All posts tagged process

It’s a process. (Maybe I should take it out of the box)

Published November 5, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

In the so-long-ago-it-seems-like-it-happened-to-someone-else, I made a stand and withdrew from the MA program at Texas Women’s University. I was young and had hope and a purpose so I picked a side, Process based evaluation vs. Product based evaluation.

It seems such a senseless argument, particularly for Theater program, but I firmly believe that there are some prices too high to pay for a performance and that, to some performers, the process is the goal.  If only I remembered that a scant nine years later when my brain exploded because I was trying to have the perfect body while being the perfect performer, but I digress.

Still and all, I’m where I have chosen to be career-wise, such as it is and overall, I think I made the right choice, as when push comes to shove, I want to go out knowing that I fought the good fight and did the best that I could.

That being said, I’m tired of waking up scared.

Not scared in that there are zombies trying to munch on my tenderized brain as I flee, a flurry of post-it notes in my wake.

No, I’m talking real fear.  The fear that comes from knowing you are doing your best and still watching yourself drown.

The house has sold. (Whee!) Now I have about 30 days to get everything out/sold/trashed and find somewhere new to live.  I’ve started sifting through the detritus of a dissoled marriage and stuff Steve left behind. There are  a few things that Actor Boy left when he went to college. There’s not a few things of BatBeard’s that I need to relocate.

And then there’s my stuff. I know it’s just stuff.  But it’s not just stuff.

It’s the piano, that I fondly refer to as August Wilson. My grandfather bought it for my mother when she was learning to play the piano. It was convereted from a player piano so it can’t be retuned; it needs to be restrung.

It’s books.  My favorites and a few that were gifts. It’s the book that is a compilation of Bob Dylan’s lyrics; the songs that got me through the days of madness as my parent’s marriage dissolved and I tried to finish college

It’s the drafting table. The last vestige of Fort Worth Theater. Steve Garrett rescued it from the rubble and it’s mine.

It’s the pictures. The oil painting that Steve had in his living room and the framed Georgia O’Keeve print that my mother had framed for my ex-husband.  It’s the pictures that have to be gone through, all of the wedding pictures that need to be stored or discarded because the frames might mean something to someone else.

Yes, it is all stuff, and I do have to process all of it. Very soon.

Because in all of the stuff, there’s the memories. There’s the TEN, 10, ten mason jars of pickled corn that my Esther Hembree put up for my ex, back in the days when there was a Homefort in Tracy City.

I have the jars and I am more than a little resentful that I have custody of the corn and the jars and I have to move and find a place for a piano because someone else screwed up. (Or down, you remember, girl with the little rat face and teeth that make an x in front.)

And then there’s the fear that it’s all ending anyway, so who cares?

Because, as you know, in the litany of choices I made, the biggest one involved me promising to keep my students safe.

We are in a world where that is becoming exponentially harder as hate spews from the mouths of those who have more guns, more money and more voice than the rest of us.

I know I have plenty to do without worrying about this, too, but I do.

It’s part of the process.

The Process

Published December 19, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I’m hard to explain.

I have been “seeing” someone I met on Plenty of Freaks. (I mean Plenty of Fish; dating in the digital age is bizarre.) I use the term “seeing” because we have only actually gone out maybe four times since July.  There is mutual interest, but he is in Marketing and has three school age children who he as joint custody of (mostly weekends and some holidays.) I am in complete agreement that kids come first and there are very few people with whom I communicate when Actor Boy is in town.  Combine that with my schedule and the fact that we live about 40 minutes away from each other, thus the four dates in six months.

I am finding it difficult to explain the basic processes and procedures that make up a day in the life.

My life is slightly askew right now because I have a roommate, Big Kid, who is my Amanda Friend’s oldest son. He is an employed, sober fellow, (he’s already a vast improvement over my last roommate The Absence of All That is Good and Holy.) The askew is mainly because I have had to move things around my house and clean a few things, coordinate a few things and try to ignore the fact the the pipes in my house are doing their very best to summon the Hag of Beara. It is nice to have someone else in the house  so I don’t get abducted by time weasels and someone will notice if I fall and break a hip. (The Mom is afraid something like this will happen.)

The financial assistance will be great, too. I know I shouldn’t worry too much about it; after all, there is not a single thing I can do about it today, and I am actually ok. (This means my bills are paid, I have food in the house and about forty bucks in my purse and a loaded Starbucks card)

I did not realize how much of my existence is based on processes and hacks just to make things work. Explaining the bits and pieces to Big Kid, who like his mother, is mostly unflappable, made me a little more self aware.

My brain chemistry is a little off this week.

That is an extremely strange statement to make, unless, of course, you are me.  (In that case, nothing is a strange statement to make. )

My seizure medication prescription expired; I have no idea why, I have taken this medication consistently for 12 years.  I have not ever had a seizure, but since the medication also prevents migraines, and no one wants me to have  a migraine, or a seizure, for that matter, I take the medication.

This medication has to be taken daily to keep my neurons happy. When I don’t take the medication, I get dizzy and a little light headed and my brain feels like it’s shifting from side to side like a lava lamp. This is not a good feeling by any means.

I finally got the medication and am slowly getting back to the normal.  Why yes, it did just take me 500 words to explain how I get to normal.

In other news, I have a short story up in the Kindle store. Check it out ! Review it! Get ready for two new book length things: Circumstance-a novella, and The Sound of Two Thighs Clapping– a weight loss memoir

The Classic : A short story