Jaimie (Lynne) Teekell

This is for anyone that wants to follow my meds escapades. I don’t know why you would. I put in like four movie references to entertain you since it’s such a boring topic already. Can you catch them all?

I’m 1/3 through the manuscript. To celebrate, I have posted an excerpt below. OMG, I just wrote it! It’s funny, re-reading it and going, “Oh that line sucks” and “That’s really stiff” and “That’s pretty good there, not too shabby.”

So I present sucks-stiff-shabbynot. Very much a first draft.

Class ended. Students erupted into the hallway. Kayla weaved through them, waiting until the last student was out for her to shut and lock the door.

At the clack that announced this, David eyes trained on Kayla. They were very blue and clear, even behind the reading glasses.

“There’s another class after this, you know,” he said.

“I know.”

“Good. Then I’d appreciate you opening the door.”

“No.”

He took off his reading glasses. He stood from his desk where Kayla could see he was reading through what looked to be an ancient manuscript. There were all kinds of old books on his desk and official things written on the chalkboard, and he stood so tall and proud and questioning that for a moment Kayla considered unlocking the door.

“No? You want me to write you up?”

“I promise I’m not picking a fight. I was told to give you this.”

Kayla extended the Rubick’s cube.

She might have held up Medusa’s head from the way he froze upon seeing it. His face registered comprehension. Surprise. Then fear.

He swiped it from her like an animal would a piece of food, hesitating only long enough to ask, “You’re a student here?”

He didn’t hear the answer. He set upon solving the cube. His hands frenzied; the colors practically blurred. Kayla had seen this kind of speed from Asian kids on television, freaks who spent their entire childhood learning the art. Not history teachers. Not in high school. David paced as the colors grew more and more in line, his back to Kayla.

And then the cube was solved, and after holding it up to verify this, David dropped it into the trashcan, his shoulders slumped in relief. He rubbed both hands through his hair, pushing both sleeves, which were rolled, further up his arm. His put on his glasses and sat in his chair, looking no longer relieved but like a child who had just been scolded. Like something worse was still to come. Shell-shocked.

Kayla gaped. She remembered James tied and gagged in the chair by the highway. Had David suffered some similar horror?

“You must really like that game,” she said.

David laughed softly. He took a pen and scribbled in the corner of a napkin. No words. Just scratches. “He gave it to you.”

“If by he you mean Solomon.”

David’s eyes peaked over the top of his glasses. He had graying eyebrows, grey on the edges of his sideburns.

“I mean Solomon, yes.”

I should use bullet points. Okay, I will.

• I dunno who Glenn Beck speaks for, but it isn’t Christians because I’m a Christian and he doesn’t speak for me. I aspire to be like Jesus not like Beck or anyone else (except possibly Whoopi Goldberg). And that has nothing to do with America or the troops or the civil rights movement, because none of that was around when Jesus was being Jesus, so obviously Jesus has nothing to do with it. People get kind of like dogs with rabies sometimes.
• And while we’re on it, the Muslims can build a mosque wherever they want. They can build it on Ground Zero for all I care, if they can buy the property (which I don’t think they can, so it’s moot). The bad thing about 9/11 was a whole bunch of people dying and it’s kind of weird to imply that the bad thing about 9/11 was property being destroyed, rendering all property in that area as special as an endangered species.
• I’m going to the doctor tomorrow to see about taking long-term depression meds. This is good, because everything is perfectly fine in my life but I always feel like Teh Suck. There is something wrong with my brain. I am looking forward to my emotions aligning with my beliefs. I really do like my job intellectually and I am looking forward to liking my job emotionally as well as intellectually.
• Sometimes I wait for a man dressed in a fur coat and a magic beaded necklace to find me and shout, “No! You do not like your job! This is what you want to be doing!” He proffers his beads. “This is the solution to a happy life! You’ve been doing it all wrong! Your emotions are fine, it’s your mind that’s screwed!” People, when they don’t like me taking the meds, say things to me as if this, or something like this, is a real possibility. And who am I to rule this out? I guess magic beads work for some people.
• This weekend I had the most wonderful interactions with Fabulous Literary Agent who went from being just Literary Agent to Pretty Cool Literary Agent to Fabulous Literary Agent due to said interactions. The first interaction made her Pretty Cool Literary Agent. The second interaction made her Fabulous Literary Agent. This involved a webinar and a brief email exchange. I will not go into details. I respect a person’s privacy. It should also be mentioned that I received a few compliments. I won’t lie: That kicked her up a few points, as far as Fabulous scales go. But mostly she was gracious, patient and understanding. She gets “normal writer angst” and how that’s different from “whiny writer schmuck.”  Thank you, Fabulous Literary Agent, for the smiles. (She also called me “ballsy and professional.”)
• I totally am.
• Writing is going good. You know how characters change? During the writing process, Obi-Wan Kenobi Guy went from being a wise, collected mentor to an unnerved history geek. (Who still rolls his sleeves up, Hoffeditz style.) He was relieved when Kayla was not quite as adept with her powers as most of the genies he’s encountered. (Understandable.) (They torture him.) “I’m not going to torture you.” “Then I love you, and let me run experiments on you now.” Something like that.

I realized what my problem is. I am really, really, really, really, really lonely. This isn’t an issue of “being single” but is more probably an issue of “being a workaholic.” Still, when you are married you  have someone obligated to talk to you, and I have no one obligated to talk to me. I am sick of calling friends and getting a voicemail. I give up. I can’t do it anymore. If there’s one thing more frustrating than being really, really, really, really, really lonely it’s seeing you’re stuck in room with all-closed doors. I’d like to imagine, instead, that the doors are open. That I’m not going through them because I ch0ose it. That I ch0ose to be this way.

And in a sense, I did. I work a 50 hour week and write 1K words a day in an effort to complete my second novel (which is really all I care about in life). Also, I exercise 5 days a week. Since I need to make a living, need to not gain massive amounts of weight and need to keep some measure of happiness via writing, these are non-negotiable. Which means I can’t hang out with friends too much. Some friends want to hang out, but I only have time for 1-2 activities a week. But these friends do 8-9 activities a week, so I’m not impressing them. I’m not speaking their language. I’m not someone they miss seeing around.

This leaves me with the phone, something I can multitask. (Speaking of multitasking, I get all my TV or reading while exercising or driving or bathing.) But the phone’s not working anymore, which means I have little real interaction with people during the week. (During the life.) And it’s taking its toll. And I’m dying slowly. And I’m self-destructing, and sobbing on the drive to work, and cursing at other cars, and something awful is going to happen to punish me for not being strong enough to be normal.

This is the part of the show where I say smug things.

First of all, Mad Men won the Emmy for Best Drama over Lost! Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is to all those people insisting Lost was the best show on TV. You can personally believe that, and I’m glad you were entertained and stuff, but history shall triumph. Eat it.

Second of all, Breaking Bad won both best actor categories. Honestly, I really think the Emmy voters nailed this. Breaking Bad is superb for its story, yes, but the story is elevated by the performances of Brian Cranston and Aaron Paul. Whereas with Mad Men, it’s the writing. The acting (while strong) is secondary.

Mad Men is a more artistic show, and Breaking Bad is more thrilling and engaging. (Although Mad Men is engaging as well, duh.) But at the Emmys, artistic won out. And I think that’s cool. I think Mad Men is “greater.” Leaves more of an impression in the mind.

P.S. Didn’t you love Peggy on Mad Men tonight? I kept raising my arms and cheering and stuff. I wish I knew an arrogant a-hole who was all “Oooh, I’m nudist,” so I could get him to strip down with me and eventually cave.