I Resign; I'm Happy

It’s done. I have resigned from the Foundation board. It’s over and I am relieved. I’m proud of the letter I wrote. I think the board thinks of themselves as organizationally excellent and they are far from that. The made me chair of a vital committee against my expressed wish and refused to put my position on the executive because of a structural plan for the executive made when fundraising was not at all a priority. Nice and VERY talented individuals who are dysfunctional collectively. A huge weight is off my brain.

Another key player resigned this morning as well. The board, if it is wise, will re-evaluate its values and treatment of key volunteers.

I’m off to the community dog walk a happy guy!

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I did quite a bit of rehearsing yesterday. It felt good to be back at it after days away from it living clinic drama that, I have to say is all my fault. I accept it. I am not good in groups unless I am the boss. There, I’ve said it. I can admit it now because I am never going to volunteer for work like that again. I’d rather serve food for the local society providing meals to the sick and homeless. There’d be no meetings, just labour.

I’m disappointed to know this about myself. The only one who suffers from how I begave, is me. And when I’m doing it, I believe I have good ideas that will help. They may be good, but they are not sought.

It’s been a bipolar kind of existence for me: wonderful highs and horrific lows. I’m going to write something, I think. The local amateurs want local plays. I may try my hand. 

I spent thousands and thousands of man hours making my dresses, but never showed them. I was truly surprised to hear that the monologue festival was going ahead. It didn’t matter to me. I was proud of the process, both writing and memorizing. Performing it is almost a pain in the ass, but it has no strength if performed by a fluent person. It’s stronger done by me. My story doesn’t really fit. The others are all being performed by actors and are likely dealing interpersonal issues, and they are all fiction. I’m doing a non-fiction monologue.

I’ll very soon be clinic-free, but I have files people will want. And I’ll be done with the monologue on June 3^rd. That’s when I’ll likely start writing a script. I love writing dialogue. I know what I want to write about, and I know who I’m writing for (amateurs, I’ll not write anything too demanding).

And I’ve got to get wood. This is the first time my supplier hasn’t called me to arrange for delivery. He may be out of stock. He’s a developer; his wood is derived from land he clears. He gave the Foundation on which our health centre is built.

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I had a wonderful experience today at Mad Rona’s. I walked up to the till, signed that I could not speak and pointed to the sign high on the wall at the back of the serving area. (I hate places like that because I can’t point to items on a menu to order.) The sandwiches were in the centre column. 

I put my arms up and to my side, wide, and pointed with my index fingers at each other. Then, looking at the server, I brought my index fingers together, so the points were touching, and then I quickly pointed with one hand to the menu on the wall. Then I held up three fingers, and then I used the same hand to point down with my index finger and brought my hand down. The server looked up and the sign, turned and said, with a lovely smile on her face, “You want a chicken sandwich, right?” I gave her a high five sign and we clapped it.

Experiences like that move me deeply and they will last forever in my memory because they normalize my being mute. It’s a treat to have an exchange that makes both people feel so good. She was beaming to see me be thrilled with her comprehension. She felt as good about how we conversed as I was.

And speaking of not being able to speak….  I never write about speech anymore, and I have very few seizures. I am SO much better than I was in 2016. That year was the worst year of my life. The only thing that’s just as bad as it was seven years ago, is my speech. I had a friend back in the 70s who had a breakdown at a very young age. He came out a new person who had lost his spark, and his “recovery” was slow, slow, slow, and that is true for me. But I’ve come one hell of a long way since mine.

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I think I will post my play online and invite responses. You, my devoted, can be my editors. We’ll see how this goes. As I’ve said, I love writing dialogue.  I’m going to use something that happened to me for the plot. Three scenes, three beds, three actors.