Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

My Post Burning Man Decompression Anxiety Rut, A Good Dream About Cats, Rats, Ghosts, and Letting Go

My Post Burning Man Decompression Anxiety Rut, A Good Dream About Cats, Rats, Ghosts, and Letting Go, Keeping the Momentum Going, Change, Change, Change!

Hurricane Katrina Animal Rescue

So I'm in a kind of prolonged, post-Burning-Man, decompression mode or rut, combined with my usual Mom and her secretary financial drama anxiety, worries over the cats, my assorted psychological burdens and various personal crap. Basically I'm so stressed out that I can't get out and make it better, (for now; like anyone getting burned by a fire I'll eventually figure out that I have to do something if I don't want to keep getting burned). And please, please, please, (if you're reading this I'm probably not referring to you), don't give me any bullshit tough love just get out there and do it advice. If it were that simple for ME, with my own complicated individual physical and psychological makeup, I would have figured it out and done it already. I'm realllly realllllly smart -- high IQ smart -- and honestly if I could do it, I would have. I just happen to be super neurotic and slow, and when Mom and her secretary find ways to gang up on me and tighten the financial screws, (because they don't approve of or understand my lifestyle -- going to Burning Man, spending money on vintage dresses, rescuing and living with a billion pets, supporting gasp "poor Hispanics"), I freak out. Instead of finding some way to spring into action I get super depressed and shut down -- for a while, and then things get better.

So many people and animals are depending on me and I don't have a backup plan. Whereas my Mom is ninety years old, is a multimillionaire, and only has two living family members; Beau and me, and has been mismanaging our trust funds and property for years.

I'm wondering if I should even post this because it hasn't paid to be vulnerable here in the past. Oh well, I'm a sucker for a punch.

Damn me for being born with an artistic temperament, or for there not being a way to label adoptees with the qualities they'll develop later in life. I guess it isn't enough to select a baby because he or she is pretty, you should probably just staple all of their future troubles or DNA patterns to their foreheads. "What about this one Jeannette? She's a looker." "Oh no Jack, she has the fat gene, and besides she's going to be a sensitive artist type. It says here she's a smart, funny, empathic actress with psychic gifts and a penchant for collecting stray animals and giving her money away. Oh no, and get this, she's going to marry a Hispanic and have a baby with him before he runs off with a stripper. What's this in tiny print? She likes tattoos, oh my Lord, no!" "You're right dear let's pass on "Baby X" there. Oh look honey a blue-eyed blonde Republican with a future overbite. We can always take her to the orthodontist, and it says she's going to love tennis, marry a golf-playing frat-boy lawyer, and throw fabulous parties. Let's go for her!"

Okay, so, brain storming ways to make money as soon as possible, here are my top eight ideas -- feel free to chip in anything you might think of as long as they aren't hurtful or mean -- I've had enough hurtful to last lifetimes and beyond;

1.) Prostitution. Of course this is providing Scott's okay with this and I can find a madam or a pimp who can rent me out to men who have a proclivity for fat women who want to done quickly from behind without any kissing. (That's not me as a lover -- just me as a whore -- seems to me that having as little contact as possible with strangers would be the best way to go in this scenario.)

2.) I pick up my headshots, force myself to drive all the way to Isgo's without the bumper dropping off of the front of my car. (Maybe I'm like some kind of stubborn mule and need treats to motivate me to go places, what would work as a carrot for me? A credit card, and a trip to Kitson, Boule, or anywhere else I've been wanting to go. But that's not gonna happen, and I'm going to have to reverse this whole weight gaining trend if I'm going to get any work as an actor.) Drop off the headshots. Somehow pay for the headshots. Come back and pick them up. Update my resume. Send one to Susan's agent and do a, gulp, mass mailing to carefully preselected agents. Get the breakdowns. Send out headshots. Read Dramalogue/Backstage West, go on crappy marginal auditions. Build a reel. Get cast in a play or a showcase. Start all over again. land an under five or a minor Fucking guest spot. Or call all of my famous friends, hope they remember me, and beg. You see how complicated this is. Argh.

Actually all I really have to do is set things in motion. As soon as I get my pictures things will start to happen -- they always do. I know it's all about intention and being clear to the Universe who has always been super generous and supportive of me. I'm just really scared right now -- afraid to answer the phone scared.

3.) Sell my stuff. What stuff? I'm not going to part with my TV, books, jewelry, computer, craft supplies, vintage dresses, etc., maybe if I put cute little bows on the cats? Everything else has either been stolen by my Mom's creepy housekeeper, left out in the sun and rain to rot by mine, or eaten by the rats in my garage.

4.) Find a way to get paid for my writing. I used to work as a story analyst. Anyone know anyone who's hiring, pays the going rate, which would of course be low, and isn't too abusive?

5.) Take stand-up classes and develop an act. Get discovered. Have my own sitcom. Make millions.

6.) Get a nine to five, six, or seven job working in some office for some asshole.

7.) Panhandle.

8.) Sell my soul. I'd sell my eggs but I'm too old and wouldn't you know it, no one wants them any more. Plus there's that whole dread fat gene problem.

I had a three hour appointment at my wonderful dentist's office yesterday. On top of all of the other lovely physical issues I have, I'm a stress grinder, I have bruxism. Basically, when I'm upset I clamp down on my teeth while I'm sleeping and snap them off, weeeee...

Last night's Melatonin driven dream was all about saving my cats from danger and standing up to my Mother, my ex Mother-in-law, and my ex-husband. I was in some place, some Palm Springs like place, and I had dropped off my husband and a friend at a fencing salle, yech, fencing. (I actually like fencing but there is just too much painful water under the bridge there for me to be able to see it or even think about it without getting that yech feeling.)

I am a man with the heart of a woman -- a modeling agent -- and it's my job to cast someone really beautiful and talented for some role. There are a lot of so-so looking women, nothing against them but they don't have that click thing that would let me know they are the perfect fit for this job. I go down the hallway to the men's bathroom and see this beautiful Latino woman trying to help her child go to the bathroom. I tell her that I think she would be perfect for this job if she can read text and seem natural. She doesn't believe me at first, but eventually comes along with me to the audition. There is a lot of male joking and macho teasing going on between my partners/friends and myself.

In another part of the dream I am interacting with a ghost. A flat, funny, but also sad piece of a ghost. It can only speak to me once in a while because it is so weak, and it's trying to tell me something important. We put the ghost on a table. This ghost lived in the basement of the Egyptian theatre where there was another ghost I knew. I ask this ghost if it ever met the little girl who lived there in the basement as well. It goes to sleep.

I am sitting outside at a table with benches -- kind of middle school cafeteria style. I am female again, sitting with friends. A man comes up behind me, puts his arms around me, and gives me a big bear hug. He is African American. He acts as if he knows me really well, as if we were once intimate. My friends who are also African American come up and pull this guy off me. They make me feel protected and safe.

It turns out that this man was once a two year old child who I rescued and then fostered for a while. He is my child grown up. I am so happy that I finally adopted a nonwhite child. That my lifelong fear of, or need for my Mother's approval did not stop me from being able to help a child in need, black or white. It feels as if I completed an important mission and this child has come back to tell me this. He is a man now and I love him unconditionally.

Suddenly this city we were visiting is under siege. Everything is falling apart. There is a great storm coming and people must leave. We have to get out and quick or the cats will all drown and I may not be able to rescue all of them.

I go to a window and there is a vampire bat there on the other side of the window looking in at me. It's beautiful, a furry dove grey color, pressing itself against the window to escape the rain, and I want to help him. Someone tells me that it has bloody eyes but I can't see them and wouldn't really care if I could. I want to help and befriend the bat but, in an unusual move for me, I accept that he may be dangerous and might hurt our cats who are also outside the window.

There are so many of them trying to get in. I keep pushing the bat back and trying to pull the cats in without harming any of them -- either the bat, or a rat who has just show up, or the cats. I grab handfuls of cats and put them in my weird little car. I tell them that they'll be all right, that I'm going to protect them and take care of them. But in order to get out of this flooding town, (Gee could this be any more obviously related to hurricane fears that relate to personal fears of being totally overburdened and drowning?) I have got to get Robby and whatever evil, creepy, woman hating friend he is with, to leave fencing early and come with me, because I will not be able to make another trip to pick them up.

I drive to a Greek restaurant, park the car, and run inside looking for cell phone reception. Some of the cats follow me and are running around the restaurant. While trying to place this call to Robby's fencing club I am simultaneously trying to pick up the cats, put them back into their carriers, and keep the people at the restaurant from reporting me, kicking me out, or making trouble for me. I get through to Robby for just a minute. I explain the situation -- my great need to evacuate the cats and get out of this place, and that I will only be able to come back for him and take him with me if I can come right now. He is going to have to cut short his fun or he will be left behind.

He doesn't care. He wants to stay and fence with his friend. I can hear his friend making fun of us in the background. He is teasing Robby, implying that he is, (forgive me I so hate this expression but it applies to the history of my relationship with my macho ex and his Mother's attitude towards me and my Mother), pussy whipped. Robby assumes that I will take the cats home and then double back for him just because that's what he wants me to do. He will not give up a minute of fencing, not even for his own safety. Just as he was during our marriage, he is unwilling to make any kind of compromise for the sake of our family. I am so sad for him and for us, but I decide to leave him. I choose my cats and my own safety over Robby. I am going to take my family to safety and flee this sinking town, and Robby and his nasty, jealous, woman-hating friend will have to make their own way out. I am clearly done with Robby and am moving on.

I feel a sense of loss over having to make this decision but at the same time I feel triumphant because I am choosing to follow my own path for my own good and am cutting this cord that binds us. It is clearly his loss. He is too self absorbed, childlike, and selfish to be able to see down the road. But he is not my child any more, I am not responsible for him. I tried to save him but he wouldn't let me. He is an adult and is stubbornly making his own decisions without thinking them through. His future vision is myopic while mine is broader and I have to follow the right path for the rest of us and leave him behind.


I'm still working on my Burning Man entries and posts but I don't seem to be able to get more than one done every couple of days and I don't know why that is. Maybe because I'm just sad to be back. Burning Man is like a big New Year's Eve party and every year I get voluntarily torn down to my bones and built back up from the inside out. I come back filled with resolutions to make my life, and the lives of everyone I love, or even meet, better. Honestly, even if I just meet you in an elevator for a thirty-second ride, I intend to make your day happier or lighter somehow by being friendly and open, and this is usually case because it's just so damned easy. But that isn't Burning Man, that's just me.

Burning Man makes me want to be my best self. I come back changed, inspired, stronger, leaner, more determined to be my real self, I get this big jump start and then my life comes up and thwacks me in the face and I run for the comfort of my bed.

I am so determined to change that I even painted an eye on this Asian dream dolly that my friend Ana gave me. She comes without eyes and you're supposed to begin a task by painting one of them in for her, and then you thank her, or the powers that be, by painting in her other eye when your wish or task is completed. I wish to be self supporting, healthy, thinner, stronger, more independent, less afraid to be myself. I want to make money for my art. I want to be a good parent guide to my son. I wish to protect my family of pets, to be able to keep them safe and healthy. To find GOOD homes for some of them so that we are all not so overburdened and overcrowded. I want to organize my home and my possessions so that they don't run me. I want to get up earlier and get more done without being crippled with pain and exhaustion at the end of a day.

I'm about ten seconds away from hitting the delete key, but I won't, it took too long to write all of this, so all I ask is that you temper any judgments or comments you might make with the knowledge that vulnerability and self deprecation are not the same thing as weakness. Even a guy like Howard Stern's pal Beetlejuice knows what he's got going on. He may be falling down drunk but he knows he's the best.

Beetlejuice Song

He’s beetle
He’s as bad as can
And he knows
He’s the best

This is beetle
Is as bad as can
He knows
He’s the best

He’s big and he’s strong
And he knows he is badder
And he knows what he gets
He knows what he knows
He knows what we have
He knows what he gets
It gets better

Beetle is as bad as can
He knows he’s the best
This is beetle
Is as bad as can
He knows hes the best

He’s big and he’s strong
And he knows he is badder
And he know what he gets
He knows what he knows
And he knows what we have
He knows what he gets
It gets better
And he’s a tough guy
And he knows and he knows the best i can

He’s beetle
He’s as bad as can
He knows he’s the best
Beetle
Is as bad as can
And he knows he’s the best
This is beetle
Is as bad as can
And he knows he’s the best

I think the different covers of this song that various bands have been doing of this weird song are really amazing. You should have heard John Popper of Blues Traveler doing it the other day, he has the most amazing voice and singing style.

Awww, my friend Maeve from Burning Man just called to invite us to the Decompression in San Francisco the weekend of October 9. She said her baby, who is only three, I think, (she's the little girl I use for one of my icons -- I'll switch it so you can see), came running up to her with a picture of me saying, "Jacqui." So she thought it was a sign that she should call me. People scare me though. I love them and I'm afeared of them. Oh well. No worries, the Mama Universe will always come along and force me to change. You can't remain stagnant and frightened forever right? I am opening my arms to this. I am welcoming it. Come and get me change.
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