Curtains down....

Last night was final night of performances for my play... at least for now. A full-house and 3 curtain calls for the actors. Last night was a good night... I had people I loved and cared for around me, and I think that they may have started to form a new opinion of me. After all writing a play and exposing yourself in such a way is scary but cleansing in so many ways. I feel ... I am not sure what I feel, perhaps that I have spoken without saying anything, that I have managed to bring to fruition a year-long project. Well not I alone but I was a part of it.

I have found my calling; there is no mistake about it. Should not try to hide it or think twice about it. This is it.. On the eve of my 35th birthday, the truth is inescapable: I want to be a writer... just let all of it pour out even like smudges on screen and paper. That's what I want... I might never do it but that's ok... this is big in itself...

A friend of mine, a good friend of mine I believe, sent me a job posting in a production company which is seeking to recruit script-writers for a new daily series. I smiled when I read it; I am of course not qualified in the list to be seeking script-writing commissions but I was amused to think what urged him to write it. It signals a shift; a shift in perception. And a shift in possibilities. The financial crisis has long wiped away any potential jobs that might be of interest to someone of my 'level' (God I hate that word and what it carries with it) so as we struggle with sanity, survival and the dreadul sense of what is to come we look inward to pools of new skills and talent. I daresay some of us have struck gold, perhaps not in real terms but in terms of finding a niche through which to express ourselves.

It might not pay the rent, but it does not cost me anything either. I will go write to my friend and thank him...

Opening night + 2

Not sure what makes a writer who he is, but there is a certain brain connection that fires up when someone asks you: "And you are?" "I am the writer".... there is a lot to be said about the way we define ourselves and how we are perceived. I am not a writer, I have written a play which I was LUCKY enough to see on stage.. it was a feeling like no other, putting words in people's mouths like that.

And this morning my son asked "Dad have you got rehersal tonight?"... as I was pouring his milk at 7 am... what a question!! I wanted to laugh; rehersal tonight... I don't actually, and nothing is planned for tomorrow evening either, which means we can go back to our routine and be there for his 7pm swimming class. And you know what? that is fine with me. I may never be a writer, I will fight for it but I will be there for his swimming classes and that to him is important and that makes it important for me too...

The week after the week that passed. Even though the hell that I refer to as last week was a premeditated crime, I still feel drained and exhausted. I gaze upon life with a fresh gaze this Monday morning. As we are nearing final rehersals, people are getting more stressed; not me.. I am getting happier. I want to scream and explain that this has to be a joke but it is not, it is happening and I once again am grateful. I am also suprised; some have come out of nowhere to cheer me on, others who should have been cheering already have somehow vanished into the background.. there you have it I guess....

I have noticed some ugly trends in my personality lately... pressure makes me snap, it never used to; and then it used to give me stomach pains but I would never get angry or explode. But now I do, like a pot with too much water as it boils over. Flickers of rage directed at loved ones lasting less than a minute. But what if that changes? What if they start lasting longer? What if the rage never leaves me?

Just when we think that we are under control, something like this happens and shakes us about! I first noticed a couple of weeks ago; I have always been not-the-most-patient kid on the block but lately I lose my patience and snap at people and then I feel like one of those alcoholics that beat up his wife in a drunken stupor. I think the feeling of regret after is the worst combined with the feeling of helplessnes. At first I could not articulate what the problem was, and then suddenly last Tuesday as I was waiting for my son to finish swim lesson I realised it... there is an issue there. Something very serious needs to be addressed and the ugly monster to turn back into its box.. And it will...

So I met the actors. I love saying... it sounds so nonchalant... "so I met the actors". Those actors who are right now rehersing my play. I feel so in awe of them; embarrased that after having studied theatre for years, Ipsen, Brecht and the rest, they are now reduced to my miserable excuse for a script. That is how I feel. But those 4, can change my life and in a way they have already. A bit less ordinary, a bit less predictable, just after a meeting in the heart of Athens....

My daily drive often takes me through the scenic route, a country road through what are probably ancient olive groves, raped by human progress. It really is a nice drive, shame about the actual narrow winding road.

Yesterday afternoon in the opposite lane I saw a silver Range Rover suddenly stop in the middle of the road. I was taking this scene in and wondering what moron would do that. The driver door swung open and a pair of shorts-wearing legs appeared. I immediately made the association "bimbo with great thighs and big car, typical". She had a cigarette in her mouth and her hair was up in a pony tail under her baseball cap. But then she surprised me, in fact she made me eat by stupid thoughts to my shame and repent.

She stepped in front of her car, bent over and pickep up a turtle that was silently, softly crossing the asphalt. She saved a life. As the queue was forming behind her, I realised that once again I fell victim to my preconceptions. I had done once again what I am trying desperately to teach my son not to do, generalise, judge and dismiss. I have been as bad as anyone who ever hated someone simply because they were black or Jewish or fat...

parenting...

I am officially a monster parent... I have done the unthinkable and I deserve punishment; my boy, the apple of my eye is sleeping in an IKEA bed and mattress. A far cry from the cocomat ideal, definetely in price, I assume in quality too.

It is funny how parental dilemmas associate guilt with spending; it is also interesting to note that the guilt alleviates if the parent is somehow left broke but happy with his/her purchase. Because naturally their offspring deserves the best, regardless of pricing policies and anything else. Well my offspring still deserves the best, but I refused to dive into our savings for his bed. He loves his new bed, the mattress looks and feels comfortable and safe and at the end of it, I still have money to buy him sheets for it as well!

To this day there is nothing that can convince me that a single bed can cost 2,500 EUR. And I refuse to show my love ONLY in the things that I buy for him. So much to everyone's horror, he will again tonight sleep in his IKEA bed and from the looks of it will thoroughly enjoy it!

Looking through key-holes

The other day I was sitting in a friend's balcony. One of those balconies tucked away at the back of the building, where it shares a somewhat limited space with other balconies, also tucked away in the back of their respective buildings. As we were talking, my eyes fell upon a door opposite me, shutters drawn. Don't know why I was looking there; maybe because I could hear a baby cry and I remember my baby crying in a hot summer's day.

When a man in his briefs opened the shutters and stood semi-naked in front of his window, I was amused. He saw me sitting there and immediately covered himself up with the curtain. I was more amused. I think the voyeur in me was amused more than anything else. Soon after that I fully refocused in my ongoing discussion.

What is it that grabs our interest when we see people act pretty much like we act when we think noone is looking? Why do we need to know? Or is it just me? Maybe the writer in me and the voyeur in me are in fact the same person!

WiFi and other curses....

I am convinced I hate WiFi, Blackberrys, 'smart' phones and 'web access'! I am also pretty tired of netbooks, constant updates and 'take your office with you' mentality. If I wanted to take my office with me I would stay with my office and then nobody would have to move at all!

Our away time is being infected by all this access, and wireless connection and keyboards of all shapes and sizes. I only had a short holiday this summer and in the ferry ride I received a semi-frantic phonecall from a client about an assignment. "I have sent you an email", "I am on the boat" and the killer response to that "Does this mean that you cannot do it?"... A few years back nobody would assume that a job might be done while in a bathing suit trying to unwind. But not anymore... I did do the job and I lost juuuuust a little bit of my holiday; the next day the delivered document had formatting issues so a liiiiiiittle bit more time was lost trying to fix it and follow up on it. So what I hear you say... which is fair enough... so nothing.... but.... is there a line we should/could/must draw? When is a break defined as such? I think that a holiday must mean that I touch no keyboard for as long as possible, I receive no phonecalls apart from mum and friends, I check no formats and I send no emails and I certainly do not update my Facebook status.

But I guess I am dreaming...