If you have read my blog, you know that this past year or so has been not easy. I was diagnosed with cancer and then my world began to fall apart. I could not work, I lost my breasts, my hair, my husband….it was as I said not easy. The husband, I can do without. The hair, it is growing back. The breasts are being reconstructed but the job is a little more difficult. I am an award documentary filmmaker. You would think this would be enough to get me work, however this is a fickle business. I have been out of the loop for too long. I cannot stop making films. I am committed to telling other peoples stories to make a change in the world. So…instead of giving up and crawling into a corner to sulk, I decided to make my own work. I , along with my very talented son, have launched an Indigogo campaign to raise money to make a very important documentary. I am asking anyone who is reading my blog to share the link, donate and encourage others to do so. We are a community. Everything we do to help someone helps us. Here is the link and just let me say in advance, thank you so much.
I love you but.. i’m sorry but. The apology lies flailing. But the big butts of life, use the but. The but to push the buttons. The buttons that zap The buttons that shock. The but of the buttons used by the butts. Butter me up and tear me down with a but. A three letter word. Three letters with the strength to topple, to tumble to destroy. I love big Butts and I cannot lie. Lie . Lie with your your but. Your new bed of buts. May the pillow cradle your head. Sing you to sleep but. But what. The butt of a joke told by a but of buts. The butter melts. The butter rams the heart. Breaks the silence. Shatters the kind. The heart exploding from too much butter. Saccharine smiles. Sweet sticky toffee oozing with butter. Sweet to the tongue. Acid to the soul. Push the buttons. Start your engine. Off button On button. But But But. I love you but. Im sorry but. But to blame is a short slide in a pool of butter. Slippery floors . Watch your. step. Step on a crack break the back. The back of the truth. The backbone of love. tTrying to see through a smear of butter. Churning. Churning. Turning. Turning lies to truth with push of the button. The button. The butter the but of the butt.
How to begin again. where is the start. at the heart ? In the brain? The brain that has been drained of all trust. The heart that has been shattered with icy words and tangled meanings. double meanings. unclear truths. Do unclear truths become lies. Lying in a bed of lies Lying in a queensize bed made larger for lack of a king. A bed made kingsize. Kingsized lies. Kingsized pain. No king in the kingdom just traces of dust. discarded skin. Skin that flailed and lay beside me. Skin that was shed to reveal a snake. A snake that eats his prey whole with no regard for pain. A snake that has no beginning. Where to begin again . Where to start? In the brain or in the heart?
Endings are harsh. They are not new beginnings they are ends. Ended. Rear ended. I feel as though I have been rear ended with this ending. A sudden blow coming out of nowhere. Jolting me. Shocking me. Leaving my nerve endings oozing with pain.Rear ended by a rear end. An ass. A rear end rear ended me. The slap of the ending stinging my face as tears fall to the end of nothing. Tears that roll and end at the edge of my heart. My heart that has been rear ended. The end dangles with uncertainty. The ends all tangled up in what once was and what never was. An end to something that had barely begun. Rear ended. Sitting tied down by the pain. Sitting listening for an end to the end.
As the day of my surgery draws near I go through waves of acceptance and tidal waves of fear.I am still having difficulty getting my head around at. I go to appointment after appointment and still feel in the darks as I did in the beginning. People ask me inappropriate questions that I cannot answer. Others tell me “It will be great” Great? In what universe is this great? In a week I will have no breasts and no lymph nodes. I will bandaged and in pain but apparently it will be great.
I have purchased a chaise lounge because I figure since I have to lay around I may as well get a tan. I wonder since I have no breasts is it okay to sunbathe topless. I can’t see a problem except for maybe me. I do not think i will be able to look for months …maybe years. We will see.
I have also thought about going out and buying a “Hooters” t shirt. If I advertise that something is there maybe people will think that they are. Maybe a shirt with 2 fried eggs or two melons, or maybe just to throw a curveball three tomatos
I have trouble sleeping at night so Kpmpa stays up with me. He listens to me cry. He puts his paws around my neck to hug me and if it gets really bad he goes in search of his new toy.
His new toy is a plastic hotdog complete with mustard and ketchup. And the hot dog squeaks. So when I am sobbing uncontrollably I can count on my sweet kompa to hand in from of me squeaking his mustard and ketchup covered hotdog until I look up.
As always Kpmpa makes me laugh.
The great world wide web is wonderful for so many things. It allows me to connect with distant friends, it gives me sought after information right at my fingertips and it allows me to write my thoughts and have them read by people who are not in my walking world. All these amazing things are possible, however since my unemployment began I have noticed a flaw in this online world we have embraced. Applying for jobs!
Job after job is posted daily. And I apply daily. Or do I? Is it really me who is applying for these jobs or merely a detached resume. Personality is lost in this world of remote job seeking. We are reduced to a list of experience and accomplishments. I don’t know about you, but I am more than my resume. I am much more than my past experience. I am a person with abilities that cannot be expressed in a format of dates and headings. I am a living thinking, breathing person.
Hundreds of resumes sent out into the vast universe of cyber job seeking and no replies. Not a peep. My resume is strong but I know it is one of the thousands that are being sent to each job. Without the personal touch that sets us apart form each other, how are these decisions being made. Has it become so impersonal that potential employers cannot fathom the thought, that at the end of every resume, is a person waiting nervously to hear some news. Have we all been reduced to nothing but our past on paper?
As I sit here and ruminate on the present state of our cyber existence, Kompa is running around the living room happily with an empty milk carton in his mouth. Kompa likes to recycle the recycling, an annoying habit but Kompa is here. Kompa appreciates the person that I am and he does not care a fig about my past experience.
Kompa flips the milk carton into the air and catches it. He comes to me for a pat of approval. In this ever expanding world of internet and detachment,Kompa is real and as always Kompa makes me laugh.
When I was working I always gave money to people on the street. I believed, that I believed, that we were all only one step away from being in their place. I did truly believe that I believed that, however I realize that it was a concept, that in the deep recesses of my mind, I did not truly embrace. How did I come to this realization? Each morning, before I went to work, I used to go out before the sun got up to walk Kompa. It was my meditative time. I did it before the sun got up because although I do not like to run, I love to dance. So every morning before the break of dawn I put on my head phones and out we went to dance in the dark. There is a running track at the end of my street, and each morning I could be seen as a shadow dancing with pure abandon. A dancing fool. Add to it singing at the top of my lungs. It was glorious. Kompa ran along side and sometimes he joined in the dancing. It was the best part of my day. When I lost the work that I went to daily, I stopped going out for my morning dance. I stopped because I felt ashamed. Ashamed of my situation. Ashamed that I could not find work Ashamed that I had lost my identity.
This morning, I realized that the shame I felt was a judgement. A judgement of not only myself, but also of everybody else who found themselves in dire straits. I always believed I would never really truly be in this position. Now I see we are all one step away. It takes one second to sink the boat that carries us. That thought is sobering but it is also liberating.
As I write this I have just returned form my morning dance. My first in months. It was great. Dancing and singing in the rain with Kompa. As we were making our way home, still dancing, Kompa stopped. I turned to see what he was doing. He was smelling a bunch of begonias. Kompa, my funny endearing companion had stopped to smell the flowers. In his wisdom he reminded me, just as we are one step form disaster, we are also only one step away from beauty. Ahhh that Kompa, He always makes me laugh.