Had a low blood sugar incident today.

Let me set the scene. During a break in the morning class (Adaptation), I am reminded that my scene in the sitcom episode we are writing in Writer’s Room class was due today,. not Monday as I had thought.

D’oh! I had made the same stupid mistake that I had made a dozen times before : thinking an assignment is due the day of class when I should know that it’s always due two or three days earlier in order to give people time to read it and generate notes.

I had only one chance to save myself from disaster : skip lunch to work on the damned thing and minimize lateness.

Fortunately, I speak sitcom, so I was able to do this. Also fortunately, Adaptation ended half an hour early. That gave me an hour and a half to save my bacon.

And I needed to save it. This was what I had always dreamed of : writing for a sitcom! I could not fail at this. I wanted to prove that I am good at this kind of writing.

And I am. I think my scene is quite good, if I do say so myself. And it was a joy to write. There was some highly stressful bullshit with the software and formatting and such, but other than that, I loved it.

Just think, I got to write part of an episode of a Normal Lear show! Kinda!

I finished my scene with only ten minutes till next class (though I was fully prepared to be late for it if it was necessary). Victory! I had just enough time to get the printing done for class. And I was being workshopped today! Yay!

Well, okay. technically it was my writing being workshopped, not me. But for any good writer, those are basically the same thing.

And there was more bullshit because the printer ran out of paper in between printing my third and my fourth episodes. So I had to go get Steve. Then my print job still would not print. or so I thought, and I was beginning to panic.

Then I looked at the print jobs piled atop the printer and lo and behold, mine was there. I hadn’t seen it the first time I looked because by some bizarre fluke, it had printed the damned thing sideways, aka landscape style. So it looked totally wrong.

Luckily, I only really needed to make notes on it, so it doesn’t matter if it’s readable.

Still, some days it really feels like the universe has it out for me. I know it doesn’t, of course, because it is not a sentient entity and therefore cannot have emotion or intent.

But I am a mere human being and subject to the same mix of instincts and intellect as anyone else, and therefore I can’t help feeling that way sometimes.

Anyhow, so after more or less two hours of solid stress, I was able to relax in class. And everything went fine for a while. I completely forgot about the skipping lunch thing. I went on my merry way.

If I had thought about it, I would have seen the mess I was in. Not only had I skipped a meal, but instead of the meal I had worked quite hard. Writing is tough work and it takes a lot of brain calories to do.

If I had realized this, I could have gone down to the basement on break and gotten myself something from one of the vending machines there to keep me out of the Valley of Death.

But nope. I was clueless as always.

So the fuse was lit. And the bomb went off around 3:15 pm. There I was in class, minding my own business, when I felt the sudden sickening lurch that my blood sugar level has dropped to a critical level and that I am now basically running on fumes.

I was in the Danger Zone, and not the funny Kenny Loggins kind.

So I waited till end of class, just barely there. I call it the Valley of Death because it really does feel like I am dying.

And I am.

By the time class ended, my whole body was tingling as my suddenly starving muscles cried out for fuel. I carefully walked to Bon Chaz, got my food, and ate.

In a little while, I felt much better. Still not totally okay, but better.

And the whole incident makes me wonder about what kind of fucked up life I lead. I was within spitting distance of death’s door today. I am still feeling the effects of that. I am both very tired and very physically anxious.

Tired and wired. My least favorite mental state. It’s hellish.

But the real story is how casually I treat these kinds of experiences. It’s like I manage to save my sorry ass by going into emergency mode, where I am outwardly calm but inside I am kind of giddy and fucked up from the warring brain chemicals in my mind. But I am able to carefully pilot myself out of danger, whether it’s low blood sugar or that time I wiped out on my bike on a very busy street in my hometown.

Granville street. Doesn’t every town have a Granville Street? Makes me wonder who the heck this Granville guy was.

Anyhow, apparently I live the kind of life where nearly dying is treated like an “oopsy” and forgotten soon after it happens. You would think it would be more of an event, but you would be wrong. After all, I’m fine now, so what’s the big deal?

Oh, and the cherry on the cake? End of class, my teacher offered to buy a round of drinks for the class at a local bar called Jeager’s. And I had to beg off.

And that is exactly the kind of anti-social bullshit I have been trying to avoid. If I want to make it in entertainment – and I do – I will have to foster relationships with other people in the biz. That means I can’t afford to be anti-social. There is no way to become a TV writer and stay an anti-social hermit.

Today I had to miss a lovely chance to bond with my classmates and my teacher in an informal manner. And I hate that.

Granted, I missed it because I had to go eat or I’d die. But still.

I am going to have to change a lot fo things about myself to make it in show biz, and one of the biggest things is kicking my social anxiety to the curb and forcing myself to get good at things like networking and socializing and fitting in.

I haven’t done a great job of that at VFS. But at least my fellow students know I am a very funny writer. That might get me a recommendation from someone some day.

I don’t know what my teachers think of me. If I was them, I would have no choice but to think I am very talented but unreliable.

And people like that don’t get recommendations to people.

They get warned about.

Oh well. At least I am a much better writer now.

That has to be worth $20K, right?

I will talk to you nice people tomorrow, homework permitting.