Awards, Awkwardness, ADHD

As awards season is upon us, I thought I'd share my equivalent to winning an Oscar.


Since birth, the only thing i've ever truly wanted has been to win an Academy Award before I die.

My earliest memory was of me climbing up a step ladder onto the bathroom counter and sitting on the basin, delivering my acceptance speech into a tube of toothpaste, in the mirror.

I would perform for my parents, who did their obligatory clapping when I was finished doing whatever it was that I did for them.

I spent an ungodly amount of time playing, dreaming and fantasizing, it's always where I've felt most comfortable.

As I got older, I'd exhibit those desires in other ways...through acting, drawing and writing.

I was in a few shows in elementary school.  I believe I was girl #7 in The Fiddler on the Roof.

In high school the English teacher was, unfortunately, also the Drama teacher.   She was a horrible, unhappy woman who had no interest in Drama and only took the job for the extra pay.    However, even she couldn't lesson my enjoyment whenever I was on stage delivering a line that inspired a clap, laugh or gasp from the audience.  My favorite memory there was doing a scene from Carol Burnett with a boy in my class.  Even though I forgot a line,  you'd never know.  I kept going and the audience laughed and I ate it up.

After high school I wanted to go to college, however my grades were horrid and I had no money.  I went to my father and begged him to send me to school.  He reluctantly, eventually agreed and chose a school in Boston.   When I received the application, after filling out all the information I could, I needed my father to fill out any financial information and so I presented him with the application.   He blatantly said that there was no way he was going to pay for me to go to college to be a theater major.  I would have to take journalism or communications.  Well, this won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but for the rest of you, I am very black and white.  My gray areas aren't very prevalent.  Its this or that, few maybes.  I will cut off my nose to spite my face... I have trouble seeing the trees through the forest, etc. etc. etc.    To sum up... I react without thinking a lot of the time, and even after the short time I realize what i've said or done, when I try to correct the wrong or mend the hurt, etc.  the damage is done.   In this case, I told him to 'fuck off'  no one tells me what I can or can't do... and, well...  I never went to school in Boston.

I wound up getting a job (many jobs) here and while working, I enrolled in every college, university and private class that taught acting.  I studied with every theater professor from S. Miami to W. Palm Beach.   I took sub classes,  like acting on camera at nights and the like.   It was a wonderful and possibly better education than perhaps I would have gotten, had I studied with just one professor.  Although, don't get me wrong, I very much regret not having the experience of being a true college student and all that comes with it.  The experiences, friendships, education, etc.

One interesting story was when I was at Broward community college.  I was in a relatively small class and there was a gorgeous boy who sat on the far left of the class, who the teacher chose to assign me a scene with.  So we stood up to do a scene, that seemed to involved kissing, and upon introducing ourselves to one another,  we had to kiss.  It was a bit awkward!  We thought if we got to know one another it would help our performance for the next time.  :)  We hung out a lot, got to know each other really well, we'd play music together - he was/is a great musician.  We became really good friends.  Through this friendship, we talked, as friends generally do and found out that we were born a few hours apart, in the same hospital.   We were side by side in the incubators in the hospital! Our grandparents even knew each other.  17 years later, we were in class together, meeting and kissing.   Technically,  he's the person I've known the longest.

 I should also mention that I was very sick for a long time, as well.  Before they finally diagnosed my cancer at 20 yrs old (I was misdiagnosed for over 5 years)  I was progressively getting sicker.   I would go to work in the morning -  I was selling air time, TV commercials, at the time.  <--I'll get back to that.
However, I started working very young and had a lot of jobs... I was a very poor student and did a work program.  I would leave school after the 3rd period and go to a shop that sold gifts, jewelry and candy - I was their best customer in their candy dept. The people who owned that shop gave Lucille Ball one of her first jobs and I'd ask so many questions about her during my days there.   As long as I worked, I got an A.  I could fail all of my academic classes and with that A, I would graduate that school year.  I did this all throughout high school.  I'm not proud of it... if I could turn back time, I'd definitely show more interest, especially in English.  It was only in my senior year when the English teacher, the only one in all of four years to give a shit, told me she couldn't pass me unless I did the work.  She gave me the opportunity of meeting after class to work privately with her.  I did, of course.  She also asked me if I was gay and gave me my first Anais Nin book :)   I passed and graduated.
 I was a manager in a really cool gift shop at Hollywood mall when I was about 15, the same mall at the same time Adam Walsh (John Walsh's son) was taken.  I will never forget it.  It was the first time that kind of evil was not only evident, but in my actual back yard, literally.  To have that kind of sick, God awful thing happen where I worked, lived... it was way too real and close to home.  It woke a lot of us up.  That's when doors started to get locked and fear and distrust of strangers became something we began to live with.
This didn't, however stop me from sneaking out of the house at night when I was about 16.  I would either take (err steal) my moms car or take a taxi to a little dive bar near the railroad tracks, called Godmothers.  Perfect name, right?  It was owned by two lovely women who just adored me.  They would let me DJ, and as often as I could I'd sneak out and go to this little dyke bar and spin records.  
When I was seventeen I sold cars ... talk about acting!  I told them I could drive a stick shift, but I couldn't.   The customers weren't allowed to drive the cars off of the lot and one day I had a lovely couple in the car, who were very interested in the stick shift version of some lovely car and wanted to take a test drive.   Well, I will never forget the look on their faces in my rear view mirror as I attempted to drive them off the lot.   I'm not sure I ever actually made it to the street.   I didn't make that sale.   I went to Real Estate school, I designed showrooms for a very large furniture warehouse, I did marketing and promotions, I worked in a bank, sold pots and pans door to door,  made pizzas out of the back of a moving truck, was a waitress... I had a lot of jobs ... all while going to school to study theater.  And partying.  It would be very remiss of me if I didn't mention how much partying I did.  Clubs, drugs, women.   Hey, I was also in an all girl rock band for a bit and dating a woman who modeled a bit in France.  I lived the part.  All of this, btw, was before I was 25... and i'm leaving A LOT out.  It must confound people who know me now, to imagine it.

I digressed again, sorry.  Back to the story ...  Ok so,  I was working selling air time and by noon I would find that I was tired and flu like sick and could hardly move.  I would go home and get into bed.   One day, my mother came over and walked into my room with a plastic Oscar replica statue.   I took one look at it, sat bolt upright in my bed and said, "Oh My God, are you telling me that i'm dying?"     <--because all i've wanted is an Oscar before I died.  
I didn't die.  I did, however, beat cancer... twice.

Now, on to the actual reason for this blog... the equivalent of my Academy Award.

In my studies with every professor in S. Fl.  I found myself at one point at Florida Atlantic University.  I loved the school, theater dept. and total experience there.    Their theater professor  was a much older gentleman who was a bit curmudgeonly and pretty much sick of seeing the same monologues hundreds of times over.  He NEVER issued a compliment or praise... good lord, if he smiled, it would send us into shock.

It was a rather large theater department.   On Mondays and Weds.  the entire dept. would have a class, as one.  We'd have to use the auditorium and sit on bleachers, in order to fit us all in.   Then on Tues. and thursdays I had a much smaller class, where we'd use a classroom. The room was so small that one day I was doing a monologue in front of the class and could reach out and touch them, they were so close to me.   It was in this smaller class that I did in fact do a monologue (although I can't remember which play it was from).   The teacher didn't utter a word or show any expression on his face, as usual.

The next class was with the entire dept.  thus in the auditorium.   I was sitting as far as you can on the right side of the bleachers, last in the row.  The professor and his assistants were sitting on the floor as far from me as you could get, on the left of the other side of the bleachers.  The student body between us.   On this day, in this class, they were doing something that I wasn't involved in.  I was talking to a girl in the class, a good friend, when all of a sudden the professor shouts out my name.  "Oh shit"  I thought I was in trouble for talking.   I turned to look at him and he says, in front of the entire theater dept.   Miss Linda, I'm sorry I didn't say anything the other day, but I wanted you to know that your performance of ... (whatever I did, which I can't remember)...  your performance was one of the best I've ever seen.  It was truly spectacular.  He may have said more, but I drifted into a state of shock by then.   My mouth was hanging on the floor.  I turned to look at the entire student body and every one of them was staring at me, with the exact same look... mouth agape.   It was my Oscar.  One of the greatest moments of my life.

Readers of my book: writing my gratitude list ... you're on it.

I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to the readers out there.

My appreciation when you buy my book, take the time to read it and then go even farther and write a review... absolutely overwhelms me and fills me with incredible joy.
I am not able to thank each and every one of you personally, so please please accept this blog as a blanket huge THANK YOU, from the bottom of my very grateful heart!


<3  Always.  DK



p.s. Soon, My Happy Ever After will be available in paperback.  Keep posted.


http://www.amazon.com/Happy-Ever-After-D-K-Linda-ebook/dp/B00H5AF1RA/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1386393508&sr=1-2&keywords=dk+linda

I know why the caged bird sings.

Phobias are not fears: 

From an early age I had fears that were somewhat irrational, mostly because there was no trigger, no basis in reality.  So, technically, I had phobias.

Very young, I developed a phobia of snakes.  Even typing that word just now, is extremely difficult.  I would check under the bed, then in the sheets, over and over ... I have no idea where this came from.  Its quite possible I saw a movie, TV show, read a story, overheard someone speak about them in some derogatory way and my subjective brain took over and I deemed snakes something to dread.  

When I was 8, my parents separated.  Suffice it to say, it wasn't an amicable, lets do what's best for the kids, kind of separation and divorce. *blog note:  I feel horrible writing that and know how badly my mom feels about how things transpired and I'm sure she wishes things were different.  OK, back to the story.... It was at this time that my mom and I took a bus to Orlando because my grandfather was very ill.  I remember being in the bathroom at their house, that had a sliding door with that little latch lock.  It got stuck; and there in that bathroom in Orlando I had my first out of body full blown panic attack.   It didn't just scare the shit out of me... but, my mother and grandmother, who had no idea what to do, were also freaked out.

BTW: in case someone you know and remotely care for has one of these attacks... don't stand as far away as possible from them with a look of terror and disgust on your face.  No matter how you're feeling about it and them, hold them and assure them that even if you don't understand, that you care for them.  

So, there it was.  Out of the blue, I experienced something that sadly, would define me.  

During my parents lengthy divorce, my father lived for a short time in the penthouse of a highrise on the inter-coastal.  Again, I am unaware of an exact trigger, but like a switch going off, I suddenly couldn't enter the elevator anymore.  

As the years went by, I avoided elevators, walking up sometimes insane amounts of flights of steps to get to events ... turning down life changing things like the owner of Benihanas - Hiroaki "Rocky" Aoki - who I worked for, for a short time long long ago, and became friendly with, offered to send me to NY to be in a band with his daughter.  NY, with all the high rises?  ummm no thanks.

You can gather from that, basically get a gist of how fear has guided my life, thus far.  That's just a miniscule snippet.  The list of avoided opportunities is quite long.

Most especially my acting dreams and desires.  :(   And more sadly, what I've allowed to become of relationships, on all levels.  And the worst ... my health and maintenance of it.

After therapy didn't make a dent, I went down to Miami Elevator Co. and learned every aspect of how an elevator worked.  I thought, my fear would subside if my ignorance of the thing I feared did too.

Nope.

This is when I concluded that it wasn't really the elevator that I feared at all.  How could I possibly fear an object that didn't actually pose a real threat to me.... well, aside from making me be stuck inside of it (which would be really really bad)  OR a cable breaking, making me plummet to me squashy death... but, how often really, unless you're in a movie (usually with Keanu Reeves in it) at the time, does this truly happen?   Hardly ever!   So, the fear can't really be the elevator.

My conclusion was that something triggered an emotion that I couldn't handle, something I needed to lock away.  I threw it into the elevator, closed the door, and never wanted to go in there ever again.

Now I spend a great deal of my time trying to find the key that will unlock that elevator and the part of my mind that couldn't cope.  Unlock it and face whatever it is in there.

Sadly, though, phobias (when not addressed) spread like a disease.

The fear of elevators continued to other closed in spaces, like airplanes.  Any place that I couldn't escape and use my fight or flight reflexes.  

Then large shopping malls... or any facility where you have to venture far from your escape... the front door and car.

I learned to live for many years with this 'quirk'  and although my friends and family rolled their eyes and thought I was weird, I was still a part of life enough and experiencing enough, where it wasn't a huge hindrance or issue. 

Having anxiety and panic attacks cause a real physical issue to transpire.   For a long time, I accepted them as a part of my existence and worked through them.  After all, they couldn't harm me, they were only feelings triggered by thoughts, that would pass.    Until....

Illness.  Ongoing, unrelenting, illnesses....

The sicker I got, the worse my actual physical issues grew, the worse my emotional and mental ones grew.
Lets face it, it didn't help that I haven't really ever been properly diagnosed, and the things I've gone through medically have been pretty nightmarish, a lot of the time.  Maybe on another blog I'll do a medical history.  I know you're saying, oooooh yippee, fingers crossed that happens.   NOT.   OK, back to story...   

Then I lost my best friend, my dog T.   I went into a huge depression and started smoking again when she died.  This led to some breathing issues.... leading to more anxiety.   But, I was no quitter.  I maintained and sustained this destructive behavior through a horrible relationship and then continued on up until 2 years ago when I finally quit smoking!  

Sorry, I got a head of myself... let me go back.

When I was out at the grocery store one day, in the check out line, my breathing suddenly stopped.  Full blown severe panic quickly took over.  I dropped all the items, ran to my car and thought it was the end.  

The breathing slowly came back, but my sanity didn't.   It was that moment that I noticed the fear and panic wherever I'd go.  And then avoidance.  I stopped going almost anywhere. The only place I would go, was a local sports bar that I frequented to play pool with my good friend, Jude.

But, eventually, even that proved too difficult and one day I just stopped leaving the house altogether.  

Oh, of course I tried to get help.   It's very hard for anyone to understand it.  I get that.  But, therapists only want to use desensitization on us and frankly, it just doesn't work.  

I can't tell myself that because I've done something 20 times in a row and the outcome was good, that on that 21st time it wont kill me or worse.  

I could no longer separate the feelings I was having from anxiety and from my real physical issues. They are both horrible and terrifying.  

This time, instead of throwing what I couldn't deal with, what was too overwhelming to me in a locked box.. I created that for the world and locked myself in to what I deemed to be my 'safe place.'

So my reaction was to avoid, be stagnant and not move.    

So, my friends... there you are.  I'm one of those true to life, actual agoraphobics.  A shut-in, if you will.  

For way too long now.  

I've watched a great deal of life pass me by, from inside my house.  

I have no words of wisdom here or offerings to others... I just wanted to come clean.  Speak my embarrassing truth.  Be honest about my reality right now.   Today, on the day that Maya Angelou died... when her words "I know why the caged bird sings"  reverberates in my head over and over ... I just wanted to tell you that I think I do know why it sings... and I understand it.  

"But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

 his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream 

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied 

so he opens his throat to sing. 

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill 

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird sings of freedom."

My Happy Ever After ... after all.

Other than wanting to be an actor and winning an Oscar (before I died), or a rock star... I wanted to write.
Those who know me are well aware of my active imagination. I love the worlds and scenarios that I can create; and making them come to life, either in front of a camera or on a page or both, gives me more pleasure than a human being deserves to have.

Granted, I am infinitely better at the 'acting thing'  than the 'writing thing'... mostly because when I had the chance to learn something in that building with the lockers, hallways filled with noisy youth, chalkboards and books... I scoffed at the chance to learn and the teachers weren't all that interested in my lack of enthusiasm or odd way I never seemed to ever hand in homework...
Err I digressed ...

I woke up one morning sometime back at the end of October 2013 and said, "I'm going to write something."  And so I did. 

I had no story ideas, agendas, plots, characters, understanding of how to write, etc.  I just sat down and wrote.  I didn't allow defeating, defensive discussions to enter into it at any time.  I decided to keep it short and write about something I knew. I decided to write in a familiar voice and style that was my own.  I hadn't really read Lesfic, until a few months prior, it honestly hadn't ever occurred to me to write a romance novel...a lesbian romance novel... a sexually explicit 

The story I was starting to write somehow veered quite early on as I was led in another direction, and for some strange reason, unbeknownst to me, I wrote 'the grief scene'.  I honestly can't remember what inspired it, if anything at all.  But, there before me was; what is now my most favorite passage in the book, Talias' shower.  I'm not sure where it came from... it was truly a turning point for her and subsequently for me, as well.   That scene is the reason I wrote the book.  I created a story from that scene, around that scene.  So, as you can imagine, that it means a great deal to me.   Also, I wrote one of my favorite lines during that scene, Talia says, "Time became irrelevant to me, I became unaware of a minute or an hour passing.  Without Michele here to acknowledge the breadth of that time, then how could it matter?  If I couldn't share the moments within the time with her, how could it exist?"  

Although coming out quite early, relatively young, I wasn't comfortable being 'out' publicly - for reasons I won't go into.  Once the book was published, I was not just merely outed, I was really very sincerely outed.  Over night, some people who I've never said the words to before that day, who although I imagine knew, were finding out definitively in a rather interesting way.

My mother said to me the other day, "I have watched a total transformation since your 'coming out' publicly. Such a freedom! You are being authentic.  Who you are is in sync with honesty."

I believe I digressed again...   but, for good reason.  I lived a very long time, not so much dishonestly, but not fully... not in a way that honored who I was meant to be.   So, friends, in yet another way, this book gave me so much more than I can express. 
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
And there you have it.. My Happy Ever After was actually published on December 5th. I had the incredible good fortune to get in touch with a wonderful woman who edited the book for me. Even as I think about it now, I still get choked up thinking about the people I've met since writing this book.  The most amazing and generous people.   I really am very fortunate.

Now, as my incredible good fortune continues, My Happy Ever After is being revised ever so slightly to get ready to be released in print.  Yes, IN PRINT!!!!

Very soon, I'll be holding my book in my hands... that same book that I woke up one day and decided to write and didn't talk myself out of, or allow doubt or life to impede it... a tangible creation that says, I was here... I created this and it will forever be, when I'm long not. 

The day I hold my book in my hands, will be unexplainable... and not just because I should have paid more attention in English class, but for the same reason you can't explain to another what love means for you, or the color blue, etc. etc.  I'm sure most of you can imagine, and have experienced it yourselves (several times over perhaps) ... so you understand my feelings will be immeasurable. 

So, now to wrap up the revision of My Happy Ever After ... as well as continue to work on my 2nd book -a murder mystery- and my 3rd and 4th books (subjects I'm keeping under wraps for now).

Thank you so much for reading.

and we're back with this edition of ... possibly the greatest story ever told.

Hello friends,

      

 So,  please take the milk carton of your choice, have a seat or lie down and get ready for story time.

 This is a very real, all too true story:

    Long long ago I was sitting at my desk,  messaging with a friend, on the computer, sometime in the middle of the night.  Earlier that evening I watched House on Haunted Hill and wasn't quite ready to turn in.
The room I was in had a large window and a sliding glass door that led out to a screened-in patio.   The outside light on the patio wasn't working and it was exceptionally dark out. 
Suddenly, as I'm talking to my friend, I heard a rapping on the window. 
I froze for a moment and held my breath.  For some reason, I thought if I didn't breathe it would make me hear better.  Same rule applies when you turn the music down on the car radio when you're lost. 
I waited a moment, hoping it was nothing, or that I'd imagined it.  I watched my friends messages coming in, and was about to reply, when again... rap, rap, rap.  This time my fear was palpable.  I was legitimately frozen, trying to listen.  What was I hearing?   Again, right away came another succession of tapping; tap, tap, tap.    I couldn't move.   I wanted to see what was outside; whatever was making that noise,  I had to know. But, what if I got my face close to the window, to try to glimpse a sign of anything  in the blackness, and there looking back at me, was Jason, Mike Myers or Kanye West?   How would I cope seeing any of these horrible things?   I mustered up the courage to move and I started to type, I informed my friend, who lived hundreds of miles away, deep in the heart of Chicago, and couldn't get to Florida to save me before whatever was rapping would probably do me in, about the situation.   Again, rap, rap, rap.  It's safe to deduce that I was in complete full blown anxiety mode about now.  I tried, unsuccessfully to turn the patio light on.   I went into the living room and turned the light on there; as it illuminated the interior of the house, it only increased the darkness of the exterior.  It was even more unnerving when I heard another round of rap, rap, raps.  I went back to my friend on the computer and expressed my concern.  My friend, who saw my 'concern' as sheer unadulterated terror, instructed me to call the police.  I didn't want to do that.  The police, really.  Rap, Rap, Rap.   OK, the police you say, that's may not be a bad idea.  Rap, Rap, Rap.  Yes, you know, upon reflection... that's a great idea!  But, I'll call the non emergency police.  That will satiate me and yet still deal with the rapist, murdering, chainsaw or hatchet wielding lunatic, rapping on my window, right then.  
I found the number and dialed.  As I was explaining the situation to the person on the line... rap, rap, rap...
   I saw lights outside bouncing around through the pitch black.   "They're at your place now," the voice on the phone informs me.  That was crazy quick, I thought to myself.  I hung up and hoping it was the police, I bravely, courageously, opened the sliding glass door to whatever possibility was about to confront me, on my patio.  Ah two beautiful heroes dressed in blue.  I let the police officers in, and while one of them was searching the patio with his bright flashlight, for a sign of anything, surely the killer, rapper was hiding in a dark corner or left a sign before he shuffle ball changed into the night...
   The other officer was inside my living room with me, getting information.  Suddenly, I hear, "ma'am. ma'am."   I turn to see the burly officer waving me to follow him out to the porch.  He led me directly to the area where I heard the rapping and pointed his flashlight onto the spot on the window and says without any inflection, as serious as can be,

"Ma'am, we found your perp." 

  There, frozen on the sliding glass door was a lizard with his prey in his mouth.

And that's the story about the day I called the police on a lizard. 

Cancer is a fucktard of the highest magnitude!

On this, my 2nd post, I'd like to get serious. 

 For Antoinette  -

 I would like to just talk about a girl I knew briefly, long ago. Her name, Antoinette. We were roommates down at UM (that's University of Miami) hospital and I was (big shock) unhappy.. she however was all smiles... only infuriated me more. I was not allowed to eat anything at all; and that night her family brought her DVDs to watch movies, while eating the KFC they also brought her.  I got angrier and angrier with each enjoyable bite she took. She was all smiles, laughing the whole time.
   Later that night I heard horrible noises coming from behind her closed partition. I got up, dragged my sick IV connected body over to her side and saw something I'll never forget. She was thrashing around and her eyes were rolled back in her head. I ran as fast as I could into the hall and yelled for help. In ran a nurse who stood frozen watching this poor girl dying. I looked from the nurse, staring at Antoinette, back to Antoinette, who had minutes, possibly seconds left, and couldn't believe what I was seeing.   I ran back into the hall and as far down the hall you could get, practically on the other side of the hospital, I saw white coats. I yelled at the top of my lungs and they ran into the room,  then immediately called in a code blue for her. They saved her. She lived. The next day I found out that Antoinette spent almost every day of her whole life in a hospital. The cancers that plagued her could never be squelched. That night she was getting, yet another dose of very dangerous, experimental medication. She would be a human guinea pig in hopes she and others could be helped. It almost killed her. A very short time later, I was back there, at UM, having my own radiation treatment (where you have to drink it from a vial, then be sequestered). When I could finally leave, my brain was a bit addled, I was very weak from it and words were hard to find. That's when Antoinette and her huge smile rolled past me in a wheel chair and she reached out to touch me, yet I recoiled (not because of her - because I was still slightly radioactive and touching me exposed you to a dose of something like a x-ray) of course, in her case, it wouldn't have mattered... but, in my state I wasn't thinking properly and  I couldn't get the words out. About a week later or so, I was back for follow up and wanted to see her, to apologize, to explain, to talk to her, anything with her...
My Dr. told me she died.
I will NEVER forget Antoinette Scaradino and her smile... her ONLY desire in life was to go to Disney World and she never got to, because cancer wouldn't allow it. I can't thank Antoinette enough for teaching me about being judgmental and to try to be happy for others, no matter what. For being genuinely thrilled for others who are eating something they enjoy, for doing something they enjoy...
Life is very short. Live it well for Antoinette.

My 1st post . awwww