After a really rough day, the TED application is in.
As I mentioned in my last post, I pretty drastically edited the text that my stranger/partners (whose idea it was to approach TED) gave to me as their contribution and it just destroyed me today. I was wracked with shame and worry all day until I heard back from them that I could go ahead and submit the altered text.
So the pitch is in and now we wait (without expectation). I may take myself out for dinner. Or not.
The intensity of the anxiety I felt after editing the Christine/Patrick/Steve text has me feeling like a man returning from the front. It was the third “strike” of the week: First was the scathing letter from the friend who dumped me, then came Rob’s visit during his paranoid schizophrenic attack — and then the edit drama.
No wonder I want to isolate myself. Life is hard.
I am going to talk to Dr. Shoja about the hell I went through recently. Last night I had to take a blue pill to calm down. I haven’t had one of those for, perhaps, two months.
I have a friend awaiting a heart transplant. What anxiety he must live with! The surprising thing that has me mentioning this is that his surgeon happened to mention a positive effect of the fentanyl opioid crisis here. There is an abundance of organs for the transplant teams here due to the deaths of so many young and vital people.
Working on the wheat dress is going to be a trial. So is storing it, moving it and showing it. It is an impractical medium but I think it is going to look okay and it is going to be satisfying to create. I am very keen on this one — not because of how it will look or due to the materials I use, but because of the idea behind it. I love the story and it feels so Canadian to have a wheat dress.
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