Way too long.

I have a bird on me. He's pulling out my hairband.

So my checklist is done for the screenplay.
Have to work on some concept visuals. Not necessarily concept art, I kinda need to write down what people, places, things look like so I don't go and alter it later, because I forgot, lol
I did that a lot writing my books, I bet you never noticed though. I did, enough for me to laugh about it.
So visuals tonight. Then making diagram of scenes.
Then double-checking everything to make sure everything works and it can't get overwritten.
SOLID.
Then .... estimate of scenes and page numbers for the actual script. Because I do have a limit/quota that must be maintained.
Then rough draft of the actual screenplay formatting. oh yay....
Then another double-checking for everything.
Then actual screenplay written out. That may take a while.
Then another check through. Then again. Then check through of formatting/spelling/etc.
Then a check through again.
Then sit on it for a bit and start board on Victory.
Re read whole thing and check through again, find someone else to check it too. (Skylar)
and someone else. (___?___)
Find an agent. Or not and take a huge risk and mail it out to Studio Ghibli. ...sure thing.
It'll be fun.

So I'm not intending to start sewing again.
back in the days where I posted retarded facebook posts about dumb shit...
like 'almost done with orders' or 'just 3 orders to go' or 'this sewing is making me insane'
made me realize how I could have been doing other stuff.
More important stuff.
I don't care about little dresses. Or princesses. (unless they are holding a fucking sword)
(no...not wonder woman)
I don't care about it at all. I especially do not care for sewing appliques.
I can literately feel the writing turmoil inside of me just thinking about it.
The answer...if it is not a hell yes....it is a fuck no. Even a maybe isn't working for me at this point.
Even $150 isn't appealing if it costs me freedom/joy/time/etc.
- He who controls your time, controls your mind. -
I do however care about stories. and magic. and self awareness.
Dresses may be magical....but I can't find myself in them anymore.
The test is sure to come though. When someone on Jan 2nd asks to place an order.
Too bad I threw out all my applique papers..... awwww.
I'll either fold and do it for the money, or I'll stand.
God help me. I feel myself being weak. Am I a people pleaser?!.....cause that shit needs to stop right now.
I have a notebook next to my bed, where I write shit down I know I will forget.
I have a page on there that says 'FUCK NICE'
If someone was to describe me. 'Nice' should not be on the list. Not naughty either btw.
But nice....is almost an insult.
Phenomenal - Mysterious - Creative - Intentional - Strange - Other worldly - even insane, crazy, weird, odd, rude....is just fine....but nice implies I'm nice.
News flash: I'm not.
I can be cordial, polite, ...I can even refrain from saying what I'm really thinking. But deep down inside....nice does not compute. Nice does not work with my programming.
Oh you're so nice..... makes me want to wretch.
How nice of you..... no bitch, I did this because someone talked me into it. (fucking people pleasing!)
That was nice....no....it was fucking fantastic. 100% or nothing. I'm over the good enough stage.
If I bother (of my own free will) it's because I wanted to.....
of course, that often gets overlooked, okay always get overlooked. Dude, I dedicated an hour or whatever to you, and what do I get... 'that's nice.' hack ack cough. I'm choking. I don't even want anything, but I can 'feel' the  response no matter what you actually say.  And yeah, I still get a kick out of the response of 'this is totally weird...uh...thank you?' response, lol. I like messing with people.

Ahhh...I've talked too much.

But I have a memory.... my first dose of 'these people are bullshitters' and 'oh fuck why did I come here to deal with this shit'... memory.
I was 3. I know because I have the actual picture that says 1983 on the back.
Aunt Betty's house. Someone begged/convinced/ MANIPULATED me into putting on a dress.
(I hated them then, I hate them now...unless it's for a 'cool' photoshoot.)
They wanted pictures of me and those two other boys (don't know who they were)
Red dress. Sun dress. pretty color, but I was defiant.
So they coerced/MANIPULATED me into putting it on for 'just a little while' for pictures and they would give me this goodie basket that had one of those stupid paddle ball toys in it. I got to play with the paddle ball thing. My tiny mind 3yo self complied. (I wanted the paddle ball thing)
So we took pictures....yeah yeah smile for the dumb grown-ups. Can I go now?
Take this thing off of me....
Just a little longer they would say. I felt the deliberate refusal of acknowledgment of my individuality.
I eventually got the dress off after way too long of a timeframe.
BUT when we were leaving....guess what... I didn't get to keep the paddle ball thing or the basket stuff. W..T..F..
It was mine. It was payment. I was MANIPULATED, belittled, lied to, and dishonored.

So now you know where my rebellion of everyone/everything else comes from.
That's not a bad thing....for me...
but the emotion of a 3 year old can make big waves in the future...