Popping a button

This morning a button popped off the top of my dress when I bent down to pick something up and I went ballistic. Normally losing a button, while irritating, wouldn't send me into a homicidal frenzy. I'd either fix it on the spot or pick something else to wear. This morning, however, I shrieked loudly enough to scare all seven cats, ripped the rest of the buttons off the dress when I pulled it off, and flung it in a corner, all the while screaming 'I HATE BEING OVERWEIGHT!' Dave did his best to calm me down, but there's really nothing you can do except wait it out, let all the pent up fury and energy dissipate. Which it did, leaving me with a sense of self-loathing and depression that lasted all morning because not only had I scared my babies, but I'd interrupted Dave's writing time. And who wants to deal with a crazy woman?

For me, it's almost always the small things that make me explode. Generally that's because I'm dealing with a lot of major issues that create a bucketload of stress. The kind of stress that lurks beneath the surface 24/7. Even when I'm in a good mood, it's there. Lurking like some malevolent Irish water fairy, waiting to drag unsuspecting passerbyes to their doom.

Dooooom! (insert Grandpa Simpson voice there).


For instance, I'm so fucking sick of my job situation, not knowing when or even IF the axe is gonna fall. Feeling like a benchwarmer for someone else who can't be bothered to give a firm commitment. This person is evidently so amazing that any amount of time is okay to wait for them to decide. And I'm just left dangling, every day of uncertainty fraying away the nerves.

I like my job. I like the people. I'm good at what I do and I'd like to keep doing it where I am. I've proven myself, but the feeling that no matter how hard I work, no matter how good I am, it doesn't matter. Because this other person will always be better. More professionally desirable.

It sucks.

And then those rewrites...ah yes, the rewrites. I guess I still have a certain amount of faith in actually seeing a paycheck from this round because I keep on going, like a resentful energizer bunny. But still...more uncertainty. Waiting for someone else to read the script and say 'well, we'd like you to make THESE changes before we make any decisions.' Going through this yet again without really knowing if I'll ever see a dime from it.

I don't write with expectations of getting paid. I write because I enjoy it. And I even take pride in my ability to make things work, no matter how I feel about some of the changes. I'll dig in my heels when I disagree with something so violently that I'm willing to make a stand. I'm pretty stubborn when I want to be. And I pride myself on digging in my heels in a NICE way. I've yet to tell someone that their ideas suck the cosmic wang, even when they do. But there are times you have to compromise or just suck it up and make changes that you know are just wrong. And the only thing that makes it bearable is a paycheck.

So lots of uncertainty in my life. Doing my best to keep a good face at work and continue to do a good job. Trying to make sure that whatever changes I make to the script, whether I like them or not, are done to the best of my ability and (as much as possible) are true to the original story. Really wanting to visit San Diego, see my family and my best friend, Mo, yet not having the time or money to do so. No paid time off, y'see. Let's just add that to the resentment at the job situation.

The thing I resent most, though, is being in a state where a button popping off, be it literal or metaphorical, can turn me into a self-loathing loony. And wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. Or the next button's gonna pop.