Sleepless in Stockholm. (I think I've used that title before...)

Despite friendly efforts to put things into perspective for me, I still feel like I've sold my soul, or am about to sell my soul, or something, and I'm still at a loss for what to do. Then again, I could just have been watching too much Supernatural.. which would be quite silly indeed, seeing as I only watch that show for the eye candy and the music! But anyway.

The plan for tonight was: go to bed now (eleven o'clock), get some good old healthy sleep, wake up at five (in the morning, yeah, I know) and go for a run (I know!) and have a shower and everything before getting ready for school. Well, needless to say, it's a quarter past one and I'm as sleepless as Meg Ryan in Seattle, I just finished cooking lunch for tomorrow and figured I might as well make myself a coffee while I'm at it, and now I'm here, back at the laptop with no intention of sleeping any time soon. If the second part of The Plan pans out (that would be the running aimlessly without even being chased at five o'clock in the morning part...) I'll let you know, but knowing myself that doesn't stand a snowflake's chance either...

Speaking of snowflakes... what are the odds of changing the world within the span of one human lifetime? You think? Leave thoughts in a comment please. And don't worry. Be as pessimistic and realistic as you want, I won't become suicidal because of it. Just curious to know your POV on the idea. That's all.

Right. As I'm up and reeling, I might as well make myself useful and do some writing...

But I won't. I'll read some slash fiction instead. Because I'm useless like that.
Have a good night, guys.

My weekend in Uppsala.

So it's been a week already since my weekend from Hell. I meant to update sooner, but you know how these things go. School, own projects, insomnia demons and a few additions to the DVD collection and time just flies, as it were.

That photographer with the model agency who was interested in me finally got a hold of me and wanted to meet, so I booked train tickets to Uppsala for the weekend and arranged to stay at my aunts place both nights. First night was fine, she offered me some white wine, and I was going to say no mainly so she wouldn't drink, but it wasn't that much wine left in the carton and she had these tiny liqueur glasses so I accepted one of those, she had about four and I suspect she had the rest of the carton before I showed up as well because she got wasted rather quickly.. she started reminiscing, then she wanted to show me the newspaper with the article on Annika's death (my youngest aunt, her baby sister) and then she found a paper she wrote about the day Annike was born when she'd gone to a centre for adult learning that she wanted to read to me.. but all in all, it was fine, and she went to bed soon enough after assuring me that she would set the alarm for me so I could get an early start.

The next morning I wake up an hour and a half later than we'd agreed on and I hear voices in the kitchen. At first I get worried, but it turns out it's just one of her friends and it's the cool one and he leaves when I shut myself in the bathroom to get ready. I ask Ingela why she didn't wake me up (those of you who know me should know how stressed I was at this point, with "an hour to emotionally prepare to leave" and all...) and she explained that she was about to, but I looked so peaceful sleeping on the couch that she couldn't bring herself to do it and decided to let me sleep in.. then she asked me if I wanted a beer for breakfast.

I didn't. I had a coffee though. And I called the photographer and set a time to meet. He asked me again to come alone, and I said I would, Ingela was going to walk me there just to show me the way, but she wouldn't stick around.

Of course on the way, we had to make a stop at every park bench and bus stop where there were drunks and junkies, and chat. And show me off. Look at my girl, isn't she beautiful. Do you have any money on you?

And since we had time to spare we were going to park the bicycles at the square and walk around. They have all these tables on Saturdays, where they sell everything from ornaments to clothes second hand, as well as fresh fruit and vegetables and flowers.. of course iit was a nice thought, but I was stressing out, and Ingela's behaviour wasn't helping at all. A very gone old lady came up to us and asked Ingela to buy out for her. since she'd been barred from the liquor store. Ingela agreed, climbed over the fence and ran across the street instead of walking around to the crosswalk (to save time) was in the liqour store for a long time, and when she fnally emerged she had the lady's wine, as well as one for herself, that she cracked open and started drinking out of. We circles the square once, looking at some jackets and whatnot, but she was quickly drawn to her gang of low-lives (pardon the phrase) and there I was, in-between the raudy drunks with missing teeth and the homeless junkies looking for trouble and the my aunt who I just realized in that moment was clearly one of them and the glaring families with small children walking by on the other side.. and all I could think is, how did this happen? how did I end up here?

Of course Ingela walked me to the agency on time, but she decided to stick around, just to make sure. She sat down on a chair outside a store and lit up a smoke. The photographer showed up, and I could see he was annoyed to see her there, but he was nice about it. I told Ingela that she didn't have to wait for me, that we didnt know how long it was going to take, if we were just going to talk or actually take some pictures or what, and that I would call her or text her once I was done.

We started out talking for about an hour, then he told me to put on lipstick and we took some pictures. I really don't want to be a model. But hey, if I can get some nice pictures for my website or whatever, and some extra cash (if they sign me and get me some jobs) then it beats working in a store or as a waitress (I think...) well those pictures can't have been any good, but we basically just tested the waters, I was testing him, he was testing me.

Then I hear this voice... and my blood runs cold. It's Ingela. She showed up after all, even though I'd told her about five hundred times not to. She's just come to say she's going home, she's very drunk, and she's had time to have one of her little provocative chats with the owner of the building while she was waiting for me to emerge from the conference room... that means the photographer and the agency is in trouble. (there's an anti-drug policy in the whole house. She was reeking and stumbling, you get the picture...) I told her again that I was going to get in touch with her when I was done, she tried to mime something, probably asking if I was okay and I reassured her that yes, I'm fine, we're working, these things take time. I said I was going to cook dinner for us when I was done, and she didn't have to wait, I'll call you.

We didn't get any more work done after that. I was tense as bow string. He was pissed off (not at me, but at her) and finally he took me to the café across the street and bought me a coffee. We ran into another old guy he knows, and he joined us. Turns out he's a bit eccentric, but a film enthusiast, he collects old 3,5 mm films but also VHS and DVD, and he dreams about having a film metropolis one day. When the café closed the photographer walked me to a place from where I could locate myself to Ingela's place, and there was a convenient store, food market place there as well. We talked a bit more and set a time to meet for next day, and I wasn't going to tell Ingela. After we said goodbye I went into the store to buy some food for Ingela to have at home, my mum called because Ingela had been calling for the past couple of hours saying I was missing or something, I took the opportunity to vent and told her all that had happened, and she concluded like I had earlier that things have gotten a lot worse with her.

I didn't know what to get her, so I just threw some pasta and lentils and coffee into the basket as I was talking to my mum. I don't think she even knows what lentils are, but I'm not going to buy any meat, and it was an oriental shop, they didn't have a lot of Swedish stuff. I grabbed some crisps and a Pepsi as well, thinking we could watch a movie and have a nice time once I'd spoken to her. I didn't have the energy to cook though so I called Ingela and asked her if she'd be okay with pizza. She came and met me outside the shop and lead the way to a pizzeria, where of course she bumped into a couple of drunks, I asked her, pleaded actually, to get the pizzas to go and eat at home. One of the drunks came up to us, Ingela is that you, and what is this, leaning back anf roth, trying to focus on my face and ending up at my chest not before long, Ingela introduced me as her niece and he touched my face and tried to kiss me.. I managed to get away but I was a trembling ball of tense energy at this point, and I had to ask Ingela twice or three times, can we please go home, please, and she said, yeah yeah sure, if you want to eat at home, and then she ordered a beer to drink while we waited for the pizza and sat down at the table with the two drunk old men. I spent all my energy on not breaking for a while, ordered my pizza (she wasn't hungry) and paid for it, took my time, but eventually I had to join them at the table lest they started shouting for me to and I didn't want to disturb the normal sober people any more than necessary, so I sat down next to my aunt and waited for the pizza. The guy who had touched me took a chair and sat down right next to me instead of in the booth next to his pal, far too close for comfort, mind you he could have stood on the opposite side of the restaurant and it would have been too close for comfort.. he touched my cheek a second time, I pulled away and glared at him, and said, please don't. And he did it four more times.

Then, thankfully, the pizza was done and I all but ran to the counter and grabbed it, and I kept running, I left the place, I left the square, I just started walking, pizza in one hand, grocery bag in the other, tears stinging in the corners of my eyes and my heart in my fucking throat, I don't know which feeling was predominant, anger, disappointment, fear.. I got lost. Of course I got lost. I had to ask a lady with a dog for directions, turned out I'd been walking in the wrong direction entirely, so I had to walk back. What if she was out looking for me, and what if the old guys were with her, what if they were there waiting for me when I got to her place, if I got to her place...

I found a bench and sat down on it. Put the pizza and grocery bag down and called home. Mum answered and I started crying. I tried to explain the situation but the only thing I could be sure of was I don't want to be here and she suggested leaving the pizza and catch a train home, or if I could sit tight where I was she could jump into the car and drive down.. that's like a two hour drive, and I had to meet the photographer again the next day, and once I'd calmed down a bit I realized I was probably overreacting. We decided I should find my way to her flat first of all and then see what the situation looked like then. So I did, and she was there, alone, so I called mum and said I was fine.

I asked her if she wanted half the pizza. It was cold, but it was food. She said no. So I ate the whole thing myself. I tried talking to her but it was like talking to a two-year-old or a brick wall (or a drunk...) and I gave up and put on an act instead, it's fine, it's okay, let's forget it, it's in the past, isn't there a film on TV soon?

Freaky Friday was on. She passed out rather quickly and I ate the whole bag of crisps myself and drank the Pepsi. The next day I tried not to talk to her or her friend who showed up again (the cool one) I got my things and left. Had an outdoor photo shoot with the photographer and it went a lot better than the previous one. He wanted to sign me. He warned me again that if my aunt showed up a third time the owner might call the police. I didn't care, I said. It's not like I'm ever staying at her place ever again, anyway.

Then, catching a late train back to Stockholm and a couple of hours of sleep and then back in school on Monday morning. More drama followed but I'll leave that for another time.

I made a free portfolio on Deviant Art.

http://ida-thomasdotter.daportfolio.com/

Off to a bad start.

This photographer/agent that my aunt knows and dragged me to see a few months ago got in touch with me again. He just got back from Italy, he says. And he wanted to see me (without my aunt being there and making him stressed ...) so I told him I only have weekends available because of school, and we decided on next weekend. So I've booked my train tickets, and dad was going to call my aunt and see if I could stay at hers... I don't know how I get myself into these things, I really don't. I'm not a model! I don't want to be a model! Ah, whatever. Maybe I'll get some extra cash or at least a couple of nice photos that I can put on my website, that is in serious need of updating by the way, and I've promised Ana to make layout pictures for her web site as well, and I haven't even as much as thought about Photoshop since school started (it's threatening to file for divorce ...)

This past week seems to have taken its toll on me finally. I woke up dead. And then I realized I was running very late. And then somehow managed to drag myself out of bed, out of the house and onto the bus, and I was doing okay until I reached the metro ... then I got hit with this weight of nausea and broke out into a cold sweat and could barely see ... so I took off my sunglasses. But I was still bleary-eyed and shaky. And I decided that the amount of strenght and energy that would be required to get my arse all the way out to Alby for school would kill me a second time and I'd still be inexcusably late, so I folded under pressure and went home again. Coffee and Hammerfall and a big blanket later, I'm feeling less pitiful and less dead. Now I'm more of a zombie beating itself up for missing a day of school.

Scene, script, school stuff.

We started the acting thing at school, a guest teacher coming in, an actress and theatre director, and doing acting and directing exercises with us so that we get to try communicating and directing actors hands on kind of thing, and we've done this one day (Friday) and it was amazing, I mean, it wasn't really anything spectacular, no big revelations or anything, having done acting myself, I knew most of it from previous experiences or from knowing myself, but she's brilliant. She's quick-witted, sharp, clear, she'll get the point across, throw you a curve ball you didn't think you were ready for, make a joke, demonstrate, challenge--and all in one breath! it was exhilarating just listening to her at first, and then we got to get onto our feet and try it out, groups of three, two acting one directing, then we went round and then a couple of people got to direct their "actors" in front of everyone else, and it was so useful, I learned so much, and the great thing was we all had the same script, just a short scene, then we switched to one of ours (we were supposed to write a short scene and bring to this) and we worked on that, and then we had time for one more scene before the end of the day and I offered mine, and so I also got to direct and it was really hard, it was a lot harder than I expected it to be! Well, could be because my "actors" were both male and the scene had some romantic implications and they couldn't look each other in the eye without giggling, but that's okay... I made some huge mistakes, and we all did the same one, we would get into these long monologues with the actors, describing the scene and what we thought of the characters and what we wanted out of the script and blah blah blah, and she came up to me and said, "Be specific. Make up your mind and tell them what you want them to do." Sounds easy, I know... It's not.

Anyways. As a writer, it was a really useful exercise as well. Because depending on the director and the actors, the scene became completely different. But the funny thing was that the other three versions of my scene were similar of course (cause I wrote a really specific and condenced scene) but still completely different from each other, but each three conveyed an aspect of what I wanted to show with the scene or what I wanted to bring into it, so taking all three and combining them somehow and that would have been the scene as I picture it in my head, if that makes any sense...

I think everyone where impressed by it too, and I'm not bragging here. But the teacher gave me this look after she read it and everyone else were oddly quiet and when the groups "performed" their scenes (except for the couple of instances with boy giggles, both in my group and the other male + male pairing) there was this intense feeling in the room, like this awe surrounding us, and not because it was brilliantly written or anything, I haven't worked on it at all, I handed it in first draft, but because I think people related to the feeling of the scene for whatever reasons, but you could feel it in the energy in the room, and it felt amazing. And then several people told me they loved it as well afterward, but compliments are kind of meak in comparison to that feeling of having your work worked on I guess with such respect and reverence, that was the best compliment of all, especially one group, Bam Bam directed it and Katta and Arsen played the characters, and there was such tenderness and warmth between them, it made my heart all... well, you know, swollen and warmish.

So this is the scene that popped into my head like a lightening bolt from a clear sky about a person sitting fully dressed in a bathtub (an empty one) and then I linked it with a story idea I have in my head and on Friday night and sat down with a whole bunch of new ideas and inspiration and wrote an outline for a movie. It's almost done. There's just a couple of things still unclear. But it's kind of difficult for me to make outlines and stories in general cause I have a hard time seeing the big picture, I see single images, and I get snippets of dialogue in my head, or I think of a character, and so on, and then when I have enough material I try to put all the different pieces together and hopefully it turns into some kind of puzzle. Like with this one, all I had from the start was a bathtub, jeans and a black eye. And then a second character and a lot of tension after a fight. Frozen peas. And I didn't even know if they were siblings or a couple, I just knew they lived together and person B had hit person A and stormed out, and then returned to find person A sitting in the bathtub, hesitated, then climbed in with them and then the whole conversation taking place, trying to apologize to each other, get past it but something had been shattered and it's too late, and also didn't know the genders of the characters, so I had to go online to look for gender neutral names (cause I didn't want to go with A and B -- so I went with In and Key -- they're names, I checked. And in Swedish they're not words, so they're more neutral than they are in English...) anyways, they're a couple now, since Friday, definitely, sort of hetero, but with the gender roles reversed, I've developed this relationship drama about role playing, it makes sense in my head, but for you reading it like this I probably sound crazy more than anything...

Oh, Ces, if you're readin this, remember the Swedish family movie I showed you, "Patrik, age 1,5"? There's an actress in that movie, she's one of the neighbours, comes and sits down next to the main character and says it's a pity he's gay for being so handsome or whatever... well, that actress was at the seminar I was at all day today. I didn't talk to her though. I did my best to mingle, but things didn't go so well, but that's another story for maybe tomorrow... I'm still too frustrated to talk about it.

And it rains.

My throat is killing me, but at least I'm not running a fever anymore. It's raining.

That reminds me of a sketch by the guys from Varan-TV.

They did a sequence of sketches making fun of directors and essentially the whole Hollywood thing, where there's this typical director guy making new movie adaptations out of Astrid Lindgren's books (Pippi Longstocking?) and each one is an action movie made with adult actors, and drugs and guns and stuff, and each time when he's summerizing at the end of the sequence he always says the same thing, "It's dark. It's the ninetees... Oh, and it rains."

We started editing stuff in school now. Final Cut. I stayed late with a couple of others until I was fed up with everything between here and today. Then I went home. Got here at midnight and made myself a huge mug of disgusting tea with honey in it. For my throat. I was going to drink some this morning as well, but it's really not helping, so I'm helping myself to some coffee instead. So, there.