That's when I hope to be able to get back to this place, this blog, the connection with my blog friends. I'm anxious that I'm missing everyone's.. stuff. Important things.
For the past three months, I have been reviewing plays. Lots of plays. Sometimes three in as many nights. I saw a play each night, this Thursday-Sunday. Four plays. Friday was a friend's, not an assignment, but I was up until 1am this morning finishing two reviews, and I just spent three hours on the latest. THREE HOURS. It can take me that long, because it;s hard of rme, and the results aren't worth the effort I put in. I've discovered a few things:
1. There's a lot of really good theater out there.
2. I enjoy seeing random shows I might not always have chosen.
3. I'm not a particularly good review writer.
I'm in a rut. I lack the perspective and vocabulary to write about shows without sounding the same when I like a show and the same when I don't. I'm sick of the same verbs. I'm sick of poring through the online Thesaurus, finding new words, and then over-using them to death.
I miss writing for fun. I miss painting. I miss doing something else.
I told my editor/friend that after December I need to cut back. After December the theater schedule should cool down, so I won't feel bad about taking on much less. But this girls needs a change of scenery.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
I love it when friends just get it.
last summer, my cousin mentioned to me that my father had stopped drinking because the doctor had told him he had to.
"We'll see how long that lasts," I'd replied.
My dad is an alcoholic. Has been an active drinker my whole life; has caused all the attendant emotional damage that alcoholic parents do.
Two days ago I was talking to my mother, and she said, "Your dad hasn't had a beer in eight months. I'm so proud of him."
Pride? From the woman who's insisted my whole life that my father did not have a drinking problem?
But that's not what really bothered me. I was telling my oldest friend this story, and she nailed it.
"If it was so easy asshole, why didn't you do it before?"
A-freaking men.
My guess is that the doctor had some grave news that scared the shit out of my dad. Because sobering up for your family isn't motivation enough.
"We'll see how long that lasts," I'd replied.
My dad is an alcoholic. Has been an active drinker my whole life; has caused all the attendant emotional damage that alcoholic parents do.
Two days ago I was talking to my mother, and she said, "Your dad hasn't had a beer in eight months. I'm so proud of him."
Pride? From the woman who's insisted my whole life that my father did not have a drinking problem?
But that's not what really bothered me. I was telling my oldest friend this story, and she nailed it.
"If it was so easy asshole, why didn't you do it before?"
A-freaking men.
My guess is that the doctor had some grave news that scared the shit out of my dad. Because sobering up for your family isn't motivation enough.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Back, and Better Than Ever!
Gosh, I've missed being here. So update: I have a therapist, a shrink, and a masseuse. Does that mean I officially have an entourage?
I see the therapist, "Rachel," weekly. She's great. I'm not really doing any big work; I've been through this before and as both she and the shrink have said, I'm pretty self-aware. But I told her I'd like to examine how I form relationships with people, and why some tend to be so addictive and some do not. Again, nothing earth-shattering. I really think that for the most part my take on people (I make too many friends out of my tendency to accommodate, rather than other people's efforts to extend themselves) is dead-on. I don't think I'm pathological.
I did talk about Kevin, and why my friendship with him has been so problematic for me.
"I don't really understand why he wants to be friends with me," I said. "He's an Aspie, and I'm so emotional. It must be really tiresome for him."
And then Rachel did that magical therapist thing where she takes the perfectly obvious and, by articulating it, transforms it from invisible to visible.
"Well, he has certain deficits," she said. "He is very inconsistent; sometimes he lets himself be close and communicative, then he pulls away and becomes distant and unresponsive. You tend to have to initiate. And you do. And while his behavior makes you unhappy, because you need consistency from people, and it frustrates and angers you, you don't go away. I'm betting a lot of people in his life go away."
She's right. And when she put it that way, I could admit that I do a lot more of the work in that particular friendship. And that a lot of my recent anger was a growing awareness that he just is never going to appreciate the things about me that I think are worthwhile, because they hold no place in his hierarchy of values. And poof. I saw things for how they were.
A week before I'd been gallery-sitting at an art building with which I'm affiliated, and one of my friends, a painter, was working in his studio. I hung out with him and we talked about how we are each givers and nurturers, and how that leaves us vulnerable to people who could exploit that. (His last boyfriend had had an affair and then left him one day. He never saw it coming.)
I'd had this on my mind when Rachel made her observation. There is nothing wrong with being a nurturing person, but I have to learn how to spot Takers and not let them Take. Takers instinctively seek out people like me, and people like me misinterpret that as flattering. Like being pleased that the vampire chose ME of all the people upon whom to feast.
So the focus has been on having people in my life who appreciate me; that includes finding people who are capable of appreciating me, and that speaks to similar values. So I've focused on what I want to do, what I want to accomplish.
A friend recently commented that she never sees me anymore. She didn't sound happy.
"Look," I said, "I've been running, going to the gym, and reviewing plays. You made it very clear that you have no interest in any of those activities, so I haven't invited you." In other words, I'm playing my own game, and if you want to play with me, catch up. Otherwise, enjoy your reality TV.
I also found really cheap studio space in a neighborhood not too far away. The building is a magnificent stone church with lots of classroom/office space. The church decided to turn the extra space over to arts organizations, so there is a theater HQ there now, and great shared studio space. I share a very large room with two other women, and I'm moving my stuff in this weekend. I'm stoked. I want a community of people who appreciate the same things I do, and I'm going to be more deliberate about it.
As for meds: The shrink is also great, and she thinks I'm not bipolar but suffer from anxiety issues. She prescribed a drug, I went home, went online, looked it up, and called her the next day. My voicemail message went something like this:
"Um. Yeah. That drug? A lot of people report similar side effects if they forget one pill, and they sound really not good. The most common descriptor is 'hell,' which is a little, well, concerning. Also 'brain zaps.' So if you could call me, I'd appreciate it."
She called and assured me not everyone has the same side effects, everyone is different, and that the benefits are worth giving it a try. So I did. I was originally scheduled to take 37.5 mg per week, doubling every week. It's been over three weeks and I'm still on 37.5. It's enough, and the only real side effects have been some minor gastrointestinal stuff and minor sleep issues. I don't obsess. I don't rant. (Well, if I'm excited, I talk a lot, and I talk quickly, but that's just me.) It feels good to have the occasional homicidal fantasies when someone talks loudly on their phone on the train; it reminds me I'm still in here.
And I have a 6-month massage membership and see this amazing masseuse every two weeks. With the running and the gym workouts, it's great, and she knows her stuff. The woman zeros in on those tight muscles and takes them apart. Sound mind, sound body.
So all in all, I feel really good. I feel effective. I get more done, because I can focus. I don't feel angry all the time. I don't fret ceaselessly like a dog with a bone. I ran another 5K, and I made very good time. I'm thinking next October I'll run the Chicago marathon. Gotta do something once I turn 50.
I see the therapist, "Rachel," weekly. She's great. I'm not really doing any big work; I've been through this before and as both she and the shrink have said, I'm pretty self-aware. But I told her I'd like to examine how I form relationships with people, and why some tend to be so addictive and some do not. Again, nothing earth-shattering. I really think that for the most part my take on people (I make too many friends out of my tendency to accommodate, rather than other people's efforts to extend themselves) is dead-on. I don't think I'm pathological.
I did talk about Kevin, and why my friendship with him has been so problematic for me.
"I don't really understand why he wants to be friends with me," I said. "He's an Aspie, and I'm so emotional. It must be really tiresome for him."
And then Rachel did that magical therapist thing where she takes the perfectly obvious and, by articulating it, transforms it from invisible to visible.
"Well, he has certain deficits," she said. "He is very inconsistent; sometimes he lets himself be close and communicative, then he pulls away and becomes distant and unresponsive. You tend to have to initiate. And you do. And while his behavior makes you unhappy, because you need consistency from people, and it frustrates and angers you, you don't go away. I'm betting a lot of people in his life go away."
She's right. And when she put it that way, I could admit that I do a lot more of the work in that particular friendship. And that a lot of my recent anger was a growing awareness that he just is never going to appreciate the things about me that I think are worthwhile, because they hold no place in his hierarchy of values. And poof. I saw things for how they were.
A week before I'd been gallery-sitting at an art building with which I'm affiliated, and one of my friends, a painter, was working in his studio. I hung out with him and we talked about how we are each givers and nurturers, and how that leaves us vulnerable to people who could exploit that. (His last boyfriend had had an affair and then left him one day. He never saw it coming.)
I'd had this on my mind when Rachel made her observation. There is nothing wrong with being a nurturing person, but I have to learn how to spot Takers and not let them Take. Takers instinctively seek out people like me, and people like me misinterpret that as flattering. Like being pleased that the vampire chose ME of all the people upon whom to feast.
So the focus has been on having people in my life who appreciate me; that includes finding people who are capable of appreciating me, and that speaks to similar values. So I've focused on what I want to do, what I want to accomplish.
A friend recently commented that she never sees me anymore. She didn't sound happy.
"Look," I said, "I've been running, going to the gym, and reviewing plays. You made it very clear that you have no interest in any of those activities, so I haven't invited you." In other words, I'm playing my own game, and if you want to play with me, catch up. Otherwise, enjoy your reality TV.
I also found really cheap studio space in a neighborhood not too far away. The building is a magnificent stone church with lots of classroom/office space. The church decided to turn the extra space over to arts organizations, so there is a theater HQ there now, and great shared studio space. I share a very large room with two other women, and I'm moving my stuff in this weekend. I'm stoked. I want a community of people who appreciate the same things I do, and I'm going to be more deliberate about it.
As for meds: The shrink is also great, and she thinks I'm not bipolar but suffer from anxiety issues. She prescribed a drug, I went home, went online, looked it up, and called her the next day. My voicemail message went something like this:
"Um. Yeah. That drug? A lot of people report similar side effects if they forget one pill, and they sound really not good. The most common descriptor is 'hell,' which is a little, well, concerning. Also 'brain zaps.' So if you could call me, I'd appreciate it."
She called and assured me not everyone has the same side effects, everyone is different, and that the benefits are worth giving it a try. So I did. I was originally scheduled to take 37.5 mg per week, doubling every week. It's been over three weeks and I'm still on 37.5. It's enough, and the only real side effects have been some minor gastrointestinal stuff and minor sleep issues. I don't obsess. I don't rant. (Well, if I'm excited, I talk a lot, and I talk quickly, but that's just me.) It feels good to have the occasional homicidal fantasies when someone talks loudly on their phone on the train; it reminds me I'm still in here.
And I have a 6-month massage membership and see this amazing masseuse every two weeks. With the running and the gym workouts, it's great, and she knows her stuff. The woman zeros in on those tight muscles and takes them apart. Sound mind, sound body.
So all in all, I feel really good. I feel effective. I get more done, because I can focus. I don't feel angry all the time. I don't fret ceaselessly like a dog with a bone. I ran another 5K, and I made very good time. I'm thinking next October I'll run the Chicago marathon. Gotta do something once I turn 50.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Still here!!!
I miss you all, my online lovelies. I've been super-busy, as I've picked up a freelance gig. A friend operates a theater blog that reviews all the plays in Chicago, and we've had a crap load of openings in the past two weeks -- at one point I saw three shows in as many days, not to mention getting used to writing reviews, which is not as easy as it looks. Still learning how to say more with less. I see shows for free, get a stipend, and build a portfolio. Check it out -- search for "Joy Campbell" (use the quotes or you'll get things unrelated to me) and you can see the good, the bad, and the ugly of what I've done.
What else -- on a new med; so far so good, and love my new therapist. Psych thinks I'm not bipolar, but have longstanding anxiety issues. All I know is: give me drugs!
I'll be back soon. Have to write a review for a Sam Shepard play I saw tonight. Will get out the thesaurus to find various ways to say "WHAT THE HELL?!?!"
What else -- on a new med; so far so good, and love my new therapist. Psych thinks I'm not bipolar, but have longstanding anxiety issues. All I know is: give me drugs!
I'll be back soon. Have to write a review for a Sam Shepard play I saw tonight. Will get out the thesaurus to find various ways to say "WHAT THE HELL?!?!"
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Trifextra: It goes on.
in this week's Trifextra, we're told: Robert Frost one said, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." We want you to do the same. Sum up anything you want, but do it in three words. Your response should mirror Frost's quote by beginning, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about--." And the last four words are yours to choose.
Here's mine:
"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about anything: it's never enough."
Here's mine:
"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about anything: it's never enough."
Reading and Re-reading
So my last post? Yeah, the obsessive detail is another symptom. Put simply: People who make me work this hard for such little return are just a bad investment.
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