So I fucked up again

But what else is new?

Turns out, I was supposed to be working on my second version of my TV show pilot  all this time. Like, since Dec 20. That’s when I got the email telling me what the submission schedule would be for TV Pilot 2 class, and then promptly forgot all about it until a classmate reminded me of it today.

All is not lost. I don’t think I will lose enough marks to fail the course. I missed the first deadline but the second one is Monday and I can totally have the whole thing written by then. It will be two 11 minute episodes, or around thirty pages. Easy peasy. I will work on it over the weekend.

Technically, I could get away with just submitting 2/3 of it, as the idea is that we will be doing this in three sets of pages. So I could write 20 pages of it and submit that, or even, conceivably, just the middle ten.

But I don’t work in batches like that. I will write the whole damned thing and submit it in batches. I will probably do the first episode tomorrow and the second on Saturday.

And it won’t be too brutally hard, as I already have a detailed outline for both the episodes. It’s going to be the first episode, the one that sets up Sam’s world and such, and the 4th episode, the one Ita said was “perfect”.

But why, pray tell, don’t you start working on it tonight? In fact, why are you sitting there blogging instead of working on it? 

Well, imaginary person, the short answer is : because emotions.

Specifically, I am taking tonight off to process the fact that I once more endangered my future career with my absentmindedness. Like I always say when this kind of thing happens, it’s getting to the point where I feel like I need a caretaker of some sort.

I have several apps on my phone custom built to remind people like me to do stuff. Sounds great, right? But you have to remember to use them.

Aaaaand I just learned that my smartphone went through the washing machine, and is currently not functioning. It’s sitting in rice, drying out.

I am so fucking sick of putting up with my own bullshit. I try so hard and yet the dumb shit just keeps coming. I am seriously wonder if I should be allowed to walk the streets without a fucking safety helmet on.

It never gets any better. I am doomed to blunder from one massive humiliation to another. The harder I try to keep my marbles together, the more they slip through my fingers. My subjective reality is highly unreliable. I never know where the next fuckup will come from. To me, it seems like they come out of nowhere, even though they always have causes that are really clear and obvious… in retrospect.

I think it’s a function of my trying to keep too many things in my mind at once. Past a certain point, I can’t add a new thing without forgetting another. There are only so many plates I can keep spinning at once. Add one more, and another goes crashing to the ground in a terrifying display of sheer crockery.

The thing is, I was doing so well up until that point. I had practically completed the cycle of dealing with the latest fuckup and I was feeling good about getting over it so fast and patting myself on the back for how much stronger and healthier my coping skills were becoming. And now this.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I am a brilliant comedy writer and that is enough. I don’t have to be that good at life. I have at least one genuine talent to offer the world, and if I can find a way to make money with it, I will be able to afford to hire a personal assistant whose sole job will be answering the question “What should I be doing right now?”.

And hey, I am sure I am not the first person to accidentally wash my phone. As bad as it is, at least that’s a regular-person level of screwup. Could happen to anyone.

But I am just so fucking tired of all this stupor and stress. I want to be competent, damn it. At least competent enough to look after myself. But I seem to be doomed to be this delicate hothouse flower who can’t survive without constant care.

And nobody to give that care. Why would they?

Maybe the problem is that I am too fucking old. I feel like as I age, my working memory gets smaller and smaller. 43 is not a great time to be taking on the challenge of school of any sort, never mind an intensive practical course like my VFS education.

I know what the problem between my school calendar app and me is. It’s that I get assignments during class and I have to choose between entering the assignment into the app or continuing to listen in class.

I really can’t do both at the same time.

I will get over these things. I will move on. I will hammer my life back into some kind of order and continue to do my best and just hope that my talent outweighs my ineptitude.

Surely somebody out there will pay me to write very funny things for them. Someone who will overlook my mental fog in order to get my very funny writing.

And it’s not just me saying I am funny. Everybody at school says it too. People read my stuff and laugh out loud, for reals, y’all. Genuine RL LOLS.

At these times in my life, I need to cling to that. I am not worthless. I am not useless. I will not be a burden on others forever. Some day, I will be truly independent, strong, respected, paid, and free.

I just have to survive three and a half more months of my own bullshit.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

One thought on “So I fucked up again

  1. I suck at life and keep fucking up too. But it’s all grist for the mill, and with enough three-steps-forward-two-steps-back, we get a little better at life, even if it’s through learning things the hard way.

    Your comedy writing skills are great and will find a place. I still think we should get back to doing sketch comedy.

    Going back to school at 43 will exercise your brain. You’re less likely to lose IQ points as you get older if you’re challenging yourself.

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