The End Of February

During the first 6 weeks of the diet, I wrote like crazy. Every day I could just sit here in my chair and write and write and write and then decide to change something and write some more.

Then I got into my Act III problems. Nothing worked. I'd write 20 pages, discover they were crap. (This is not Diane's modesty engine going off; this is Diane's internal shit meter beeping loudly and saying, No way do you show these pages to anyone, ever.) Write another 20 pages, feel as though I'd fallen backwards.

More than a few times over the past two weeks I've thought to myself, what kind of crazy, fool-ass notion was this to do screenwriting? You're never going to do this right. Maybe what you've feared all along is true: what you have spent the past several months sweating over and really working on isn't worth the effort. The middle-of-the-night fear machine kind of thing.

I got insomnia two nights this week, after months of not having it.

I played Civilization II, not as a periodic change-of-pace, but as a way to turn off my brain.

And the worst thing--the very worst thing--was that I went nuts with food. I haven't even told Darin this, mostly because I think I know what he's going to say: he's going to be very disapproving. Like I'm not already beating myself up over this.

On Wednesday, I sat at my computer and wanted to cry. I couldn't get this fucking Act of my script to work and no one was going to do it for me. So I thought, "I'll have a piece of chocolate."

Thanks, no psychological insight needed. I know what chocolate has to do with working: it's a comfort food. More than that, eating chocolate reminds me of being a little kid, when I didn't have to do anything, when I didn't have to prove myself, when I was always the smartest kid in class and didn't have to do anything to remain numero uno.

I have Toblerone in the cupboards. My Mom sent me a Price Costco-sized package a couple of months ago, and I asked her not to send me any more chocolate after that. I haven't touched the box since I've been on the diet--it hasn't enticed me in the slightest. But on Wednesday I took out one of the 100g bars--a big one--and said, "I'll only have a piece or two."

Within 5 minutes, I'd consumed the whole thing. Which is, in case you're keeping count, more than my caloric intake for an entire day.

What made me crazy was that I didn't even enjoy it. I just chomped and swallowed each piece. The worst part was feeling such complete joyless compulsion doing it--I haven't felt like that since freshman year of college, when I was unhappy all the time and downed big (1lb? 2lb?) bags of M&Ms at a single sitting. (Just writing that down gives me a tummy ache.) Of course, I had to do this in my office, for fear that Darin would discover me doing it (and open myself to a lecture).

The entire experience made me nauseous, literally, and gave me another reason to beat myself up: not only can I not write a satisfactory conclusion to my own story, but I can't even control myself when it comes to what I eat.

I went into a sugar coma, not surprisingly, and took a nap the rest of the afternoon. I still felt pretty queasy when I woke up, but I did know one thing when I finally got out of bed: I was going to write some version of my Act III for class and find out what didn't work, rather than what did.

Which I did. I wrote a quick 15 pages to wrap up Act III, and we read it in class the next day (Thursday). One of the unusual things was that Len assigned speaking parts, something he hasn't done for anyone's writing since very early on last semester. And he didn't for anything else we read that day.

The feedback I got was that this Act III didn't quite wrap everything else and the tone was wildly uneven--it swung between high comedy and blackly serious situations without warning. I knew it wasn't even a good Act III, so I wasn't upset by the feedback. And it does give me some idea of how to tackle the next draft.

One of the things that makes me so upset about this is that I have very high standards for my behavior, and I feel as though I've failed to live up to them. Earlier this week I exchanged e-mails with Rob and Laura about what life is like off the diet and how they control their urges--by not having the foods they eat too much of around, like big bags of potato chips. And they've both managed to lose weight since getting off of the diet.

And here I was, not controlling my urges while still on the diet. I feel like I must be the only person who has ever fallen off the wagon while on the diet. I have Rob and Laura's example to live up to, and this hasn't been a good week for telling me I can.

Darin asked me last night, after we went to see Dark City (he'd probably recommend you go, I thought it had great imagery but nothing else, so one thumb up and one down), if there was anything I wanted to do this weekend to celebrate finishing a draft of my screenplay.

I don't feel much like celebrating, because I know that I have to do another draft. How's that for fun? I don't think I've been much of a fun wife recently. I don't relax--I just think about the next batch of work I have to do (work on my other script's second draft, write a first draft of my Everybody Loves Raymond script, and eventually figure out a better Act III for my thesis script).

Darin wants me to take a day or so off, but when I take a day off I stop writing. It's harder for me to get in the groove when I start up again. Maybe I can relax--ha!--when I'm out of school. Then Darin can badger me about why I'm not working more.

Today I did take a little break, though: I walked down to the Gap and bought a new pair of size 6 jeans, because despite my various failings and the fact that the scale isn't budging much my size 8s are getting loose. I couldn't believe it when I put these size 6s on, because I held them up and thought, Nope, no way, I'm not fitting in those. But they went on. I'm thinking about buying a new skirt and maybe a new blouse or two as well.

Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

After taking the week off--at first, by sheer lethargy, and then by acknowledgement, saying in effect, "It's okay, take this week"--I went back into the gym yesterday and lifted a little iron.