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Chelley's Inner Monologue
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| Sunday, January 18, 2009
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I've noticed something different about myself lately. I'm happier. I'm more energetic. I'm more confident. I walk with a little more something in my step. I don't know exactly what has caused these changes but I have a theory. It's a theory that involves a little dog and an improv class.
For those of you who don't know, in October I adopted this amazing dog. I've named him Duffy which I've deemed appropriate and if you've met him you probably agree. Before I adopted him I knew I was missing something, a connection... to... something. So I began searching high and low for a dog that would fit into my life and bring me all the joy that all my previous dogs had done. I found a small little white terrier who seemed to have this light in his eyes and I fell in love with him instantly. He was perfect. I say was because after 4 days of having Giles (which is what I named him) he began getting sick with Parvo. It became so bad that about 4 days later we had to put him down. I was devastated. Despite this horrible set back I continued my search. Petfinder.com to the rescue... hopefully. Well rescue they did. I found a dog who quite literally resembled "Sprocket" from "Fraggle Rock" (btw the shelter named him Cousin It) so much so that I just had to have him. I went to meet him and... well, that was it. Love at first sight. If anybody says that love at first sight isn't possible then they've never met this dog. Even those that aren't huge dog people seem to fall for this little fella so of course, being the dog person that I am, I didn't have a chance. So now I wake up every morning to a lick on my nose and go to bed with a warm, soft little body snuggled up against me. And in between these times I have this energetic, funny, fantastic dog that brings me joy constantly. I can't wait to get home every night, not to sink back into my shell like a hermit crab, but to take him for a walk, do some training with him or even just play with him. It's amazing how much this animal did for me.
This Duffy when I first met him.
This is Duffy after I got him home, gave him a bath and trimmed a bit of his hair.
And this is Duffy now in his cute little sweater.
Now you're probably wondering what this has to do with improv. Well, nothing but... here's something. Back in November I began taking Improv classes at The Hideout Theatre. I've been wanting to take them for quite sometime because it's suppose to help with my screenwriting. But a problem or two cropped up whenever a new class was available or I'd miss the beginning of the class by, like, two days. Finally the God's of timing were on my side and I was able to start Improv classes. The amazing thing about these classes is not just that it's helping my screenwriting but it seems to be also helping my self-esteem. I feel more comfortable with just being me, more comfortable with the possibility of failing, of not being perfect all the time. Improv allows you to let go of those preconceived notions you have about yourself. It allows you to knock down those walls that we've all built to protect ourselves and just trust ourselves and our instincts. Plus... so much fun! |
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posted by Chelley 4:29 PM
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| Saturday, July 05, 2008
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Happy Endings... |
I find myself always drawn toward stories with unhappy endings. For they ring more true than fairy tales and living "Happily ever after." Every day our lives are full of moments, just moments, of happiness but the whole of existence falls within the world of misery. An ocean of misery surrounds us as we hold on to the few blissful moments we scrounge for. These moments give us hope that more lie ahead, that we all deserve a "happily ever after." But if this were true wouldn't there be less war, less famine, less hatred in this ever increasing cruel world? Wouldn't there be more moments to hold on to, to cling to... to use as weapons against the days where nothing seems to work, nothing seems to matter except for the excruciating, emotional torment we put ourselves through. There is not a happily ever after. Few of us experience happily let alone ever after. And to say and think otherwise is plan ignorance.
The majority of our lives are full of loneliness, poverty, and longing. We long for the one we love but does not love us back. We long for more money as a to a way to happiness but when we find financial freedom the modicum of happiness we found is lost to the fear of losing that financial freedom. And those that have money long for the what they feel they cannot have, love for the sake of love and not love for their money.
Days melt into the next, years blur into many and we still wait, we still hope. Grasping onto the few blissful instances and forcing the fear, longing, and loneliness to the very back of our minds, we march on. Some of us to the beat of our own drum. Some of us feeling it best to slink into the background, absorbed into a life we didn't want but a life that provides the comforts that society tells us is necessary. But we all... we all long for human companionship whether we feel it lies within our grasp or not. We want that special someone who adores us with every glance, with every touch that tingles with anticipation, of possibility. Some of us will never even have an instant of this and others will have a lifetime and they're the lucky ones. It's those in the middle that hurt the most. They know of love, know how it can raise your temperature and quicken your heartbeat. They know how the tiniest of touches can awaken the constant, doubting cynic with a surprise. They've loved and lost and now roam the world looking for it again, wondering with every step, with every thought, with every breath if they'll ever have it again. It's the wondering that make unhappily ever after more real and a constant in our lives.
I know what you're going to say, "Better to have loved and lost. Than to never have loved before." But is this true. Isn't it better to have blissful ignorance to the possibilities of true love, to not know of it, than to wonder? |
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| posted by Chelley 4:26 PM
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| Tuesday, December 04, 2007
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Lose... |
Lose. It's a word we're all familiar with. There's not a person among us that hasn't felt lose or lost at some point in their life. I, myself, have felt some form of it prominently in my life since the age of 18. Ten years of this feeling. You'd think I'd be use to it. But it's not a feeling we can get use to. Sure we can deaden ourselves to keep from displaying the hurt but it's still there beneath everything.
I was 18 the first moment I felt true lose, when my father died. It was four o'clock in the morning or there abouts when my mother woke my brother and me up. (My sister had since moved out) Groggily and sleepy eyed we staggered into the living room and gathered around my mother. I knew something was wrong but what. And then she uttered those fateful words "You're father has passed away." My insides deflated like a balloon accidentally released before it can be tied shut. My life... everything I had know, everything I had understood about my life up to that point had changed in a split second. Nothing made sense anymore. My brain was swimming among oceans of despair and grief. I tried so hard to pull my head above the water but I never could and still can't. At some point I think I stopped struggling and gave in. My head no longer skates the surface but glides along the bottom of the deep end. I remember being unbelievably ambitious. I wanted to be a performer, any kind, it didn't matter what. But through increasing amounts of low self-esteem and doubt that dream slowly slipped away. It's now been replaced with the ideas that I can never live up to an audience member's expectations so why continue. It's been replaced with fear of not living up to my own expectations. And so I felt lose again which just propelled me further under the crushing waves.
I'm now feeling a lose of, not quite, the same magnitude. The lose of my hands... and, again, my dream. This time the lose is physical. This is the second time that I've lost something physical. The first was when I was diagnosed with Plantar Fasciitis in my left foot. Because of this I can no longer stand or walk for several hours at a time, taking away half of the job possibilities along the way. So I did what any person would've done. I got a desk job. For the last 5 plus years I've been doing telephone tech support. For those of you who don't know that means that you answer phone call after phone call assisting customers with computer problems. This means that you're, basically, typing non-stop for 8-10 hours a day. It caught up with me. Over a year ago my life changed again but this time it changed with the smallest of aches. My thumb was the culprit causing me dull aches through it. But then it spread like a wild fire through the entirety of my right hand. Trying to lessen the pain I switched my mouse to a track ball and to my left hand. Two weeks later that hand hurt also. And they've never stopped hurting. A year and 3 months later I've been told by doctors that there's nothing they can do for me except attempt to lessen the pain management. The dream I spoke of earlier, the one that I finally chose to truly move on with... it was to be a screenwriter. How am I to do that now? I felt like I was finally reaching the surface again, finally going to get a breath of fresh air. But there seems to be a some maniacal mad man intent on enjoying my suffering that's holding me under the water. This mad man seems to have an amazing sense of irony too, because I was suppose to begin my 3rd screenwriting course to continue my education and become a better screenwriter right when the pain began.
But I must end this here. I've now left the it-only-hurts-a-little-bit stage of writing and slid right into the ow-it-burns-it-burns stage. I'll write again soon... hopefully. |
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| posted by Chelley 2:18 PM
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| Thursday, November 22, 2007
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Hands suck... |
Once more with the old blog. Promise something new next time.
For those of you interested (and to those of you who aren't, sorry) I've had a bit of a break through on my hands. We've finally diagnosed it as tendinitis (Isn't this what I was saying all a long) and, after a month of fighting, they have finally approved worker's comp. Yay! However they did not approve my being reimbursed for time taken off so I'm still broke. At first this really ticked me off. They said that "pain alone is not a reason to miss work." Hello?!?!? I wouldn't have missed work if I hadn't been in pain. It's incredibly backwards, this whole system. But now as long as I can get my regular pay checks I think I'll be okay. I know I should fight for this because it's a work related issue so it stands to reason that if I can't use my hands fully and my job requires it then I can't work, right? But they don't see it that way. Again, I know I should fight but I'm so exhausted from fighting for the last 7 months. I'm mentally, emotionally, and at times, physically drained from fighting. I haven't been the nicest of people lately and I know to be around me has been a drag and I'm sorry for this. We're starting on the road to recovery so the depression should be lifting soon... I hope.
The doctor says that I'm only allowed to keyboard and mouse for a maximum of 4 hours a day so they're trying to find something to do with me for the other four hours. I go to physical therapy twice a week which may increase to 3 depending on how I respond. I'm back to wearing my braces but only at work so I don't look like a freak 24 hours a day, just the four. And I have to have another nerve test done because we think I may have some carpal tunnel in my right wrist and some nerve damage in my elbows. All this is a little overwhelming but at least there's a light at the end of the tunnel beckoning me home to a tendinitis free world. So wish me good physical therapy! |
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| posted by Chelley 7:57 PM
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Doubt... |
This is another old blog I felt needed to be moved over.
Doubt is the most difficult thing to work through because as soon as you let it in, even just for a moment, it spreads and begins taking over. It becomes paralyzing. It some how works it's way into every aspect of your life. Pretty soon you're job doesn't seem to make sense, the choices that you've made don't feel right anymore. Everything is embued with this doubt, this fear that you can't do it. You try to counter act it by telling yourself that you can do anything as long as you put your mind to it, but deep down the doubt won't allow you to believe it. How do you fight that? How do you dispell the doubt? I really need to know because it seems to be taking over my life. I'm doubting on every level, but the level that is the most frustrating is my writing. I'm a writer, a pretty good one. And I'm in the middle of writing this spec TV script because I've decided that my passion lies in TV. (Film too but not to the extent of TV) but I can't seem to get started. I've done the research. I know the characters. I have my storyline but I can't seem to actually beat out (outline) the episode. I sit down at the keyboard and stare at the blank screen wishing something would come to me, but it never does. This just allows the doubt to grow and spread further. All I think about is that I'm a hack. I'm a hack that can't even get started. How am I going to be a professional TV writer if I can't even beat out an episode of a show that I thought I knew inside and out?
Doubt, it's the worst kind of evil. Its the kind we let into our own lives. I don't know how to fight it. |
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| posted by Chelley 7:54 PM
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Pee Wee is Gone |
This is an old Blog that I have posted on my MySpace blog. I thought I'd transfer it here.
Tuesday was the day. I finally decided. After 19 years of the same dog by my side it was time to put him down. He was in pain. Arthritis through his back and his hind legs, cataracts clouding his eyes. He couldn't walk very well especially around here with all the hills. He would lose his footing and roll down the hill. Because he was losing his eye sight he wouldn't walk around objects in his way. He'd barrel through them if he could. If he couldn't he'd just stand there waiting for me to pick him up. He'd fall down and sometimes wouldn't be able to get up on his own. During the day I'd keep him in the laundry room because he couldn't wait for me to get home to go to the bathroom anymore and if he were in the laundry room then I could easily clean it up. I came home one day to loud whining and when I opened the door to the laundry room I found him stuck in his water bowl. He couldn't get out and I could tell he'd been struggling for a while because he had red sores all over his legs where they had rubbed against the water dish.
I keep telling myself all these things because I need to justify it. I need to tell myself that it's okay that I made that decision. He was suffering. He led a great long life. He's better off now, but I still want him here. I come into the door and instantly look for him. At night I reach down to pet him but he's not there. I can't bring myself to throw away the open can of food that resides in my refrigerator. A morning hasn't gone by where I haven't cried. I miss him so much.
And I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I had to make the decision, that he couldn't have just died naturally in my arms. I feel guilty that I couldn't be there when they inserted the needle but I was afraid I'd stop them. I was afraid that she'd approach him with the needle and I'd grab her hand and say "Stop. Please don't. I love this little guy and I don't know what I'm going to do without him." I couldn't be there. I had to walk away. I didn't want to hear the yelp when they put the needle in his leg. I didn't want to see him gasp his last breath. I didn't want to see his eyes grow heavy and then never open. But I did want my face to be the last one that he saw but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be there for him in his last minutes, his last seconds, and I feel guily as hell for it. I looked back when they were closing the door and I all I saw was his sweet little face looking at me as if to say "where are you going." That face haunts me and I have to keep justifying my decision. He's better off now. He's not suffering. He led a long great life of 19 years. It's okay. Everything will okay. I know all of this to be true but it still hurts and I don't see an end in sight. |
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| posted by Chelley 7:45 PM
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| Monday, November 12, 2007
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A Person should get what she wants... |
A Person should get what she wants. It's a sentiment expressed on last night's "Private Practice" and it got me thinking. What do I want? And why can't I have it? Our entire lives are spent wanting, hoping. Do we ever get what we truly want? And if we do, is it still what we want? Or have we moved onto something else when we get it? Sometimes I feel like the tortoise with the Hare on its back dangling a carrot in front of its face, always reaching for something new, never content with. But I still want, I still hope.
But what do I want? I want to write... for a living. I want to create stories that people can wrap themselves in, stories you fall into. I want to write stories that make you forget the wanting, or stories that you make you want more. I want to see those stories come to life... on TV, in the movies. I want my dialogue spoken with such conviction and compassion that you can reach out and touch it. I want to make the audience laugh, cry, despair, love,... feel the whole of human emotions.
But what do I want? I want a man... a man who loves me for who I am neurosis and all. I want him to never want me to change but push me when I need to. I want him to make me laugh. I want him to make me think. I want him to... love me the way I've never been loved before. I want him to get goose bumps when he sees me. I want his breath taken away when I kiss him years and years after we've been together. And I want the same thing for him. The pessimist in me says this can't be, that this is just a fairy tale. But that small little voice in my head, far in the back amongst the cobwebs wrapped around Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny says... maybe.
But what do I want? I want some semblance of control in my life. I want to reach out for that control and not feel like it's slipping through my fingers like smoke rising above my head, only leaving small, un-seeable traces. I want to feel as if I'm not dangling from the edge of a skyscraper with only the tips of my fingers grasping, trying to pull myself up only to find that with every move I'm falling further and further until there's no more ledge, just the pavement below beckoning. I want to feel that something in my life is right. I want to feel like I belong... somewhere, that there's a place I can go and not wear the mask I display for the world. I want to knock down the walls I've built to protect myself from heartbreak, from being me.
But what do I want? I want New York. I want to stride down the streets of New York City knowing that it's okay not to know everybody, that it's okay to hide among a crowd. I want Yankee stadium, and Little Italy, and Brooklyn, and subways, and taxicabs with drivers who barely speak english. I want an autumn in Central Park where all the colors of fall float around my shoulders to the ground where they crunch beneath my feet. I want sweaters and coats... coats, not jackets. I want snow in my hair, on my eyelashes. I want a coffee shop or a bar where my friends and I are known as regulars, where the waiter asks "Your usual?" I want a usual.
But what do I want? I want to be thin but still eat what I want to. I want to exercise without thinking "yuck." I want a fabulous apartment that reflects my personality without being uncomfortable. I want to wash dishes as soon as I'm finished with them. I want it to be okay that a cabinet is left open. I want to make my bed every morning without thinking "It's just going to be unmade tonight." I want to get off my ass and watch less TV. I want to watch more TV. (I'm complicated. What can I say.) I want to spend an entire day watching movies at a movie theater... for free.
But what I need... I need my hands to stop hurting.
What do you want? |
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| posted by Chelley 3:47 PM
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I thought the saying was "It's better to have loved and lost than to have listened to an album by Olivia Newton-John?"