Yes, This is Me Bitching

So the workshop that is supposed to change my life is tomorrow.



Things not going so well. Want to kill receptionist. Bury her alive.

As usual, I am doing my packing--all seven days worth--at the last minute. I still haven't my receipt or shaved my legs. I will have to withdraw tomorrow before I go in order to pay for the remaining balance for this (fucking expensive) workshop.

Then I get a stupid text from the receptionist--who somehow forgot--saying "don't forget to bring a laptop and HD disks"

WTF?!?!?

I was afraid of this. I told Laarni before that I was scared that I might show up there, and everyone would juts pull out their Palm Pilots and Apple G4s and here I was, with my pen and paper. Laarni assured me that a lot of writers were a lot more destitute than I am, and would unlikely be Tech Boy on the go.

That was before I re-read the additional brochure and found that most people attending said workshop would be...professionals. I think i'm going to be the only one paying my own way...shit, I might be the only one with absolutely zero experience.

I was--and somehow still am--debating on whether I should lug our '98 Toshiba Satellite with the wonky batteries. I told the (stupid, fuckass) receptionist that my laptop had a wonky battery and had to be plugged all the time. She said "only when available"...

I felt like texting back and saying "avail this! (&^*&^^@% for just telling me this NOW, at ten fucking thirty pm!"

Add to all that, I am fucking scared. Most writer's workshops eat you alive! Constructive criticism only comes from the guru, but writer's...we're a perverse lot who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on our contemporaries ego. No one escapes a writer's workshop without a few dents. I should be a basket case for a good few days after this.

You know what...I'm now kind of wishing that this thing would be over.

The weird thing is, Luis and I were having some heart to heart talk last night. He was in a panic about his starting relationship--nature of which to be mentioned in a later post, probably next week--and my so called career as a writer.

It was...different. Luis has always been somewhat protective of me, but he never admits it. But yesterday, he actually told me that he was worried about my handling the professional crits that I am sure to receive and how i'll handle it when I have to give up some of my artistic rights to sheer practicality.

I told him that I was already doing a mainstream book, that I was more concerned that some people would think I was selling out. He told me to fuck it and just concentrate on getting money in the bank first. That the people who cared understood what I was doing.

And that big brother thing just blows me away.

As an only child, you're used to being with yourself. Everything you do does revolve around your world, because you're always aware that you are...alone.

You have no brothers or sisters who need to squabble or agree with. All decisions you have to analyse yourself. Most of the time, you play devils advocate with yourself. It's that tough little training that you get that no matter how many friends you have, family is different. Siblings are different, and you are kind of short with that.

So it's always welcome when my "big brothers" show their protectiveness of me.

Don't get me wrong, they can be harsh. It can range from "That was a really stupid decision, Kriszia" to "You should wear this, you look so much better" to "Do not, in any frig ass way, mess with Kriszia or you will answer to all of us."

And that is...a lot of "us". My friends would lock me in a room before they let me do something stupid, and I love them for that.

Anyway, I told Luis that I was scared shitless (or scared shittles as I am now fond of saying) of the whole thing. This is the first time i've been away from home on my own, without a group or to a place with complete strangers. It's almost like camp, only you work and get grilled everyday. And it's just for a total of six days.

A lot is riding on these six days. It's a test, I suppose, to know if I can make it on Philippine TV. A struggle since I am very colloqial in my Filipino fictions and cannot produce any of the lyrical narratives that most Filipino films usually have.

And I think in English, fucking dream in English. I dream in other languages and rarely do I use Filipino in my dreams. When I took French I, I dreamt in french and half the time I didn't know what I was saying!

So tomorrow is going to be a challenge.

Have to sleep now. Still have some packing left over for tomorrow.