Minor Stage Fright

Or the closest I get to it. Tomorrow, dearest blurkers, is Staff Development Day at my wonderful place of employment. While I actually take a lot of pride in my work (as much as I'm not liking The Job ATM), Staff Development Day is the one thing I am really, truly proud OF. Of course, it's after midnight and I'm still in the office, despite having an incredibly early start tomorrow and having to pick up a shiteload of stuff for the event before actually going to the event site.

Shoot me.

I've been a member of the LU community for more than half of my life (I wish I was joking). I started here as a temp back in '88 at the tender age of 21, and have worked here in various and varying capacity--from admin assistant to theatre company founder/director/actor/etc. to adjunct to teaching assistant to library parapro--over the course of 22+ years.

That's a loooooooong fuckin' time. Almost as long as some of my baristas have been on the planet; longer than some of our library student assistants have been alive. I've done a lot here, but the one thing that I've participate in and given my time and commitment to is the Staff Representative Advisory Committee. I've been the Library's elected rep since SRAC's inception three years ago; it's been a rocky and rough road, but, Gods, it's been worth it.

One of the most visible things we do is Staff Development Day. It was the event that put us on the map--our first visible, "HEY! WE'RE HERE!" moment--in '09. It's a day for professional development and morale boosting, a chance for the staff of the Uni to come together and talk, network, and connect--a day out of the routine of the office. I'm billed as the event coordinator; I don't know that I really deserve the title at this point--I feel like I haven't done nearly as much as I should have, but part of that is because I did so much the first year. It's a lot like producing a show, putting on this event--booking space, adverts, finding sponsors, setting up workshops, getting donations, buying props, etc. The past two years, I've been very lucky to have a hell of a lot of help from another member of the committee--sadly, Michele is going to miss tomorrow because of a family emergency, but I feel like most of the credit for tomorrow should go to her. I'll be the public face, the shill, but she's done the lion's share this time around.

Good thing, too--haven't been on my game with all the garbage going on here and dealing with Mum. *sigh* I hate not being at the top of my game. I'm already two weeks behind schedule with the roll-out of my website; ditto on finishing the rewrite. I guess I have an excuse (argh, argh, argh, ARGH!!!!! HATE MAKING EXCUSES, EVEN WHEN THEY'RE FUCKING LEGITIMATE!), but at the same time... the clock's ticking.

So, I'm getting my to-do list going:

1. Get through SDD - present my workshop on starting a blog (how appropriate!).

2. Get some sleep tomorrow night. Perhaps have a tequila. (Probably not, though.)

3. Get back to the rewrite. (Already started back at it this weekend, but... the NEW book started writing itself today during a meeting, a whole four pages of handwritten scrawl... it's going to be in the vein of Bloodsucking Fiends [Christopher Moore]--not with vampires, but that tone. Religious farce, instead--instead of John the Baptist dunking and calling Christ, think Reggie Mae the Psychic seeks out a very unwilling Messiah of Common Sense. We'll see if it happens, but right now... Yeah. I have to figure out where I'm setting it, but Jordy [the Messiah] and Reggie Mae [her name may change; it's too Southern for me, but... argh. I HATE BEING A WRITER!!!! THIS is the reason I avoid the button, "You're just jealous because the voices talk to ME" because THAT sums up fiction writing in ONE sentence. Rebecca is being a right royal pain in the arse because SHE wants HER story finished [and considering the bits I've written of Books 2, 3 and 4, I can't blame her, ESPECIALLY if Heinlein was right about pantheistic multi-person solipsism], and William... oh, William, my darling Duke... ever the gentleman, but I am reminded that "duke" literally means "war leader." And noble as he is, his bloodline goes back to before the Court of Love and chivalry, and his patience will only last so long. I wonder if fiction writers are actually just high functioning sufferers of... fuck, forgetting the DSM proper term... multiple personalities... Sybil Syndrome... DISASSOCIATIVE DISORDER! That's it! Right, digression over with, back to the to-do list...

4. Call Ferd; get the website back on track. Pray his insane schedule will allow.

5. Pull together the handwritten material I've been wittering at for my standup act, and start rehearsing. (The first passes have gone over well--if I can make a one-liner work in a conversation, it will work on stage. It's a very sneaky way to test material, but it works. Plus, it makes me keep it brief, something I am so very, very, ABOMINABLY bad at.)

6. Get some reading done. My to-read pile is taller than I am right now, and it's annoying me.

7. Get the %$^&*() house in order.

Overall goal: Rewrite finished by the end of March; website live. Open mike starting week of the 21st (need to get past the Irish-American Day of Mourning; can't stand the Once-a-Year Irishmen, they're worse than Twice-a-Year Catholics). Start turfing out the storage space and figure out WTF to ebay, donate, yard sale or just pitch. Gotta raise cash for the road tripping coming up: Halifax for a week or two (hopefully missing Marathon Day here; is there anything more boring than running? Besides the tourists... Gods, I hate tourists...), Pittsburgh for the first weekend of May--yep, seeing Jim again, this time with Tory who is dying to see him, or was when I was giving him the play-by-play when the dates were being added and the emails were flooding my bloody inbox), and there's the Weekend of Awesome at the begining of June. Plus, I'd like the house in order by the end of June. I want out before the leaves fall.

Fuck knows what I'll do with Ma. Beginning to think I need a Mum-sitter. She has said she wants to come to Halifax. After Foxwoods... *shudder* I really don't want to think about my mother loose in my haven.

OK, I've nattered long enough, kids. Wish me luck tomorrow--I haven't taught in a long time, and this is a maiden voyage. Looking forward to it, though. Going out on limb, talking about this little experiment of mine. Can't believe I've only been at this a few months--maybe six months? Seven? And it started because Steven Tyler pissed me off. It's turned into something very different, and I am seriously, SERIOUSLY considering turning it into a memoir: Letters From the Disgruntled Fringe: A Year of Cigarettes, Xanax and Jim Jefferies. Of course, if Celebricrush is unwilling to allow his name to be used (and if I haven't sold the fiction by then, I really couldn't blame him--you don't risk your own name on an unknown commodity, and I ask no one to put their ass or rep on the line for me if the trust is unearned. Hate the idea of not making it on my own talent, riding someone else's coattails. Rankles me. Pricks my ego), the last bit will be something like "Standup" or "Comedy" or something like that. Maybe "Celebricrushing--that's my own word, at least.

So tomorrow, I get to talk about starting a blog and pimping it out and getting people to read and relate. Thanks to all of you who've been hanging in, blurking, following, and commenting. You've helped me hold on to what little bit of my sanity I have left and to find some peace in the maelstrom that has been life of late.

It's been a blessing.

Much love,

Empress