I just read this:

207 BCE: Chrysippus, a Greek stoic philosopher, is believed to have died of laughter after watching his drunk donkey attempt to eat figs.

I wonder if that is where the term getting the last laugh comes from.

I slept most of the day yesterday.
I slept most of the morning today.

I believe I am finally feeling better, and rid of this pneumonia.
I am so relieved.

I'm excited to start writing again.
I'm excited to create new forgetmelots.
I'm excited to start my new company with Velocity.
I'm excited to get to go to the clubs.
I'm excited to visit up north soon.

Thank you Lauren for sharing this.
Everyone enjoyed it immensely.





Next time I want something a little more kinky, I'm going to head over to IKEA and check out their barstools.

When I was in 1st grade we had a project where we were asked to bring magazines from home so we could cut out pictures from them and make collages.

We had to pick a subject for our collage. I picked food. So in the center of this piece of construction paper, I wrote the word "food", drew a circle around it, and proceeded to clip out pictures of food from the issues of Sunset Magazine and Good Housekeeping my mom sent me to school with.

I don't believe many of the students, if any, chose food as their category. Many chose sports, people, places. Two boys in the class chose women. They wrote "women" in the center of their construction paper and clipped out pictures from the bra and panties section of the Sears and Mervyns catalogs. That should date things a bit--I don't believe stores make catalogs like that anymore.

I eavesdropped when the teacher talked to them. She told them that they did a good job, but thought it would be best if they kept their collages at school instead of taking them home like the rest of us.

Anyhow, the reason I brought this up is because I had a dream last night where I was back in that class and was asked to make another collage. However, this time the subject I had chosen for myself or had chosen for me (I can't remember), was "Who I'd Like to Have an Orgy With." HA HA HA HA

I didn't have any copies of Good Housekeeping or Sunset Magazine in the dream, nor did I have any old Sears catalogs. What I was clipping from, was a printed copy of my MySpace Friend list.

I remember going through the list and picking people out. Yup, many of you reading this were to be included in my collage orgy. However, the first picture I started cutting around was this one:



Gentleman Junkie was placed at the center of the orgy. I have no idea what the dream means, but Ed, apparently my fondness for you goes beyond your music. HA HA HA HA

The pneumonia or its after effects continue to remain with me. I've been going to work, but only working half days. Actually yesterday, I only worked two and a half hours before leaving, exhausted.

Yesterday, I became upset. I saw both my psychologist and psychiatrist and they both have the same desire...to re-medicate me. Blah. I'm already taking a ton of antidepressants, but they want to put me back on that other stuff....the stuff that keeps me from feeling anything. This is what happens when you're honest and forthcoming in your sessions. I know they mean well and care, and I know they finally understand what a big deal it is for me to stay off meds that keep me from writing anything worth a shit and suffer the consequences instead, but it bothers me that we have to start discussing timelines on how long it will take me to finish writing my new script (and perhaps the two planned after it) so they can try out some other meds on me that are bound to have the same effect. Are they my doctors or my agents?

le sigh.

I have a meeting with a production company scheduled for the 18th. I have to stay off the meds long enough to write them something great. The bargain I made with my psychiatrist is that he'll keep me off that crap, but now I have to see him with greater frequency. I have to see them both again next Wednesday.

One of the meds I'm on has a tendency to produce nightmares. Yesterday, both of them asked me how I was doing with them, and I remarked that I hadn't had any nightmares since I had gotten pneumonia. Probably because my sleep is so off. But wouldn't you know it? I say that in the afternoon, and that night I have a nightmare. Maybe it's a sign I'm getting better.

I had an appointment to finish the tattoo on my ribcage today, but I had to cancel it. Pneumonia.

I had an appointment to work on the tattoo on my thigh on Sunday, but I had to cancel it. Pneumonia.

I really thought I would get to go clubbing this weekend, but I don't know. I'm still so tired. Pneumonia.

Kyrie moves back to California on the 16th. So it will be an eventful month after all. :)  Sometimes, I worry she'll leave me because I get so withdrawn when I'm moody. I'm wondering if my moods will be more apparent once our relationship becomes more intimate than a phone call.

If I feel well enough by Saturday, I intend to go to Vladikous' housewarming party and just let the magic happen. Butt sex should make a nice housewarming gift. Okay, I'm just kidding. Pneumonia.


Finally,
M,

I'm not ignoring your message. I've read it numerous times. I just haven't been well lately to respond in some indirect way. But I will.

Okay. That's all I can think to write now.

I don't like Dr. Phil. He thinks there is one answer for everything and that he always knows it. His audience will clap for anything. I long for the day when TMZ will reveal that he has a mistress.

I'm still at home sick with my pneumonia. But I think I'm getting better. My appetite is returning. I just ate a sandwich in front of the television. I was hoping Maury was on, but instead there was the Steve Wilkos show.

Steve was lecturing a 17 year old girl who became pregnant by a 38 year old man. Steve asked the girl a question, she replied, and then Steve responded by saying, "That's a good answer, because that's what I think."

Oh please. I turned it off.

For those of you who do not know, Steve Wilkos, was the premiere security guard on The Jerry Springer Show. All those years of experience on that quality show, has made Steve feel qualified to give advice.

With how gruff yet still prescriptive he is with his guests, I wanted to label him, The Working Man's Dr. Phil, but during the commercial break which was filled with worker's comp and accident attorney commercials, he's more like The Non-Working Man's Dr. Phil.

What a pair of headstrong assholes.

In the distance, at night, maybe everything sounds inspiring and lonely.

James Joyce wrote about hearing an tenor sing.
J.D. Salinger wrote about hearing people laughing.
Langston Hughes wrote about hearing a band play.

With me, still in bed with pneumonia, all I've got to write about is hearing my neighbor sneezing repeatedly.

After nine days in bed, I had the bright idea of staving off boredom and going to work.

I arrived and my boss called me a dumbass. She wants me to go back home.

I dread leaving to head back to bed, but I think I don't have much choice.

Ugh.

I woke up this morning with your smile in my mind. I stayed in bed and held my own hand, trying to make it feel like yours, but you are so out of reach.

It saddens me, thinking of you being rotten in the ground. Your smile must be all gone by now.

And then I realized, I don't know what your parents did with you. I always think of you buried, but maybe you're ash sprinkled someplace nice.

But the thought of that possibility wounded me deeper--your smile powdered like that.

Megan, I wish....

I wish lots of things.

<3

i really thought i would go in to work today, even if only for a half day.

but when i woke up, i went to take my meds and eat something, and felt so exhausted after doing that, that i decided to lie back down for a few minutes.

apparently five hours had passed.

so i didn't go in again.

i am so sick of being sick.

i have so much to do.

and i wanted to go to Lindsay's birthday party tonight.

all i have been doing is watching netflix films and that zlad music video.
i think this is day 9.

thank you everyone who has taken the time to yap with me on aim.
that has made these days better.

on that note, giggles is yapping at me right now. so i think i will go yap back.

(btw, Lindsay, did you notice you're the only capital in this post? i know it's not much, but i wanted to give you something. have fun tonight! happy birthday at midnight!)

It's Saturday now. I've been in bed since Tuesday.

M,

I have pneumonia again. Can you believe it? I was always so afraid of going through this again, after that first time with you. This time sucks, but I think catching it so early made a big difference. I imagine I'll recover relatively quick. Kyrie made me go to the doctor. Apparently my best cure for pneumonia is having a girlfriend.

I'm honest with my therapists, but I'm not always forthcoming. They've finally gotten it through their heads that I write better when I'm not being medicated for a certain condition. If I volunteered the entire experience of getting my lungs x-rayed, they'd probably force me into being medicated again under the threat of being committed. So I guess I'll have to omit the entire experience during my upcoming sessions.

During these days in bed, I've experienced something else I'm not accustomed to--boredom. I pride myself on not ever being bored. I can always daydream things to write about and that keeps me happy inside. But my current wearied state has caused my doctor to insist I not even write. So I'm stuck watching Netflix movies. I'm even bored of porn.

Today, I watched Cashback (liked), Crashing (did not like; Richard Walter at UCLA teaches us not to write scripts about writers, this film is a good example of why you shouldn't), Bottle Rocket (eh....I had never seen it, liked the performances and direction more than I loved the script).

I've been playing spider hospital today too. It seems Iphigenia is ill. I transferred her to another habitat so I can watch her more easily. She hasn't eaten for at least three months. Orlando seems to be on a hunger strike too. No mealworms. No crickets. I'm worried about my little babies.

l___,

Thank you for letting us become so close. Though the circumstances aren't favorable, I feel we will blossom into something good.

Filming Tara Raikatuji did not even make the quarterfinals of the Cinestory competition. I was disappointed. I'm so perplexed. How can it make the top 30 scripts in the Nicholl's and not even make the quarterfinals at Austin, American Zoetrope, or Cinestory? I suppose it's because each script gets at least four different readers at the Nicholl's. Oh well, I still have meetings pending with an agency and a production company. The fruits of those endeavors are more valuable than any contest placings.

You know what? If I'm writing this, I don't know why I can't write write. I am so dying to start my new script and to do another draft of Happy Kill Lucky.

M,

When I offered Happy Kill Lucky out to readers, I was secretly hoping you would respond, even though I know you have no reason to. But I placed a surprise or two in that script for you.

One last thing. This video has kept my spirits up during this illness. I've watched it so many times, and think you should too.

Toodles.



P.S. Angel, thank you for introducing me to this song. It has really grown on me.

I was at home sick today. I didn't do much but write some correspondence and see my psychologist.

The good news though is that a really important Hollywood agency has agreed to read my work.

On top of that, a production company is scheduling a meeting for me.

The bad news? I may have to quickly write a brand new script, just to prove I can write something where I don't kill anyone. What's wrong with that? Nothing, except this could delay the shooting schedule again for the gothy script I want to shoot this summer.

But the rewards could be worth it. At least that's what I'm telling myself. I could finance the whole film just by turning in one script.

Yay me.

These days (or nights) my sleep meds don't ever keep me asleep throughout the night. In the course of a single night, I'll usually wake twice. When I do, I reach for my pda and read text messages and then check email accounts.

Tonight, during my first waking period, I checked my email and now cannot go back to sleep. The production company I wrote Happy Kill Lucky for wrote back. The producer loved the script and got my sense of humor, however it was too violent for her. The thing is, I wasn't expecting this piece to be considered for production. I thought we had agreed I would be writing it just to showcase what I could do with dark comedy, so I could write a different script for them based on a premise they already had in mind.

She mentioned two films that were in the vein of what they were looking for. I've heard of both, but haven't seen either. I'll put them in my netflix after I post this. The wheels are spinning already on a new premise, which is what is keeping me awake. But if I go that route, I'll have to stall on writing my Tuvalu script, which I am dearly attached to.

I suppose the bright side of this is that I now have two producers in Hollywood who have called themselves "fans" of my writing. Apparently, all I need to do now is not kill anybody.

I wasn't even near having an orgasm when the earthquake happened last night. I wish I had been, because then maybe I wouldn't have noticed everything shaking.

So instead, I was left with thinking...."Please roof, don't cave in. I really don't want to have to run out of here naked holding my penis."

HA HA HA HA

The earthquake of course passed.
My orgasm was, eh, alright.

While in the shower this morning, I had this stupid David Hasselhoff song in my head that begins:

Blue moonlight,
Feels so right.
Doves take flight,
For me and my lover.

(This is Todd's fault, because he sends me such stupid songs to pump my fist to.)

Anyhow, I then began to think of how sad it must be that there could be a musician out there who has on his/her resume that s/he is the guitar behind David Hasselhoff's air guitar in this video.  All that study of music for that?

(If you don't want to watch all of it, just jump to 0:57 through 1:27.)

David Hasselhoff - Jump in My Car


Then it made me more sad that that credit is still more than I can put on my own artistic resume.

HA HA HA HA

Damn, I hope I write something good soon.