Bravo Hollywood

Hollywood gets on board

Silver Linings Playbook was an ode to the director's eighteen year old son Matthew who has bipolar disorder.  He decided to do the movie so his son would not feel so alone and I look forward to seeing it.  Given his son has the disorder, I think we have a chance, finally, for an accurate depiction of our illness.  Hollywood is getting on board at last.  Sure, they've all touched on depression but anyone can do that safely.  Bipolar disorder takes balls and someone out there had a heart to the cause and took a stand choosing our mental illness.  Thank you, David O'Russell for your movie.  I expect when I see it this week that it will ring true of a realistic portrait of our disorder.  I don't know how to reach him, but perhaps I could mail a copy of my book to the director if I approve.

Either way, we are finally getting some press. And not the typical, someone has shot someone else and they MUST be mentally ill.  Don't get me started on that.  Tonight's post is not going to touch this subject.  In honor of the SAG Awards, I'll stick to entertainment, thank you.

Back to the arts...

Don't get me wrong, Silver Linings Playbook is not the first.  There was Michael Clayton, the actor's name eludes me at this hour.  Also, I believe much earlier than that They Call Me Anna paved the way.  I remember I went alone to see Michael Clayton and it definitely rattled me for good and bad reasons.

First, the lead character was in an extreme manic state and I, even having been manic myself found it a bit off.  I haven't seen myself on the outside looking in like a movie while extremely manic, so it's hard to gage.  

Naturally, we bipolarians are the toughest critics.  I liken it to if someone is battling cancer, they damn well want to see it depicted properly. And let's face it, mental illness is especially delicate because they are talking about our minds.  You better do it right when you are tackling someone else's sanity or at times, lack thereof.  Delicate stuff and I wish they did it better, just like ourselves, though, there is always room for improvement and no one, no thing and certainly no movie is perfect.

Roughly five years ago, we had our first bipolar main character emerge in the theater in Next To Normal. I used to work smack in the middle of the theater district in NYC in my early twenties but have since been rather disconnected from it. Despite my proximity to the city, I haven't had the funds or gumption to pay attention while in my writing bubble of a world.  So this factoid was told to me as I was preparing query letters but a friend in the publishing industry as a positive point to make regarding my book's popularity.  I thought: 'Wow, a main character.  Now that is progressive and it's about time!'  Hmmm, bipolar had hit the stage and I was thrilled!  We were infultrating and people were paying for this entertainment.  I wish I had seen that play; however my timing was off. Precisely when I had the money and time, it was closing that week and I lost my opportunity.

From the stage to television, I'm happy to report last year Showtime's Homeland marks the first time, I'm quite sure, we have seen a main character with bipolar disorder on tv.  I was elated to hear Claire Danes was the one to play her too, though I realize it all depends upon the script. Without having Showtime, I had to wait until I subscribed to assess the reality of her character depiction.  I've only caught a few episodes but from what I've seen, they bring the issues of medication and sleep to the forefront. I see her taking meds and missing sleep. I realize their job is not to educate, but am happy she at least is seen taking medication.  To me, it's a no brainer to take a medication that solves a chemical imbalance.  But there are people out there that disagree and I respect decision of others to do what they will. Congrats to her for winning yet another award tonight on the SAGs.  After seeing a few episodes (gosh, I remember when that word was nails on a chalkboard in our house) being a great actress certainly helps us.

All in all I'm pleased with the direction we're going.  Tonight, I will rest well.  And I look forward to going to see the movie.

I only wish tomorrow I wasn't attending yet another funeral. Another suicide. This makes number three in five years.  Although they weren't a friend and I am going for support, I am tired of funerals. I am tired of suicide but grateful I survived. 

Many are not so lucky.

Bipolar Disorder for Dummies is here!!!!

The only good thing Sandy blew in was my copy of BP for Dummies.

It is a book I say a few words in....a huge honor for little ole me.  Just wanted to share.  The highlight of this horrible two weeks of cleanup in the wake of Sandy was this delivery. My copy from Joe, the author.

Made my otherwise very shitty (and cold) week.

Happy to be safe, alive and with power and heat!

Hurricane Sandy, Sea Bright and Mania

I've been surviving.  Let me explain.  Hurricane Sandy came to town and it has been a mess ever since.

We had a mandatory evacuation and left, moving in with my parents for two nights.
The damage in Monmouth County was extensive...horrific...tragic.  We came home to see if we had power, but like millions in the tri state area, predictably, we did not.

So we froze.  We moved back in to our place.  Our neighbor didn't leave our apartment complex and said it flooded, five feet of water engulfed our whole place.  Car alarms went off one at a time as the water filled them up and totaled them.  It was a mess.  The crawlspaces under our apartment saved each apartment except two buildings which had flooding inside.

We were lucky, no water inside, but it came damn close.  Up to our top stairs.

The perplexing thing is we live 100 feet from the river, we thought for sure this was what would flood us.  We had prepared, all our valuables were taken out and moved.  Our tv moved to our parents' house, picture albums taken out in suitcases, important documents too.  We filled garbage bags with litter and put them in front of our bedroom and front door.  Just in case, it could mean all the difference...  We took this storm seriously, unlike Irene.  We had  feeling it would be night and day to her.

Grateful we didn't sustain damage, we realized how lucky we were.  Had we not moved, we would still be living in Sea Bright.  It was where we lived for a decade, our little beach town, now decimated by Sandy.  Our city in ruins as Bruce sings.  Where beach clubs were ripped up and thrown, some houses in sticks, only one in tact, but flood damage to all. Sand from the beach displaced to ocean avenue and cars tossed like magazine pages on a windy day.

We left Sea Bright because the ceiling of our rental caved in during Irene.  Our landlord did a slipshod job at fixing it and we shudder to think what could've happened had we stayed.  It's an instant shot of gratitude anytime you need one.

Though Sea Bright is closed off by the national guard, we flashed our licenses with our Sea Bright addresses (licenses not changed yet) and they let us in.  Two weeks ago, last week ago, we couldn't go back if we wanted to.

Here are the horrible pics. I had to share them with someone, not sure about Facebook or Twitter, but here they are for you...

 this is our old building, and it's condemned.                  see below how the water line is up to the door.

 " X "  marks condemned by FEMA. 

 

alley behind our old apt.

another view of above bldg.

 This is the front of the building above.  Nothing inside... sad. I used to wave to the store owner all the time.  If business was slow, he'd be outside rocking on his chair.  He moved his store from Rumson to Sea Bright and it proved a bad move.

 This was a home the last mayor of sea bright owned. It was a three family home.  I hope no one was living here and they heeded the mandatory evacuation.  It's three blocks from our old apartment.

The public beach parking lot is now littered with army tents, the national guard, FEMA, police and volunteers.

This was my beach club for fifteen years.  Those were the years.... running around the club. Going from the ocean, to the pool, to the ocean.  Stopping in between to lie in the sand or stop in and get candy at the snack bar.   Very little had been changed to it in forty years.  Now it's a pile of wood.

Ship Ahoy beach club, next to Sands.  Neither did well...

Our poor Sea Bright.  R.I.P.

********************************************************8
Our Routine:



Each day our routine was the same.  We woke up cold, bundled up in coat, gloves, hat and scarf and headed out for our ice.  Upon return to our place, we iced up our remaining food in our coolers, organized our candles and set up for our return later.  Off we went for Carol's, my aunt, in Monmouth Beach past the National Guard to work on her house.  And each day we worked until dark, home in time for mandatory curfew at 7:00.

People began looting, it was expected.  As we were glued to our am radio, we first heard of it in Rockaway, NJ.  We watched the liquor store across the street and figured it would be the first to go.  Sure enough, it was hit the third night.  Cars circled around the lot until someone got up the courage and broke in.  Thereafter people went in, like they were going in to their pantry for pretzels.  We called the cops once, believing people were in there.  Turns out it was an unmarked cop car.  It was crazy: we were calling the cops on the cops.  Things were out of control.  They even looted the Welsh Farms.

With a foot of water in her house, three in her garage, she needed massive help in order to gut her house for the mold doctors to get rid the wet walls and floor. It was a big job, one that took many hands and 65 boxes. Seven days later, her crawlspace was dry, the boxes packed and the crew came in to take her walls down and floors up.

Exhaustion set in.  And we still had another friend to help who had a wet garage to deal with.  Meanwhile, our heat and electricity had still not come back.  So each night we froze, bundled up in blankets in the forty degree weather.  It felt bleak.  And while the rest of the world watched the news, we listened.  Only aware of the streets and towns around us, not having any idea, visually, of what devastation was around us.

Around the seventh day, there was a FEMA station built five minutes from us in the Monmouth Racetrack parking lot.  We began to go there for our ice and water.  Housing was set up there for folks who were helping from out of state.  And there were families brought in from other shelters.

But then I took a mental hit.  I began to go from healthy to the left side of crazy.  It crept up on me, like the wrath of Sandy herself.  Pressured speech, hard time sleeping, hard time eating.  Most major signs were and are there.  My partner noticed it first, and had to point it out to me.  No matter how much awareness you may have about your illness, it is still often noticed first by your loved ones around you.  And I am no different.  I can sometimes notice a little speediness, but when it goes from zero to sixty and I'm distracted, it's often the insight of someone else.

And so I'm a tad manic.

While I was busy helping my aunt, and worrying about myself and others, mania had packed a suitcase and headed for my place.  It stayed, silently on the couch.  Side by side, saying nothing until it's presence was made known.  And it sucks.

Now I have to pull back, take extra seroquel to sleep and have less time to help others.  The garage of our friend will stay soggy longer.  I have guilt over that, but there comes a time where you have to take care of yourself.  And during a hurricane/storm of this magnitude, you are on a wheel of madness.  When the wheel slows down, as your life returns to normalcy, it's not easy to stop your brain at the same time.

The only thing I can say is i'm grateful to be home.  I'm grateful i have loved ones who help me pinpoint mania has come to town, before it's out of control.  And I'm taking it easy.

When mania is here, and i'm on the right side of crazy, I have to stop my world a little while.  Until I can get back to center.  And that is part of the reason this is such a disruptive illness.  It takes a giant time out to get well again.  This is one of the main components of our illness that people fail to understand.  It's okay, I don't understand everything about diabetes or cancer.

It's accepted people can't work because they are having chemo.  It's not accepted that people aren't able to work because they have to take care of themselves and get back to wellness.  And rest, reducing stress and often relaxation at home is one of our medicines when mania has arrived.  This is when people mistake laziness for a prescription for wellness with our illness.  And it sucks.

The number one reason people don't understand our illness is they don't have it. I can't fault people for that.  But I can fault them for not trying.  Especially those who love me.  I have one relative who has "given up on me" in the words of my mother.  I knew this many years ago and it hurts to the core.  But I can't change other people.

Regarding hurricane Sandy, the jersey shore will recover.  Not as fast as me unfortunately.  It will take years and we will never be the same.  Fortunately, though, I will bounce back much faster.

peace,
me xo

air drums and tootsie rolls

I need a little break from writing DinerGirl. 

Sometimes I have my iPod on, sometimes it's too much.  Usually I can listen and write.  Sometimes I'm listening to the news in the background because my partner has it on.  When they started to hash out the vp debates all over again, I decided:  iPod goes back on.  I watched, I have my opinions, I know who I'm voting for and I could care less what the news people think of this or that statement.

So iPod back on. Among my close to 1000 tracks, over 100 is a book.  So that leaves nearly 900 that are songs and I always have it set to shuffle.  Little surprises come and go.  Some sad, some fast.  I have to share with you this.

I'm chomping on tootsie rolls. (I'm working my way through the big bag of sugar...ie: halloween candy that no trick or treater will ever get to eat.) Tootsie pop after tootsie roll, starburst, etc.  I'm washing it all down with a giant glass of water.  Suddenly the cat comes over and plops herself down to the left of my keyboard.  Problem is she is on the caps lock.  So every letter is coming out in CAPS.  Sorry kitty, you've got to move over. But this table is big enough for the 2 of us I promise.  Rita is usuallly glued to me and Leo glued to Nora. Rita is the baby, the runt who was found in Spanish Harlem and a waitress I worked with had rescued them from a mission in manhattan.  Well, technically HER sister did and she brought 4 from the litter to NJ. 

Anyways i don't know why i'm telling you all of this cat background.  rita sticks to me like glue.  and loves to sit on my laptop. or on my hands.  i had closed the blinds for better vision on my laptop and she was swatting her window-stuck toy through the blinds about to snap them (for the millionth replacement) when she wins. I lift them up.

Ten tootsie rolls later I'm listening in the background to HLNs cover story of Obesity in America.  And I decide to keep eating my bag of Halloween candy.

See I have 1 rule while writing.  I eat candy.  With no restriction.  I'm not talking giant chocolate bars, but high sugar, gooey, hard candy, whatever. I have always, even as a baby, sniffed out the sugar and pulled out drawers to get it.  They took away my Easter Candy upon a shitload of cavities at the dentist when I was maybe 8?  And I searched for that damned easter basked for at least a year.  Never found the damn thing.  They lied they didn't keep it. They threw my poor basket out.

I would take my pennies and nickles (yes I'm that old) and go up the street to buy my Swedish Fish.  Occasionally my friends and I would all throw our money together and buy the whole damn thing. 

Let me tell you, someday, and that someday is coming, I have to start working out again soon.  Until then, I am eating my damn candy to finish DinerGirl.

I have to tell you though, the whole reason for taking a break from writing today is to tell you this.

The tv is on.  Nora is asleep on the couch.  The kitties are both behaving (ie: they are asleep!)

And I am rocking out.

Oh yeah, big time.

Like a song came on and I lost it.  Playing all kinds of air drums.  The whole 9.  No one is watching, not even a pet.  The only blind that isn't drawn is one that no one can see in to the dining room.

And I suck at air drums.  But i play them anyway.... because the most awesome air drum song came on.  Do you know "Iris" by the band called:  Live?   OMG great fucking song.  I can curse, it's my blog, why the fuck not. 

"We are Family" is on now.  Too funny, because we sang that song during sorority rush about a thousand freaking times over the years (plus at every single dance and formal we had.)  So in college it was a bit overplayed in the stereo of Wendy's mind.  But today.....

DAMMIT:    we are family....
                           get up everybody and sing!!

Now, it's Chris Brown (ugh) and Jordan Sparks : )  singing " No Air"  a song that rocked me to the core the summer it came out.  It was the summer that I fell in love with a woman for the first time.  And we will be married in a few months.  Crazy shiz I know.  But let me tell you, it was like my universe clicked and AT LAST everything made sense.

I will write as I was in DinerGirl. Yes, it's a book about me when I was a diner waitress. And at that time I thought I was straight. I was living that life. COnfused.  And so lost I didn't even realize just how confused I was.  Tragic.  At least halfway through life I figured it out.  It's about time I'm in love.  SOme people have it once in their life, some never, some several times.  
Love 
  has
     finally
          arrived.

(well 3 years ago... but at 40 that took a while!)

okay that is my little summary.  more outta me the next time i need a break from DinerGirl.  You all rock. Thanks for reading and being you.

love,
dinergirl  xxoo

hmm i kinda like it no caps...  

p.s. new on my iPod:   Amos Lee.  "Colors"   He's genius and mellowing me out. 

words to live by

my mantra for November NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo uh oh

LOOK OUT!  It's almost November....

DinerGirl....Let's Go Wendy!

Full time writer it is

I'm happy. Okay, I got some horrible news yesterday, but trying to remain positive.  

I'm terrified.  Free as a bird, yes, but nervous.  Let me tell you why.

Until yesterday I was a medical secretary.  Yours truly has been hiding out in a doctor's office, pretending to be someone else as most writers - sans the Stephen King types - have to do.  At least part-time jobs anyway.   

Then, WHAM, yesterday afternoon the doctor's wife takes me outside and I knew it wouldn't be good.  "Your position is turning in to a full-time one.  The fall gets really busy here.  And we need a full time person."

"And you're not offering me that position?"
"No."  She answered flatly.

"So....you're firing me?"  I asked.  Thinking of all the times I stayed after work, busting my ass to get them caught up.

"Well...basically, yes."  She let out a nervous little laugh.

As she stood there looking at me I realized mistakes aside, the medical secretary world wasn't my gig. But for Pete's sake, I tried. I typed faster than anyone else, was cheerful on the phone, nice to the patients. I scanned and photocopied as fast as I could. I would stay late to get piles down, get scanning caught up and things in order. All they saw were my mistakes, but if anyone tried hard, I did.

I kind of saw it coming, with each time the token bitch (there's always one, isn't there?) would throw me under the bus and say 'we really need someone full-time' or 'of course you get the chart, Wendy!'  It's like I had a Bull's Eye for her anger every day on my forehead.  I thought someday I'd be asked to leave. There was a clock ticking, the rotten apple didn't like me.  I figured what she wants she gets, she had been there 12 years and all.  Yes, mistakes are one thing, but the employee with seniority rules.    

Even as I sit here, I'm still processing how my world changed in an instant yesterday.  Great!  I can write all day!  But, eh, ah, er, how will I pay our bills?  My fiance can't work right now and my royalties don't even cover our rent.
Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshit!
As I bite my fingernails, well a little anyway, I wonder what's around the corner. Sure if I picked up my book of checks and the apron, I can live DinerGirl while I finish writing it, but it's so damn unappealing.  I can't bring myself to waitress again unless we have no food in our cupboard and our rent is late.  Which in four weeks is a distinct possibility.


So let me get back to why I'm happy.  

It's really very simple.

Once I put my pride aside, they were after all firing me for making too many mistakes, I realized once again: I'm an author.  I've been broke before and dammit I can be broke again.  I'll never starve, I'll never be homeless.  (I have too many family members in the area! ha!)  

Now I've got the time, I can get back to finishing DinerGirl.  Oh, sure, I'll be a little broke, but not for long.  Things always have a way of turning around.

Change position title to:  Full time writer?
                                     Check.

                                     Full time starving artist (well, not starving yet...)
                                     Check. Check.

                                     Things'll be turning around soon.
                                     Check. Check. Check.

 

peace out,
me