Friday, July 3, 2009

Write, Mia! Write!!!

"MEEEYAAAAH!" Consuela wails from the other room.

"What you do!?! WHAT YOUUUUU DOOOO!?!??"

I smirk. I take it she's discovered that I've blocked her Telenovellas. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. A few minutes with the owner's manual, some parental controls...and voila! No more crack for her.

I turn around and see Consuela looming over me, arms crossed and nostrils flaring.

"What?" I say innocently.

"What you do, Meeeya?" she seethes at me. I can see the anger flooding her eyes. Her shoulders begin to quiver. Consuela is pissed.

"I blocked them," I told her matter-of-fact. This is my house. She needs to abide by my rules.

Immediately Consuela goes into a fit of rage. She storms around the apartment, knocking over lamps and bookcases. She begins to beat the furniture to a pulp.

I ignore her for a few minutes. The ruckus continues in the background -- but I'm in the middle of completing a scene; and I can't deal with her just this second.

She screams like a banshee as she tosses knick knacks at my head. Her fat little arms lack the ability to aim properly, and so, the knick knacks simply bounce off the walls around me. This continues for some time as she cries and screams; "I heeet you Mia. I hhhhhhhheet you!!!"

When I'm finished the scene I'm working on, I press save, double-check it's still there, and turn around in my seat to face her. Her chubby cheeks are red from the fit she's just pulled.

I take a deep breath. Centre myself. And begin,

"Consuela," I say calmly. "Look around you."

She looks confused. I suppose she thinks I'm talking about the mess she just made -- which come hell or high water she will clean up; but no. I'm not talking about the mess. I'm talking about my one bedroom apartment.

"Look" I tell her. She looks around and then looks back at me. She crosses her arms to show me that she is still really pissed off, but I ignore her stance and continue.

"What do you see?" I ask. I'm still sitting in the chair at my desk. She's a few yards away, in the living room.

"De apartuhment?" she answers without confidence.

"Yes. The apartment" I confirm. "Theee APARTMENT!"

She stands there with a blank look on her face. I waive her to the couch and sit down beside her.

"Look," I said to her "I know that for you -- this apartment may seem really fancy. But for me, for me it was suppose to be a pit stop. Do you know what a pit stop is?" She nods her head, but I'm not convinced that she really understands what I mean.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life here, Consuela." I say. I think she understands. "I'm 32 years old, and I haven't gotten where I want to be in life. My career is at a standstill -- and if I don't do something about it right now -- it is very possible that I will spend the rest of my life living in this apartment. And, that's not what I want."

She begins to calm down. I think for the moment my soliloquy has temporarily distracted her from the Telenovella situation. So, I continue "My life is in limbo. I have no significant other, no property, not a penny in savings, or anything to show for all the hard work I've done up until now."

Consuela relaxes her stance. Her breathing returns to normal as her face softens.

"In less than two months I'll be 33 years old -- and I don't want to spend another year, month, moment, or minute living like this anymore. If I don't do everything in my power to try and change it -- it never will. No one else will do it for me. I have to do this myself. And..."

I pause to make sure she is paying attention, "...I need you." I say quietly.

"Oh," she replies. "Yer no heet me?" she asks.

"No, I don't hate you. But, I need you to stop being so lazy -- I need your help. I need you to help with the groceries, and keeping the house clean. I need you to take care of me -- because no one else will. And, every time you sit and watch the Telenovellas -- I'm not being taken care of, and it affects how I work. If I'm not taken care of -- my writing suffers. And, if my writing suffers then I'll never get to L.A. And I NEED TO GET TO L.A.!" I tell her in one breath.

"My sister iz in da LA...." Consuela says.

"Great! So, let's make a plan," I tell her as I stand and grab an iPod for her. "Here's an iPod. I'll put one Telenovella on it a day. You can watch it while you are on the treadmill."

She does a quick mathematical calculation and replies, "But, dat meens dat I iz on da treadmill fer an hour!" she starts to cry.

"Yes. Consuela, listen to me." I start, "You're too chubby. I'm worried about your health. If you're suppose to take care of me -- then you can't be this chubby. I need you to be less lazy and more healthy. I need you to be healthy, so that when things get really hectic and I'm in L.A. you will be able to take care of me. Because, otherwise -- I will die alone. Do you want that?"

I know that was a little extreme -- but God created guilt for a reason.

She nods her head back and forth slowly. I think she's content to help me on my quest.

"So, Mia" Consuela begins, "If yer go to da LA, den I iz going widt you?".

"Of course!" I say. I want her to have something to look forward to as well, and besides, I really do want her to reap the benefits of all my hard work.

"Dat iz good," she says "because my sister, she has de huzband -- but he haz no job, so -- when we go to de LA yer can give him de job, ok?"

"OK!" I say as I extend my hand out to shake on it. She looks at me suspiciously for a moment before she resigns and extends her chubby little arm. We shake.

I stand to walk back to my computer and finish what I was doing. "Clean this mess up!" I say to her; but she is already picking up the knick knacks off the floor.

"Mia, I iz sorry I so angry widt you, ok?" she sulks.

"Don't worry about it, Consuela" I tell her, "just take better care of yourself so you can take better care of me -- and I promise, we'll get out of this apartment some day. Alright?"

"Alright!" she says enthusiastically. I think she likes that she feels she is actively contributing to something. And, I'm sure -- she's looking forward to being closer to her sister.

She walks by me a few moments later -- swiffer in hand. I smile at her, but she points feverishly to the computer screen and begins to yell; "Write, Mia! Write!!!"

"I am," I reassure her. "I am".



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