant.

New Day

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.