My Quagmire

To say I am at a crossroads in my life would be the understatement of the century. A crossroads presents options - four to be exact. You can either turn right or left, move forward, or go back from where you came. My current position would be described more or less like being knee deep in black, oily, thick tar while not only being within site of a busy intersection, but also being forced to watch others, in expensive sports cars, fly by while having interesting conversations, eating the best food, and listening to fresh, inspiring music. They don't even notice me. Instead, I remain there, like a bird on the road with a broken wing, waving in vain, hoping someone will stop and pull me out, but the cars are too fast, the food is too good, and the music is too loud.



I long to be productive. I long to create, to provide a service, to make my mark. I am reminded of a line once spoken by Jessica Lange to Ed Harris in the movie Sweet Dreams, "People in hell want ice water..." Yes, we do - with a little lemon in it please.



Maybe I'm over-reacting and not really in hell. Perhaps the cars don't stop because I'm not really sinking into a pit of black self-loathing goo. Possibly to them, I am just standing there. Would they, for a second, suspend their wealth-building conversations and comment "Why is she just standing there when there are so many great places to go?". Am I really okay, but just imagining I am failing as a human being? If I sit at my desk with a blank piece of white, twenty pound, letter sized copy paper from Staples and a stolen pencil from my twelve year-old and begin to write down my accomplishments, could it be possible I am not the loser I think I am? Hmmmm. Let me see.



I worked for years in film (I'll use that term loosely since it was one independent feature film and they spelled my name wrong on the credits) and video. Started out as a production assistant, which is kind of like a mule, or really, just an ass, on the set. Did that for a while until I could prove to the egotistical, bloated producers I could handle more than laying bags of potato chips on the craft service table and moving the occasional car blocking the shot. I was promoted to production coordinator, which meant I was responsible for covering the producer's butt at all costs without ever considering for a moment I would get any recognition or credit for putting in eighteen hour days. The way I knew I was doing a good job was not because I received praise or a pay raise, but because my phone rang and I got hired for the next job. After six years of stress and feeling under appreciated, I decided to give up all the glamour and excitement to have a baby. That baby is now twelve and thinks I am a total idiot. That was Tulsa.



Now living in Pennsylvania, I have two boys, one twelve and one four. I still apply for production jobs, although I know I don't have the stamina or patience for it anymore. My real dream is to make hundreds of thousands of dollars writing - but I'd settle on $400 a week if the opportunity presented itself. I really just want to be able to write and have some sort of effect on people. Would it matter if I were making them mad or making them laugh? Probably not. As long as I was making them feel something. I prefer humor to cynicism and actually dabbled in stand-up comedy at one point. It was always something I wanted to do and one day, when I was in between marriages, I just did it. I called a local comedy club and asked if I could have five minutes on stage. I wrote some material, practiced it in front of a mirror, and then drove there and got on stage. At first I was really nervous, but then it kind of felt... I don't know... cool. I said things like "Walking behind someone with a fat ass in a crowded mall is like driving behind a mini-van in traffic..." and such. I guess it kind of worked because I was approached later that night by a guy who runs a comedy night at a bar in Newark and he asked me to go down there and perform. I did and I really liked it. But then, as with all the ventures I have ever undertaken, Life got in the way and my dreams of being a stand-up comic drifted out to sea. But to this day, I find myself sneaking off to my computer to type in little things that pop into my head. I'm secretly compiling another volume of jokes and observations.



So now I'm here. Blogging. It's new and strange to me. Even the word "blog" sounds weird and doesn't feel appropriate. It reminds me of the words "snot" and "blob". It doesn't bring creativity to mind, but if that is what this crazy laying down of ideas has been branded, then who am I to criticize. I am just glad to be part of the process.