I had my beat sheet for ep 1 of Sam workshopped in TV Pilot class today, which means I am in the process of reassembling my self-worth.

It gets easier every time. I know the route back. It’s not that it was terrible, it’s just that it could be improved, everything can be made better, look at all the amazing notes you got, and so forth and so on.

So while I do feel a tad beat up right now, it doesn’t worry me. Everybody goes through this and we come out better writers for it, and I realized today that becoming a better writer is something I desire almost above all else.

And wow, do I have a treasure trove of improvements to make to my beat sheet. I am going to try to force myself to fix the beat sheet before starting work on the outline, which is the next phase.

I am not totally sure about what goes into this sort of outline. I know we learned it at one point but that was a long time ago. So I have emailed my teacher about it after ascertaining that there was no explanation readily available on Moodle.

All I remember is that it involved sluglines (you know, like INT. PRIVATE EYE’S OFFICE – DAY) and describing what happens in each scene. But I feel like there must be more to it than that, otherwise it wouldn’t be all that different than the beat sheet.

A little more detailed, I suppose. More like an episode, certainly.

Maybe I do know the difference and I just forgot I knew. This is the sort of thing that happens in a busy and complicated mind like mine.

It’s like an overtaxed post office. Nobody wants to make mistakes but with so much coming in and going out, even a very low error rate produces a substantial number of errors, big and small.

Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself in order to stave off the feelings that I might be mentally incompetent on some level, and need to live in a senior’s home for the incurably absentminded. The kind of place with huge clocks with big numbers and the date and day of the week displayed in the middle, and nice people who say things like, “Hello MICHAEL! Today is TUESDAY… do you know what that means?”

Nah, I’d be too sarcastic for that. “Yeah, it means yesterday was Monday! Now stop talking like an imbecile and show me my datebook. ”

I am really looking forward to the day I look old enough to get away with not censoring myself. I already have the confused look of the mentally lost. Some gray hairs and the occasional chicken noise would be all it took to convince people I have dementia.

And I would only be half lying, to be honest.

Anyhoo, I will start work on my outline tomorrow or maybe later tonight. This time I will remember that is it due Friday, not Monday.

It can be my big project for Wednesday, after I get back from therapy and getting my phone activated at the mall and such.

Today’s been uneventful besides class. Still paying $8/day to get to n’ from school. That shit has to stop soon. But I am waiting on some stupid letter.

From the government. Oy.

I wish I could just bill them for the money lost. I mean, if they had an ounce of compassion, or at least common sense, they would provide people in my situation with compensation. It’s not like disabled people have a lot of spare cash lying around.

Who knows, that might even be possible. I should look it up.

It sucks that it takes this long to get a new card anyhow. Ironically, if I was paying for the thing myself, I would probably have a new card within a couple of business days. Because then, I would be a customer.

But no, the government has stuck its schnoz into this issue for some reason, and that means it takes two week or more to get the card.

What if I was some old lady who needed the card to get to her doctor’s appointments? What if I was the victim of a terrible car crash who needed the card to get to physio? What if I was someone with kidney disease and needed the card to get to dialysis?

But no, I am just some degenerate lunatic who can just fucking wait.

Not that I’m bitter.

Actually, scratch that. I’m bitter as hell. Bitter about my wasted live, bitter about my rotten childhood, bitter about having to start my life at 43, you name it. I’m pissed off.

I am even pissed off about the fact that some of my problems are my own fault! How fair is that? I am only trying to survive, just like everybody else. Cut me some freaking slack.

I’m pissed off that I have more than 20 years of frozen emotions and impulses and drives to thaw out and it is taking freaking forever.

I’m pissed off that it seems like no matter how hard I try, I can never get ahead. Everything I gain means something else I lost. The end product is the same as if I had done nothing at all. Which means I am actually down because there’s all the effort I expended.

I’m pissed off that age has made me slower than the other students and that I have to run to keep up in class while they only walk.

I’m pissed off at my own inability to get and stay organized. I know us creative types tend to not need a lot of order in our lives but it’s getting ridiculous.

In fact, I am just plain pissed off with having to deal with myself all the time. I am so hard to deal with sometimes!

And finally, I am pissed off that I have made it through 3 and 3/4 terms and I still feel like it’s up in the air whether I am worth anything at all.

Honestly, I could go either way on that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.