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Tag Archives: breakups

Waiting for Rosa

22 Saturday Jun 2013

Posted by woodzickwrites in Playwriting

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Tags

breakups, dog parks, dogs, heartbreak

Ellen McLaughlin’s playwriting exercise (from The Playwright’s Workout):

“4.) A couple realize they are no longer in love.”

rosa

(Dog park. Dusk. The stage is eerily lit with the glow of unseen solar powered panels. Gretchen sits on a park bench. To the right, a bucket of frisbees and other dog paraphernalia. She carefully picks up a soggy tennis ball, wipes it off on her jeans and places it next to her on the bench. She regards it as though it were alive, as if it might speak to her. Silence. Then.)

Gretchen. You’re not supposed to come to the dog park if you don’t have a dog.

(A muffled dog barks from far away. She looks up.)

Sounds like a Saint Bernard. Or a mastiff. You can tell by that deep, throaty tone–it echoes.

(Beat.)

I used to come here at least once a day. Usually after work. I would meet him and his dog here. She was a chocolate lab. Rosa. He liked Swedish things. I always thought it was idiotic to name an American breed by a Swedish name. But, she came into his life before I did. She would almost knock me over when I came into the pen. She got up on her hind legs like she was trying to give me a hug. You see, I used to be afraid of dog–I was bit by a little yappy one when I was a kid and ever since….But I couldn’t be afraid of her, right? Because part of loving him was the dog. And at first she was a nuisance. But then she became a fixture. Part of our routine.

I’m a selfish person. I expect people to anticipate my needs. To be thoughtful so I don’t have to be. I started trying to be less selfish, trying to do more, trying to anticipate things for him. I would get up early on the weekend mornings and take her to the dog park myself, while he was showering. She began to listen to me better than she listened to him–gradually seeing me as the alpha instead of him. Because I was more assertive. Because I knew what I wanted.

(She picks up the tennis ball.)

I would sit on this bench and we would play fetch. She would bring the ball to me and place it gently on my lap. When she played fetch with him, he would have to chase her to get the ball, sometimes even wrestle her for it.

That’s when it was over, really. When we both started caring more about what Rosa thought of us than what we thought of each other.

When he broke up with me, first I experienced shock. Then an overwhelming desire to say goodbye to Rosa. He denied me that opportunity, forbade it, said it “wasn’t a good idea.”

And that’s when I really got mad. I started writing text messages that should have melted my phone.

“What is your fucking problem. Are you so insecure that you think I would hurt your fucking dog?!?! We’re going to talk about this. I know where you work. I’ll be waiting by your car when you’re done today.”

But I didn’t. I came to the dog park that afternoon, though, when I knew he’d be there. I walked the trails and sat on a bench. I knew he would see my car in the parking lot. I heard his voice and then his father’s, walking around the trails. I got up and started walking in the opposite direction until I was sure they had left the park.

I thought about stealing her. The pen where she was kept during the day wasn’t locked. It would be easy enough to grab her in the night without her barking. We could run away together, start a new life without him. But he would have known it was me. He would have found us. And then I would be as crazy as he said I was in those last days.

(She stands up, finds a chuck-it, picks up the tennis ball offstage. Waits, as if Rosa might come back with it. Shakes her head, walks around the stage, finding other balls to throw during the following:)

That’s what I miss most about the relationship. (Beat.) The dog. (Beat.) Rosa.

The minute I did it I knew I was in trouble…

20 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Hedgebrook Virtual Writing Group

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Tags

breakups, Whidbey

 

The minute I did it I knew I was in trouble. This is not how it was supposed to go down.  I had ordered a vintage postcard that said: “A lobster I am and always will be, But won’t you have pity and please marry me?” I was going to wait until our one year anniversary or second Christmas or some landmark relationship milepost and with some ceremony present it to him.  We had talked about getting married and having kids.  We had even talked about some names.  But recently, he had started to show some reservations about the relationship, concerns that we were “too different,” were at “different” places in our life journey.  He started to drop hints that it wasn’t going to work out like Hansel and Gretel dropped bread crumbs.  But I was oblivious–I thought he was kidding or that I could fix it.  And it wouldn’t be until weeks later, after he broke up with me, that he would tell me he had started seeing someone else.  This happens everyday, but it was a grotesque revelation that it could happen to me.  One day, your partner wakes up, runs into a woman he knew in high school and decides that she would be better, or easier, or whatever he decides that makes him start plotting his exit strategy.  I could feel that I was losing traction in the relationship and in a moment of desperation, I riffled through my closet and brought out the postcard to show him.  With my Midwestern naïveté, I showed him the vintage postcard and looked up into his eyes hopefully.  That postcard symbolized my commitment–he would see it and remember the best of the relationship and stay.  Instead he looked uncertain, uneasy, uncomfortable.  In retrospect, in that moment, he knew for sure he was going to leave.  He mumbled something about “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” changed the subject, and we somehow made love and fell asleep.  One of our last nights together.  If I hadn’t shown him the postcard, might it have extended our last days?  Probably not.  But the minute I did it I knew I was in trouble.

Ventricle

15 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Dating, Poetry

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Tags

breakups

There isn’t a heartbreak hotel.

It’s not like that.

Instead, it’s a remodeling

of the

f

o

u

r

chambers of the heart.

Ventricles and atria have been demolished

and need to have a contractor

come in and rebuild them.

Next, a fabulous designer will come in

“Oh, I think these veins will do nicely.”

And slowly, the heart starts to recover

(with nice track lighting

emanating from the aorta.)

The heart is home.

It doesn’t change zip codes

because it is ignored

or discarded.

It is a prime piece of real estate.

Its value stable

even in the most volatile markets.

A Single Gal’s Guide to Independence Day, 24/7

04 Wednesday Jul 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Dating

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

breakups, Eve Ensler, women, writing

Chances are, someday you’ll be dumped.  Plain and simple.

The last time I got dumped went something like this:

He: I just think we’re in different places in our life, I think we might be too different as people…

Me: What the crap, I love you, what’s going on?!?!

He: I think we should take a break.

(Pause for excruciating week-long break during finals at graduate school).

Me: Wow, I missed you!

He: I just want to be friends.

Me: Wha—WAHHHHHHHH!!! (Gut-wrenching sobs explode).

He: I can’t watch this anymore, it makes me too sad, I’m leaving now.

(Followed by this text a week later)

He: We’re too different even to be friends, I think it’s best we go our separate ways.

(Followed by this Facebook message two weeks after later).

He: Out of respect for you, I want to let you know I’ve started seeing someone else. I wish you the best on all our future endeavors.

Me: (lightbulb! Silently, to myself:) Aha. Wow. Major bummer.

Of course, this is oversimplified, and I’ve cut out most of the bits that make me seem crazypants, but overall, it’s a fairly accurate retelling.

So, in lieu of our country’s independence, I am going to be celebrating my OWN independence, and I invite you to do the same.

Four Fabulous Tips for Celebrating Your Own Independence on July 4th:

1) Read up on the Quirkyalone movement.

Quirkyalone: n. adj. a person who enjoys being single (but is not opposed to being in a relationship) and prefers being single to dating for the sake of dating. It’s a mindset. Quirkyalone is not anti-love. It is pro-love. It is not anti-dating. It is anti-compulsory dating. Quirkyalone is a book, a holiday, and a movement. Are you a quirkyalone?

Find out more here.  This book changed my life a few years ago, and I had completely forgotten about it until I started writing this post. It’s revolutionary, and you should take part!

2) Replace “Why me?” with “What’s next?”

Nobody wants to hear this, but YES, everything happens for a reason.  For some reason and purpose, you manifested this relationship ending as much as the other person was a butthead and dumped you.  What did you learn?  And what exciting adventures did cutting the cord open up for you?  If you spend too much time wallowing, you might miss them.  Focus on opening your awareness to the awesomeness that ultimately lies ahead.

3) Say Vagina.

Make a stand!  Find a cause worth joining.  Lately, I have been really moved by Eve Ensler and the #sayvagina movement.  Did you know that over 5,000 people assembled to hear The Vagina Monolgues performed on the states of the Michigan State capital?!?! Vagina, vagina, vagina!

4) Write.

The world needs YOUR voice.  Celebrate your experiences, dissect your challenges, change the script of your life and see what that feels like.  It doesn’t have to be anything, you just need to sit down and do it.  Get your hands dirty and WRITE!

Dogs, Drag Queens and Double Bluff Beach

01 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by woodzickwrites in Dating

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Tags

breakups, dogs, drag queens, RuPaul's Drag Race, Whidbey

In the wake of a recent break up (that could be the 4th “d” of the alliterative title: I got dumped) I have begun the process of taking stock of what I have learned from the process and how I succeeded in muddling through somewhat successfully.

First, I came out of the relationship with a great love of dogs. Anyone who knows me well is surprised by my newfound affection of canines. In the past, I have been notorious in my fear of dogs. I would wait outside after knocking until I was sure that someone had their hand on the dog’s collar. It bordered on phobic.

I was bitten (nipped, really) by some sort of terrier when I was little, so I guess my behavior was understandable. But after frequenting the dog park and becoming attached to a certain chocolate lab, I realized I was able to walk away from the breakup saying that I am a bone-ified dog lover (pun intended).

If you’re into Animal Medicine cards, you know that dogs symbolize loyalty. It’s a fairly logical leap to make. And that idea was further solidified but the string of inexplicably affectionate dog interactions I’ve had recently. It is almost as if dogs have a telepathic pipeline and they come up to say “I know you that you didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to the dog you loved, so I’d like to hang with you for a bit and offer you comfort.”

Secondly, a major support in powering through the breakup was discovering RuPaul’s Drag Race. If you haven’t heard of this show, seriously, you should go watch it, all the episodes are available online at www.logotv.com.

This reality show is a competition with drag queens. You get the opportunity to see the contestants both in and out of drag. Each episode boasts transformations of epic proportions. And the series has a spin-off called RuPaul’s Drag U, where biological women get paired with drag queen professors to identify and create an empowered alter ego.

As an actress, I am familiar with the ritual of transformation before a performance. Usually, I decorate my dressing room space with pictures that remind me of my character, and might even assemble a playlist and listen to it while applying make up. One of the highest compliments I can receive is someone saying “YOU were in that show?!?! You played THAT part?” If we’re doing our job right as actors, hopefully we achieve something similar to a spiritual transformation–at our best, we embody our character so completely, we become virtually recognizable.

Lastly: Double Bluff Beach. As I’ve said before, I work for Hedgebrook, which houses a writing retreat for women on Whidbey Island. Since the beach is close to the retreat, I often find myself making time to go to the beach before work in order to center myself. And there are often lots of dogs, which is a huge bonus.

Last week, I went to Double Bluff beach around nine o’clock and sat on one of the benches that overlook the breath-taking view of the water. A woman was walking three corgis. One of them plopped down under my bench. I turned around and looked at the dog. He acknowledged me briefly and then went back to lounging. The woman turned around and called the dog. No response. She walked back to the bench and had a conversation with the dog:

“Well you just want to stay here by this nice lady? I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she looked at me and said “This is so weird, he never does this, usually he’s so excited to take a walk.”

I just looked at her and smiled. The dog telepathy hotline was up and running and working in my favor. I got my dose of canine companionship, took a mental picture of the beach and walked off to start my day, wondering what my drag name might be…

#31Playsin31Days #NPM15 #NPMLaunch acting baking Berkeley Rep body-love boobs books breakups casinos cats cheeseheads childhood children Christmas church coffee comedy cupcakes Dael Orlandersmith dogs drag queens Easter engagement rings Eve Ensler fashion feminism fiction fim food godspell Hedgebrook humor ice cream Illicit Congress jesus jesus christ superstar kids leprechaun lions Mel Brooks monologue music musicals NaNoWriMo NaPoMo NaPoWriMo National Poetry Month Nick at Nite NMP15 NPR OutCast Productions Pioneer Square Poetry Rocky Horror RuPaul's Drag Race school Seattle Sharon Needles Sherlock Holmes social media submarine summer Theatre vokatiebulary Wes Anderson Whidbey Whidbey Island WICA wine Wisconsin women writing zoos

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