wolfy

The cast for Vagina Wolf is shaping up. We’ve got Tammy Lynn Michaels to play the part of Chloe and Guinevere Turner for Penelope. These are not names well known outside of lesbian circles but that’s what we’re going for. I’m going to be the Tyler Perry of lesbian cinema. My friend who is directing confirmed this morning that she has a €70,000 completion grant to do the post production in Paris. This, mind you, is a fraction of what a studio film would spend on post production, but for us it is huge. It looks like we’ll start shooting in July.
In other news, my husband returns from Boston tonight. I’m really looking forward to him being home. I’ve been super depressed this week and while I don’t want to burden him with that shit, I’m just happy to not be alone. What I’ve discovered this week is that as I healed from the herniated disc a good deal of scar tissue formed around my sciatic nerve so it’s trapped in my spinal canal and that’s what’s giving me so much pain. There’s the possibility that with time and effort I can break up the scar tissue adhesions but the nerve will always be less elastic and therefore prone to injury and inflammation. Put another way; chronic pain forever. Yay! I should just become a heroin addict.
Do I have anything non-whiny to report? I’m really searching my brain for something not awful to talk about. I need to put together a gratitude list, yes? I do have things for which I am grateful. It’s just that they’re a little hard to bring to mind what with the giant pain bag hanging around my neck 24/7. Okay, even I get sick of complaining all the time.  My phone’s going off — texts probably from D — I think his plane just landed. But i’d have to get up to get my phone and the five foot walk to the phone feels like the skin’s being ripped off my leg so, yeah, I’ll get it later.  I’m feeling a bit like the "sloth" character in "Seven."  I don’t like the Vicodin so much.  It leaves me feeling melodramatic.  I’ve read how some people with this chronic pain eventually start begging their doctors for an amputation. I kind of get that. See? Melodrama.
Major road construction going on in front of the house. They’re replacing the water lines, again, for the second time this year.  All the parking is blocked off and there’s constant noise — giant trucks rumbling and beeping as they reverse.  I’m not sure why they’re back. Actually I am sure why they’re back — they did a crap job in the first place.  They hastily patched the trench they dug with asphalt — making our street look like some crazy patchwork quilt.  The asphalt sank after a few months and so they threw steel plates over it and disappeared for months. Every time a car would drive by it sounded like an earthquake. L.A. has some messed up streets.  We’re pioneering new forms of crumbling infrastructure.  It’s like living in Buenos Aires but not as financially secure.
Last night at 2:45 the box cutter hobo went off on the dumpster in the alley behind my house. I call him box cutter hobo because I’ve tried to scare my house guest into remembering to lock the doors when she returns from smoking outside.  Yesterday I got up at 7 and not only was the door unlocked but ajar. She didn’t even close it after returning from a smoke. How is it possible to be that oblivious? I confronted her about it saying, "Yeah, who gives a shit? It’s not my stuff. So what if someone robs you blind? Fuck if I care." My house guest loses her phone regularly and has been in seventeen car accidents in the last ten years. She is the definition of scattered. When she drove me to physical therapy I was so terrified by her erratic lane changes, constant text distraction and general mindlessness I had to just start driving myself. It’s all the more frustrating because I’m such a stickler for details.  Sad clown.