It was a dark and stormy night when I woke up. It wasn't the rain, but the wind that rattled my slumber.
It's 3am and I'm thinking about going to the gym.
French baguette. Telume cheese. Hummus. Clementines. Cherry tomoatoes. Russian beet salad. Turkey brined. Traditional
stuffing. Cornbread stuffing. Macaroni and cheese. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Cranberry sauce. Cranberry relish. Green bean
casserole. Mushroom and red bell pepper chutney. Garlic and rosemary yams. Two glasses of ginger ale. Half a glass of red
wine. Half a glass of champagne. Chocolate pumpkin tart.
Geezuz fcking kryst.
My city is in mourning. It's even raining appropriately. I couldn't look at single paper and went through the day without anything to say.
Out of gas. Jose says we'll have to turn activists, riot in the streets. Truth be told, I've never activated in my life for anything. I blame work schedules.
I hide laziness. This just doesn't seem possible in a modern world. Ignorance. Blind faith governing. Education by television.
What do you do post voting let down? I have to hit the gym to sweat this one out. Running in place. Going nowhere fast. So low, I forget where to dig. I'll be thirty-three when this is over.
It's difficult to feel all I can do is wait. At least my political nightmares will stop. Each dream consisting of some scenario where
I found that I've forgotten to vote.
I nearly forgot. Actually I don't think I knew, but Jon told me to look out my window. I was in the midst of telling him
of my mysterious emotional rollercoaster. How for the past two days, everytime I found something funny I'd laugh hard and
loud and then immediately break down crying. What a fcking lune I am. Once while watching I Heart Huckabees and then again today while reading a friend's email. Fcking hilarious. So why the wacky tears and corny crying? He had no insights to offer. Instead he told me to look out my window towards the ball park.
They tell me it probably wasn't dinner or the green tea or the sake or the half a beer. It was probably dehydration and the heat of the club
that got to me. A club going cold with attitude. I made the mistake of trying to take to fresh air on my own. After purchasing two bottles of
water with cash I couldn't see, I managed to make it off the bar stool and two steps forward before it all dimmed to a heart stopping black.
Out, just like a light. A sharp floor to the head and I gave up all motions to move. I'll come back when I'm ready. I had hoped when I opened my
eyes, I'd find myself at her feet. But as reality would have it, the darkness continued and I felt my body shifting by the hands and holds of others.
And like a messy strings marionette, I was dumped into a seat. When I came though, I found my five minute guardain sitting by me, dressed in 60's
mod. I couldn't stop saying I was sorry. I wanted to get out so bad, but I couldn't move either. Thankfully, I didn't start crying. I sat and listened to 60's mod girl lecture me on
the situation. Stay seated. This happens to me all the time. Stay seated. You'll be fine. Stay seated.
I stayed long enough to believe that sometimes there is safety in strangers.
Long and lost. This month, did it start already? Or is it already over? Somehow, sometime this week we made it through yet another short movie.
This one is going out to Sarah Enid who will be hosting a film night of pumpkin movies this coming Monday. We'll be contributing one and only one.
But one is enough for now. A really wacky job. Classically for kicks. Sadly this will probably be it for a while. Enslavement into the holidays is near.
I'm still flirting with sleep, like a bad unattainable crush. Hopefully soon I will fall for a full night's rest.
Whew. After a long haul and it's kinda quiet. And yet not quiet enough to get a full night's sleep. Thought it was over when it began. But I should count my lucky stars I still have something in the tank. I tried to sleep all day. Tried. And even after 13 hours of horizontal stillness I still went through my day groggy and sleepwalking. Sleepwalking through the baby blanket photo shoot. Sleepwalking through Best Buy. Sleepwalking through dinner at In-N-Out. Sleepwalking through my visit with Jose. My sleep deficit is deep. It's 2:35 in the morning and Jose called to tell me he is home safe and sound. He encountered two girls from out of town, drunk and walking back to their hotel from the Castro. In the rain. Scantly clothed, he felt bad they were spent and not properly in a taxi. So he gave up his umbrella to them. I love that boy. I'm going horizontal. Dreaming up pumpkins.
I wish I had those arms.
Not feeling like myself lately. I'm into wearing the same clothes all week. I'm into using up all my days off to exhaust myself. I'm into procrastinating by starting new projects
in the middle of other projects. I'm into eating everything with my hands. I'm into leaving the bed unmade. I'm into piles and heaps on the floor. I'm into shots in the dark.
I'm into looking for new work. I'm into hoping beyond safety from let downs. I'm into letting it all go overboard and over the top. I'm into talking to strangers. I'm into ignoring the math. I'm into premature announcements.
And here it is... >>>PUT YOUR DUKES UP!<<<
Fatigue. Underslept, underfed, overspent, and overworked and yet never felt better in the chest.
Tonight after a short nap I found myself at the tail end of a show and then at an artificial beach party usa.
Artificially sweltering, sweaty, and sexed. Watched Jose torture Foxy with girls. Swapped glances with a blonde. Typical.
Fell out of crush after ten minutes. Had to pee. Stayed long enough not to finish my beer. Sped home for a spooky drive through the park.
How you like them apples?
"You don't need a lollipop to score with me." --Emily (Lollipop Girls in Hard Candy)
Here comes the end of the month and it is just beginning. Brewing. Up our sleeves. Do we have anything in store for you?
Once again I'll bite off more than I can chew. Heaps. I don't know about having a life or making life, but my mom likes to remind me
I have to make money. Tried to tell her what it is I do so late at night. What is it that I do? Edit. Write. Code. Stare. Wonder. What are you doing that for? For art. Can this art make you any money? No. Than why are you doing this? Just for kicks and I don't know... to share it? With who? With friends. Can these friends get you a better job? No. Sigh. Why are you wasting your time with this? Please think about making some more money. Ok.
And I sit here missing my mom. Edit. Write. Code. Stare. Wondering, what if this was me?
Just you wait. And you shall see.
Look out because before you know it, you've talked your way into the dawn telling stories of long roads south with weird cow smells and restless rest stops, pricey breakfasts at five in the afternnon, hot hibernations, the woozey walk that follows, sunsets that makes your head ache because you can't stop looking at the silouette melody the palm trees make, unrecognizeable celluloid citizens, clairvoyant coffee beans, and emerald bays.
Home. And everything is as I left it. Still. The cat is still alive and hungry. Always.
He gives me his insightful eye and says: "You know what I see in you. You have a passion. And when you're passionate about your work, you get excited!" Wow. I ponder the definition of passion.