My Body, My Bullshit

Good Lord I've abandoned this long-form blog, haven't I?

Find me on facebook, where I can't stop writing, apparently.

I have been taking a screenwriting class since January. I have written one first draft of an entire feature, and the outline for my second feature, which I plan to finish in the next six weeks. I'm currently volunteering for the Austin Film Festival, reading screenplays entered into their screenwriting competition. I have to read 70 scripts by the end of this month. So far I've read 30.  Whew!  What's the point of this, you ask?

Well, I always wanted to be a screenwriter. I wrote my first script as my senior thesis in college. I debated going to film school, chose poetry school instead, for graduate work. After grad school I moved to LA with my playwright friend, who is now a tv and screenwriter. I loved LA and the whole Hollywood Game.  Unfortunately, like many, I got caught up in my own emotional dysfunction and alcoholism and blew SO. MANY. OPPORTUNITIES.  I also HAD so many opportunities, a really good and successful time overall. But then I moved back to Texas, and decided to pursue instead the Healing Arts. I'm pretty damn good at 'em too. But ultimately, my calling is elsewhere. Is it screenwriting? I don't know. But I need to find out.

Last Fall, as part of this year-long life-coaching program I am in called "Evolve," we did a bunch of work around "Your Best Year Yet," in which we wrote and processed around our deepest dreams. I came to realize that not only was winning and Oscar for screenwriting my deepest dream, but that actually, when it came down to it, I wasn't doing shit toward realizing my dream. Not one thing. Just fantasizing. So I looked up screenwriting workshops in Austin (and online; there are several good ones) and found the class I'm in now. I'm taking it for the third time, and plan to continue all Summer until I get this damned second script written! So at least I can say, as a mom, that I took heed when I spoke of living my dreams. I'm doing it. Not winning the Oscar, which would be okay I guess, but actually pursuing learning the art and craft of screenwriting and then getting off my ass and putting in the ungodly hours it takes to do it. Seriously...major butt power needed for this form!

So I say to parents, especially Moms, PURSUE YOUR HEART'S DEEPEST DESIRE AND YOUR WILDEST DREAM. Try it. Your kids will be so happy that you did. I decided that rather than resent my family for eating up my time, I would devote myself to pursuing my wildest dreams. Can you imagine? My kid is going to grow up knowing that I had the courage to pursue this crazy dream shit? And he may even grow up believing that he can pursue his own heart's deepest desires?  (In another entry, I'll relate how I actually grew up in a house with a parent who followed his passion and succeeded in realizing his wild dream, so I knew it was possible. And preferable.)

Oh, but there is still fine art.

Tonight, instead of going to my screenwriting class, I'll be reading with Spike Gillespie and her usual suspects from the Dick Monologues for a night whose theme is "My Body, My Bullshit." I only wish I had some material! (HA!)

I figure I'll recite "My Country, My Cunt" then read something short about my poop incontinence post partum.

Luckily that's no longer an issue.

My son will be FIVE in October. He has bloomed! He tells me all the time: "I love you Sweetie," and "Honey I love you." He tells me he's going to protect me, to which of course I say "Honey, you don't have to protect me, it's my job to protect you. But thank you." It is so awesome.

On the other hand, he often hits me and tells me how much he hates me, and wants to kill me, and wants me to die. We'll see a butterfly, and I'll say, "Oh! How pretty! Look at the yellow butterfly!" And he'll look at it then say "I want to smash it and kill it!"

Man, the life of the mother of a young child. Particularly a young son.

In some ways I admire his freedom to express his desires to crush, maim, destroy and kill things. I sublimate my anger instead. I think we'd all be a lot healthier if we could express our anger in a way that gets it out but doesn't harm anyone, really, and can be contained and expressed with a loving adult nearby to hear it and really play witness to it.

He's been going to occupational therapy since April? May? And for the most part, it's okay. He enjoys it. I observe every session. I've had a couple of problems with his therapist, which I mostly attribute to her not listening to me and to the practice being kind of a kid-mill. I've also overheard some really shitty, shaming words coming from some of the other therapists there, and I told on them. So I'm "that parent," maybe. But too bad. I think most of B's core strength issues are getting resolved, and it's been helpful for us as a family to work on giving him boundaries, chores, work, more outdoor and heavy play...really the usual stuff of childhood.

Anyway, this has been the VERY BEST way for me to procrastinate writing my stuff for tonight. So thank you for reading. And see you sooner than five months from now, I hope!

Thanks, Thanks a Lot

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, the second one we've hosted at our home. Since we moved in just over three years ago. I love throwing parties; for me that means gathering a huge amount of food, various friends, setting up tables and chairs and music and then...waiting. For whomever to show up. I was a little bit surlier than average this week because of it, but other than that it was a pleasure rather than a stressor. And I have discovered the joys of RECIPES.

I went gluten-free almost six months ago, with the occasional transgression bringing about an itchy, swollen tongue, spaciness, and a general feeling of dis-ease. I tested it out last weekend during our anniversary dinner with some French bread -- yep -- and then again last night with some cornbread stuffing. Yep. Don't know yet what it all means, except I definitely don't miss that feeling. And I really don't miss gloo-tang.

I also took Bodhi off the G; after his teacher told us she thought he had sensory integration issues, a trusted advisor suggested it, and I researched it, and my SIL put her autism-spectrum-disorder sons on it to great effect, so...we did it. And as far as I'm concerned there's no going back. He also had a taste of G during dinner yesterday, and was almost immediately out of control. For a couple of hours.

Listen, it could all be my imagination. The food industry wouldn't knowingly add ingredients to what we eat if they could cause any harm, right? Food hasn't changed since we were kids in the seventies, right?

In lighter conspiracy theory musings, when I posted on FB that my "traditional" Thanksgiving dinner list of ingredients included such items as dry mustard, hemp milk, and sweet rice flour, a friend living in NYC responded that "GF is so trendy in NYC right now I couldn't find sweet rice flour anywhere; the Whole Foods shelves were empty!" Which made me laugh.

All of this to say we had a wonderful, barely fractious gathering of family, friends, and fantastically delicious foods. We even ended up playing Cranium with my cousin Missy's two daughters.

On a sad note, I often feel like my family has mutated since my Dad died. We have jokingly said, "Surely Dad wasn't the glue that held us all together!" But I think it is proving to be true. My mother spends more time chasing after her own  mother these days, and my brother is a little bit missing in action. He's lost three jobs in the time since our Dad departed, and I only ever speak to him if and when he returns my calls. I miss him.

It is interesting how connected I feel to my cousins after giving birth to Bodhi; I'm the oldest girl of six girlcuzzes, and all but one of the eligible five after me had already had kids. (Several of the boys have been fathers for a while.) I'm excited to get Bodhi together with his second cousins now. He digs it. My cousin Missy and her family just moved to right outside of Waco, about an hour and a half's drive from here. She has made the trek to visit us at least half a dozen times, and I love it. She is a strong, compassionate woman. Been through some harrowing shit in her day. Just became a GRANDMOTHER, of all things. She's the first of us to do that. Theressa, born just recently. I love that Missy has reached out to me and that we are more connected now. Her knowledge of herbs and supplements and food is admirable. Though of course since she is my cousin I have to get huffy and competitive about it. (I can be a dumbass like that sometimes.) We love that we're holding down the vegetarian end of our carnivorous clan.

What my body needs now is a yoga practice. I woke up having dreamed of doing backbends! I'm all in love with Inner Spiral right now. Oh sure, I've spent some time with I.S. but lately it's been a lot more intense and important.  It's like suddenly realizing that this great friend I have is actually sexy, and now we wanna be together as More Than Friends. Like that. It's the Expanding Spiral. So not only am I making more room and creating more freedom in my own body -- it's also the ultimate principle for Fertility, I've learned -- but in my Life as well.

Yay for that.

My body continues to change, post partum. I had a regular period last cycle, the first one in a year. I felt so relieved, so complete again. Then with this cycle came intense abdominal pain, an ultrasound, a gallbladder cleanse and intensive acupuncture and herbs. And no bleeding. Until today. Almost two weeks later than expected. Hot flashes all last week and stress through the roof. Also a couple of loving, uplifting yoga practices and a massage. So changing is just riding the rollercoaster a little better. And eating a lot more green and fresh food. Except of course for cornbread stuffing and French bread.

I still dream of having another baby, which is still an argument with my husband that no one can win. Perhaps my fears about Bodhi growing up and older alone without a sibling are part of my motivation to connect him with his family. He seems to love it, though, as I did when I was small. I just think, sometimes, that as an older parent I may not be around another 46 years to see him through some tough times. Though I hope to.