I can hear nothing tonight except for the hissing of the wall heater and the sound of Neil Young's Harvest album. I've been swallowing pain killers (over the counter, nothing strong, and I'm following the usage recommendation on the package), trying to "kill this knotted spasm in my lower back muscles. Not doing a lot of good, really. But Neil's squeaky, nasal, country voice seems to be more powerful than the drugs I'm taking. My back must like Neil Young.
Monday, January o9, 2o17
The Actor Factory: Sign in on the laptop. Took me about five tries just to get my name into the computer. I hate other people's computers. None of them work right. Stand at the blue line and wait for someone to come get you. I can hear David saying something about a script? He comes out and the little A.D. calls me in. Shows me a script. I glance at it. Only two lines. I'm sure I can remember them. Chris Freihofer (Freihofer Casting) sits at a long table staring into a laptop screen. He looks up and smiles at me. The A.D. walks me over to the camera. "I'll be reading with you," she says. "Let me know when you're ready." I nod. "Are you ready?" I nod again. "Yeah, well you have the first line." "Oh," I say. "Bless you." That's really the only line I remembered, damn. I make up the other one. "Really mean that you are thankful to her, " Chris says. I do it over, the A.D. responds with her line and I paraphrase what I think my line is and . . . "Yeah," Chris says, "I can use that. Thank you." The A.D. shows me to the door, and I go back to the front desk to sign-in on two hard copy sign in sheets. A lot of signing in. I think I left my stainless steel coffee cup in the audition room. Damn.
Tuesday, January 1o, 2o17 2:30 a.m.
Hell, we fear everything, we fleshy beasts, we two legged, mouth breathers. The day, the night, the dreams that we may dream, the coming dawn, the sparrows that bring the light into the world in their tiny birdie mouths. Our fear, our panic. We are more like the night than even the night knows.
Day will come, I know it will, it will arrive, I know it will, and I will rise, drink coffee until noon, maybe eat a sandwich, maybe write more about the black hole I feel growing inside me. There's a darkness for you to think about. The one inside yourself.
Doctor appointments on Thursday, me to the heart guy and David to get his prescription sunglasses. My appointment is at 1:15 and David's at 2:22. With luck, we'll neither one have to wait on the other. But I'm taking a book just in case I have to sit around for a long time. Look at us! The dilemmas that face us old things. Friday is Art Walk and the weathergirl is threatening an ice storm for all of Oklahoma. Do we dare go out in it? We might fall down! I long for the old days when my body and mind were young enough to say, "Fuck the weather. If I fall down, I'll get back up all by myself!"
Wednesday, January 11, 2o17
Didn't see Sis at the Walmart where she works. I wonder what she's up to? Anyway, got me a heating pad for the back at the Walmart and got it home, plugged it in strapped it on and . . . Oh, man, does that feel good. I know, I'm older than lint. Where a cute lookin' babe smiling at me would make me smile back, back in the day . . . now it's a warm breeze in the middle of winter and a heating pad strapped to my backside that does the trick.
Back in 2oo9, I wrote a poem about Walmart. Somebody online was complaining about standing in the checkout lane in Walmart with some crazy woman bumping into her over and over again. made me think of this poem and so I looked for it and . . . I FOUND IT! How do you like that? I can't remember where I put my keys but I can find a poem I wrote eight years ago on one try.
Waiting On Heaven
And here, here I am! Too impatient,
my callused feet screaming in defeat,
dreaming dry, white socks and sandals.
Here I stand, checkout lane 15, Walmart
where the older couple sorts the pocket lent
from sweat-stained change.
My! My! All those groceries yet to be checked!
at her obnoxious brat that’s putting
something foreign in her tiny, little mouth.
brand new, dull-blue Chucks, yes, that one,
squinting at the magazine rack,
reading the dirt on sweet Angie and Brad.
Woodie o4-o99-o9 (rewrites o1-11-17)
Thursday, January 12, 2o17
Heart doctor today. First off, weigh in. 203.3 pounds! DAMN! But heart is working, BAD cholesterol down into the lower 90s, GOOD cholesterol a bit under what would be acceptable. But no worries. Need to just get in the exercise and look up what foods have the good cholesterol and incorporate them into my diet. Life is good!
I dreamed last night! Okay, I know, we always dream but we don't always remember the dream. But I did last night. I dreamt I was in this line to get the newest iPhone and I was in front of everybody else and got the first one which was shaped like one of my inhalers AND I got it for free because I was first in line! Everybody applauded AND . . . I woke up. Yes, yes, not much of a dream, U grant you, BUT I DID remember it!
Saturday, January 14, 2o17
Anyway, I congratulate myself for writing more this week than last week. But I think 'I'll stop now. I got a few things on my mind that I want to talk about, but I'll save them for the next