I find myself listening to Spirits again today. It is almost painful sometimes to listen, for it causes so much emotion to well up inside me that I need to release. Last week on Thursday I danced. Friday I awoke feeling the world is my playground and that my dreams are becoming reality because I am doing rather than just dreaming now. A little bit of fear sheds everyday for me. Then the phone rang. I answered it. It was a man. This man was from a collection agency. He told me what I was already very aware of; that my student loan from Scotiabank has not been payed upon for 6 monthes. He told me to call my parents for money. He told me they would take me to court if I did not pay the full amount. He told me it is not very often that he has to call someone with an “A” rating on their credit and that most of his day is spent calling “D” or “F” credit rating people demanding money in full. IN FULL. The full amount. I remained calm. I had woken feeling exuberant, alive and feeling alive, feeling I have so much to live for, that I am so close to trusting myself completely. I told this man I am not working, that I am artist. I told him I have been paying Scotiabank for 10 years since I first graduated college back in 1996. He asked me to phone my parents again and told me about the story of a girl who cried and cried because she couldn’t pay her student loan. He told me she called her parents and her parents peyed the full amount for her by the end of the weekend. He said your amount is not that high and that really it is not that hard to come by over a weekend. He told me of other people in collection had much much higher debt loads and that mine is EASY to pay. I told him I would call my family. I told him I would ask my boyfriend.
We hung up the phone. The phone rang again. It was Visa. The woman asked me why I wasn’t paying my credit card. I explained the best I could to her that I had been ill. That I feared to return to work to any advertising/communication/design house working for someone else selling my soul. I told her I have a lot of art. A lot of art. A lot of paper art. I became flustered. I began to cry. I simply couldn’t hide my emotion anymore. I said I’m just getting to a point where I will be able to support myself financially through the sale of my art. She asked me to call her on Monday or Tuesday as did the man from the Collection Agency. She said my credit is very good but that it is in jeopardy. I felt my soul leave my body. We hung up the phone saying our good byes.
Time stopped. I stopped. I literally stopped. Even my cat stopped purring. Everything became very still. A numbness I am all to fucking familiar with overhwlmed my being. I became Lola. Words, images, ideas cascaded freely in my mind. Who do I call. What do I say. What do I do. Nothing. Something. Everything.
That night Eric came in the door at 1:00AM. I was sitting on the futon. I was watching TV. Yes, we have our cable back. We smoked some. We talked. We laughed. We danced. We had a good time. The TV was still playing in the background. Then The People vs. Larry Flint began. We watched it from start to finish. That movie was released in 1996, the same year I graduated College. All those Hustler magazines… all those hustler magazines that my ex-husband had, that he happened to throw out before I had come to visit him, for the first time in 1993. Alas he hadn’t thrown them all out. I found one. I began flipping the pages laughing, enjoying the pictured and verbal entertainment. My ex-husband (boyfriend at this time) walked into the room. His eyes grew to the size of ping pong balls. He began profusely sweating professing he doesn’t look at such filth and can’t believe I found this in his bedroom. I looked at him. I smiled. He grabbed the magazine from me and threw it in the garbage can. “What did you do that for?” I asked him. “Well girls seem to get really angry that I have these, so before, after I met you I decdied to throw them All out.”
I laughed. He wasn’t amused but confused. He sat down beside me. I looked at him smiling saying I was glad to see he had a porn magazine. He said his ex-girlfriend hadn’t liked them at all. I said “I’m not your ex-grilfriend. Let’s go get the one’s you threw out.” laughing. He explained that he and his roomate brought them to a dumpster. I was really laughing by then, and so was he. We had sex that night. We were together for eight and a half years following. I was the only female who joined in playing poker and blackjack on Friday nights with the guys, save for one night when one of my girlfriends decided to join me. So much fun. That is another story though.
The night before I left him in 2001 he asked me sobbing if he was going to go to hell because of what he did. I answered no hun, you are not going to hell. I didn’t know then that I would go to a hell of my own creation after that. No-one had ever told me that I would not go to hell. No one.
Today, I think about Larry Flint. He believed in himself. In turn others began believing in him and more importantly, in his ideas. The more people believed the more money he made. The more money he made the more the ideas became accepted as a god given truth; that what is offensive or obsene to one person may NOT be to another person. PERIOD.
Friday night I went to bed. I dreampt my teeth fell out. I dreamt I was running, running, hiding endlessly from an unnown assailant. I was in a war torn country except this country was my brain.
I awoke Saturday morning. I re-read what I scribbled down in my journal. I believed what I wrote could become my reality. I paced a lot that day. Eric slept a lot that day. We had been up watching Larry until 6:00AM. We ordered some chinese food that evening. We ate. We had a couple of drinks. We went to bed. We didn’t have sex.
Sunday. Yesterday. The day it cracked I guess. What goes up must come down. At this point I hadn’t called nor spoken to anyone concerning the looming debt I owed for my Education. It’s an odd feeling to know financially one does NOT own there education. I want to own it. I told Eric. I called my mom and told her about the collection agents coming to get me. I wanted to die I told her. I told I would rather go to jail than pay it. I hung up the phone. I crying miserably at this point. Eric just stared at me. I felt ashamed. I felt angry at everything. I wanted to thrash out. I wanted to dig my fingers into my forarms until they bled. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t feel anything BUT fucking fear. Nothing. I asked Eric to come and sit with me on the futon. He came and gave me a hug. I can’t remember what I said after that. Honestly. I do remember getting up with the full intention of commiting the most sinful act one can commit in the Christian faith, that of suicide. The article I read in Adbusters came to mind. Dammit I don’t have a car with a garage. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I ran to the bathroom, slammed the door, hit the wall beside the window and then my left hand punched the opposite wall. I slipped down. down. Down onto the floor. Snot dripping from my face, tears rolling unbidden from my eyes, my body shaking when the door opened. It was Eric dressed to go outside.
“I’m going to get paxil.” We were both in pretty heavy withdrawal at that point. Neither of us had taken our daily ration of meds for two full days. We had gone to London Drugs on Sunday only to find out that a plan we had in place from the province of BC to pay for the drugs had to be renewed back in September. The pharmacist asked for $110.00. We said OMG! We said we would come back later. Well Eric went back that night and payed the $110.00 for the paxil using his credit card. This paxil will cover us for two weeks. Then we have to pay another $110.00 for another two weeks. By then we will have our plan in place again so that we do not need to pay for our
psychotic psychiatric medications for another year.
Eric arrived home. We each took our paxil. I had calmed a bit since thrashing about in the bathroom.
Today is Monday. I have not been answering the phone today. I called my folks, told them I figured living was better than dieing. Mom said she knew I would come to that conclusion as I always have in the past. They are still in shock that a collection agent, can legally demand to call family when finances get tough. They can say anything they want I told my mom. My brother and Dad were in the background saying to my mom that they don’t understand why a woman like me with so much talent and creativity cannot earn a decent living. They told me to go get a job. My mom says I know you are working on that. We said our good byes & love you’s and hung up.
Just checked all my phone messages. One from the collection agent about my Student Loan. One from my councillor at Dual Diagnosis asking if she can close my account as a patient. Another from Eric’s brother. And another form a girl friend of mine who lives in the building.
I will be making some phone calls tomorrow. First to Dual Diagnosis to say I am Healthy and to close my file as they requested. Two, I will call the Collection Agent and also the Visa lady. I will tell them the same thing. I am healthy. I am not ill any longer. I am the only one fully responsible for the debt incurred. I will be working very hard trading all the paper I have for other paper. Both these papers are worthy. My paper is my art. It is time to turn this into stock. By the end of this year (2006), I hope to have liquidated the majority of my stock. All of it. I have more than one thousand pieces of paper (art) to trade for paper (dollars). I never fully understood what We Make Money Not Art stood for, until this weekend. I am wealthy. I am very wealthy. However, my wealth is not generally what the public deems worthy. It has generally been seen as a talent. Because of this I did not believe my talent was money. And you know what! It is. I believe it is. I belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!
Now the question is; how do I turn my paper into another form of paper that a bank for instance will accept as payment. I will be answering that in full while doing it during the coming weeks. I will FINALLY be releasing Lucidity (I am not afraid to do so anymore). I will begin posting to the erotica and drug categories on this site that have sadly, been neglected. I will be not afraid of myself or my beliefs. I will be honest. I will be transparent. I will, be me. And any or all of you are welcome to believe, agree, diasgree or, even just ignore.