The Stench of Doubt

Shark Cove
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Currently watching the "Wrapped Around Your Finger" video on YouTube. The last time I went on a Police binge, I noticed that the video was directed by some mysterious persons named Godley & Creme. Godley & Creme are a British pop duo who also directed a few music videos in their time.

Following the internet bunny trail, I came across a story about the making of the "Wrapped Up Around Your Finger" video. To paraphrase (and if the story is to be believed), it seems as though Godley & Creme - and Sting - were interested in making art and seeing where it went, rather than making a hit music video. At the end of the 12 hour shoot, the producers decided they were done. Sting and the directors didn't want to be done, and after some discussion, the producers and directors agreed on one more take. If you've watched the video - which I hope you have, by now - you know that Sting runs through the burning candles and knocks them over and makes a big mess and it's beautiful and shocking and something I only wish I could do.

I can only imagine the tension on the set before a compromise was made. The producers need to keep the artists happy, the artists aren't happy, the crew has no say and therefore says nothing, but everyone's cringing and waiting for the explosion. I'm glad that the "Wrapped Around Your Finger" shoot resolved the way it did, but that one, tiny moment of doubt can derail the spirit of the entire shoot.

I can remember a few shoots I did where I wasn't getting the feedback my neurotic actor self wanted, and I started to doubt. Even though my intellectual mind said, "Dude, they cast YOU. Out of all the people they auditioned, they cast YOU. What are you freaking out for?" But freak out I did, and I felt like the world's biggest disaster, and so I might have been. All Doubt had to do was whisper the suggestion, "Um, you might not actually be good enough," and the train was off the track and screaming down into the canyon, bursting into flames as it hit bottom. Was it all in my mind? Probably.

After pitching a fit this week, it hit me that the source of all that angst was partly due to giving in to doubt. I doubted that my life would ever be any different than it is now. I doubted that I could make money doing what I liked. I doubted that my life has a purpose. A very wise friend, in trying to pull me out of that dark cloud, said, "When you change the way you look at things, what you look at changes." The world looked different today, and I thank everyone who's spoken encouragement into my life in the midst of my tantrums for that turnaround.

I know that I won't always feel bad. I know that I won't always feel buoyant. I might throw a few more tantrums. (This growing up thing is hard.) But I know that nothing will wreck me faster than doubt. If one is moving confidently toward a goal, there can't be any space left for doubt. People often put that as "There's no room for doubt," but I think there definitely can be. It's up to the individual to make sure they're so filled up with the Goal, all the corners and crevices stuffed, like, a Muffin Top of Goal squeezing between shirt and pants, that there is no space left for Doubt to drift in. Doubt is like a waft of unwelcome cigarette smoke in your apartment. You can't see it, you can't lay ahold of it, but you can smell it, and it's seeping into your stuff and irritating the crap out of you, and the only way to get rid of it is to stop it from coming in.

So, go get filled up with Goal. I'm off to do the same.

Fourth Time's A Charm

Fourth Time's a Charm.jpg
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I'm currently eating ramen out of the pot I cooked it in. I didn't put it into a bowl. My life is too stressful for bowls.

Kidlings, I was so tired on the bus home tonight. I kept falling asleep. All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed.

But, no. I had to come home to another Cascade of Contaminated Water ®. I called the office. "I need someone to come fix this." "I'm calling the guy right now." I hung up. I started to clean it up, but then I thought, "No. No. They need to come up here and see this." I called downstairs again. "Can you come up here right now? I want someone to see this." "Oh, no...I don't really handle repairs. That's Dougie, or Sean." "Well, it's not just a little leak. It's almost a gallon of dirty water each time it happens." "Oh, goodness! I'll send Sean up as soon as he gets back from the store."

And did she? No. I had to call again. "I'll be up in five minutes, ma'am." He did come, and he examined the nastiness, and promised that the repairman (the aforementioned "Dougie") would be arriving some time this evening after he fixed the heat in another building.

It's 6:01. "Dougie" has until 6:30, then I start drafting my notice of withholding $50 of March's rent until this situation is remedied.

I was annoyed. Now, I'm starting to get pissed.


UPDATE: "Dougie" did indeed show up. He guessed that the upstairs guy's bathroom was leaking water somewhere. He trooped upstairs, knocked on the door, and discovered that yes, indeed, something had broken up there and so water was cascading down the wall and into my apartment. Good to know that Mr. Upstairs has showered four times in the last five days.

Keep your fingers crossed that this thing gets fixed tomorrow.

Happy Valentine's Day

It Rained in My Bathroom
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

*sigh*

Two more months.

Two more months.

Two more months.

It rained in my bathroom last night. Twice. Which is funny, because Lauren had just mentioned something about her bathroom ceiling leaking. I have no idea what happened, but water poured out of the exhaust fan in the ceiling at some point yesterday, leaving my bathroom a dirty mess. It smelled like a construction site, like wet drywall. I cleaned it up, then went to bed. Woke up to use the bathroom, it had happened again. Big puddles on the floor and everything. And of course this happened on a Friday night, so I can't get anything done about it until Monday, or maybe even Tuesday as Monday's a holiday.

Two more months.

Two more months.

Two more months.

Funky

I don't make resolutions. Maybe, this year, I should have.

There's been a storm cloud hovering over my head and gaining strength for the last few weeks. It began as a grey-tinted mist when I was home in Minnesota and started at the thought of coming back to New York. Now that I'm back, it's no longer a puffy little cartoon cloud. It's a full-on thunderhead, and it's threatening to soak me, or electrocute me, or worse: develop into a wall cloud and blow me off to Oz (but according to which story you read, that could be good or bad).

I try to maintain positivity on this blog, if nowhere else, but I'm having a hard time being in New York right now, and I'm getting more and more negative. A lot of folks I know would say that my choices brought me here. They're right, but that doesn't make it easier to bear.

There are a few things that have been eating away at me more than anything.

1) I'm still jobless. I'll say it again: if anyone knows anything, please send it my way.

2) My apartment building is getting more disappointing by the day. We had no heat yesterday and last night because - my guess- someone forgot to buy heating oil, so the reservoir or whatever went dry and burned, ending in a fire department visit at 5 am yesterday morning (not to mention that the fire department knocked half of my jewelry off the desk and laid their rusty axe on my white comforter when they opened my windows).

3) Speaking of my bed, I've been using an air mattress for the last year because I can't afford a real bed. When I got back from vacation, it started leaking. So every five hours or so I end up re-inflating it so I don't end up on the floor by morning. This is not, according to my definition, restful sleep.

4) The security door lock is broken, again. I asked them to fix it on Tuesday, and someone just now was working on it this afternoon. Goodness knows if he actually finished the job.

These little mental hangers-on are feeding the storm cloud, seeding it. It takes everything I have not to scream "Everything sucks!" any time someone asks me how I am. The only reason I don't is because some part of me remembers that not everything sucks. I have a place to live, even if it's not ideal. I have food to eat, even if it's ramen noodles and brown rice, every day. I have a loving and supportive family.

But...

But.

I'm tired of struggling all the time. I know some struggle is good, but it feels like, right now, it's all the time. I'm getting weary, but I can't rest.

Silk

Silk
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

My day was not like silk at all.

I woke up this morning and thought, "Wow, I'm well-rested for having gone to sleep at 1am. Oh dear. i wonder if my alarm didn't go off." I crawled out of bed, thinking it was 8 am, not 7, the target time. I looked at my phone. "9:39."

Oh crap.

I was supposed to be at Lincoln Center at 10. I live in Brooklyn. It can be an hour-long trip from my house to Lincoln Center.

I called the catering office. No one answered. I desperately wanted to shower, but there was no time. I was already going to be at least a half hour late.

I washed my face, swabbed at my pits, threw on my catering clothes and ran out the door. It was a beautiful, globally-warmed mid-October day, but I barely noticed. All I could think was, "Late. Late. Late. Never been late. Hate being late to work. Late. Late. Late."

I arrived at about 10:40. Ugh. And since I didn't get to do my morning ritual (make coffee, write three pages, drink coffee, read blogs and news, shower, get dressed, eat something, leave) I felt discombobulated all morning.

The good news is that I got my checks for "Life On Mars" today. Bad news: TAXES. Ick. I hate New York taxes. You Minnesotans think you get taxed a lot. You're wrong. At least it's a set amount, not 20%, or 22%, or 25%. (One week at my last job, I made more than normal, about $460. They took 24% out of my check. I mean, really? Obviously I'm not super wealthy if I'm only making $460 a week, and that was more than normal. MUST you take a quarter of it? And for what? Rat and cockroach upkeep? Come on.)

I got released earlier than expected (*sad face*) so I have time to come home, take a shower, and make myself presentable for my work study interview. (I'm hoping to take yoga and get my body back into dancing shape.)

Ciao, kidlings.

I Thought This Only Happened In The Movies

I'm currently sitting on the floor in the entryway to my apartment building. Why am I sitting on the floor, you might ask? WELL. That's a bit of a story.

You see, I worked a catering gig this evening at the Westchester airport. The catering company busses the staff up from the city. On the bus on the way back, no more than 2 minutes from the airport, our bus breaks down. We sit, and we sit, and we sit. Finally, another hour later, a replacement part arrives and we're on our way.

I fell asleep on the ride home and woke up at the dropoff point in Brooklyn. I'm half asleep as I grab my belongings and leave the bus. I stumble down to the subway, wait for the train, ride the train, walk the 7 blocks home, try to avoid the drunk dudes hitting on me, and enter my building.

I reach into the pocket where I dropped my keys. Not there. I search my bag. Not there. I search every pocket. NOT THERE. Kidlings, I'm locked out. And I'm still locked out. I call everyone I know who's a half hour or less away. No one's up. And I have to pee. And I'm locked out. And the bus company won't find my keys (if it finds my keys) until tomorrow or Monday, and that's if the bus doesn't vanish to some location other than the garage.

I guess I'll go to the Good Stuff Diner on 14th in Manhattan and wait until last night's captain calls me back with the bus company's number, or I can get ahold of the management of my building and get them to let me into my apartment. I have a spare set of keys. They're safe in a drawer INSIDE MY APARTMENT.

This sucks, to put it mildly.

Posted with LifeCast