the enchanted tea party picnic

"It's almost time for the enchanted tea party picnic."

I keep staring at that line, the only one I've written for this commercial due Monday. I think about all the little princesses in the pipe cleaner woods. I wonder if they are happy with the narratives I've written for them over the past year. This is my sixth commercial for the mega corp (mega corps). I don't choose the storylines, just the words the gals get to say about said stories. Honestly, not even. There comes a point in the process when the lead producer seems to tweak every single line in the five-page script. We start each kick off with her threatening we cannot go over length again. I turn in something short every time, and without fail, she adds two pages of bits and jokes, which her boss ends up telling me to cut. The system is perfect as you can tell.

But it's almost time for the enchanted tea party picnic.

I'm a little worried I might be cruising for a mental breakdown. I've been trying to slow down to avoid the crash. But the slower I go the further behind I fall, and there's so much to do right now. Like I have to finish moving my savings to a credit union and organize my taxes and get my scrapbooks done in case I have to move quickly, or maybe I shouldn't bother with the scrapbooks after I left most of them to burn while evacuating. Maybe I shouldn't bother with any of it. What's going to matter this time next year?

I'm going to remember the afternoons I closed my computer and sat outside. Or maybe I won't. Maybe what I'll long for will be this, posted up in a coffee shop with a heavy-cream iced coffee, writing a commercial, the radio playing "Nonsense." I had to jump the oc-tave.

I can't remember for sure, but I think I'm forgetting something important. Oh! Is it the enchanted tea party picnic? Seems to get closer and closer every year. Haven't even baked my cupcakes yet. We spent thirty minutes on the Zoom last week deciding which pastry would unlock the princess's magical outfit-changing powers. The beignets make more sense dramaturgically but the pretzel has a little clip, so it can attach to a doll's actual hand.

I wake up at 1 on the sofa. I wake up at 4 and stumble to the kitchen to eat fruitsnacks and take another hot shower. I took four hot showers yesterday. I wake up again at 7:30, another theatre producer texted at 4:45 AM. She says call when I get this. She asks how I am from a cab and I say I'm okay besides...she talks over me I DON'T THINK ABOUT IT anyway I met with a friend who might be interested in the play... Good news falls so flat now! There is nothing I believe will actually happen! Although I hope some of it will!?

How does a person stay sane with nothing to look forward to? I don't trust the single concert ticket I have for October. I don't trust the images on my mobile device since AI. I don't trust what to eat since there is plastic in our brains, I don't trust what I can say since reddit users are now being banned for typing the name L****, I don't trust my insurance that went up or our building manager who just painted the stairwells puke green without asking, I don't trust you, and I don't trust me. I've been hearing about the enchanted tea party picnic though, might stop by.

ten days of march

taught AB the HOT TO GO dance, which we then did in the living room before sunset, she expressed concern about the G like I don't know which way to go, either way I say, either way everyone gets the idea

laughed aloud reading M___'s play with an iced mocha at the grassy knoll Sunday morning, discussed it in the dive bar over mozzarella sticks in the afternoon -- extra ranch, what she struggles with is my biggest strength, she keeps saying ohmygod this is so helpful you have no idea, but I do have an idea because what she can do is be hilarious without trying or even knowing what it means, and what I do is obsess about what everything means, I show her all the themes she's already written and which patterns could be heightened to highlight what, it's all already there I keep repeating, what do you really think I keep asking, it has a shape she says as we scootch sideways from the semi-circle booth

dancing to "Maroon" in the movie theatre bathroom before seeing Mickey17, like the old days

great s'more bar with S on a Tuesday morning, I typically use social mornings to co-write with friends, always be writing, always be producing -- maybe I'd be less of a crone if I just had a fun coffee once in a while my god

free trip to Disneyland from J -- started with Indiana Jones ended with the cold ferris wheel, in the middle there was a jalapeño stuffed pretzel, Pirates, the Lamplighter patio, the orange mist of Soarin', and I took a Mickey rice krispie home with me (in one of the bright blue bags with the castle on it)

five current bites for my play: a young LA indie producer for this summer she met me wearing a little work outfit and a professional persona I was so preoccupied with the rain I forgot my whole purse at home and had to venmo her for brussel sprouts, workshop in DC at a regional theatre next fall, add a high-powered manager for an NYC world premiere question mark when, two college kids at a local university, small collective of 20somethings who do work in an ugly corporate room

climate theatre project approved by major activist group, will pursue without funding

Puhg buys my coffee on International Women's Day, a kids' quesadilla after a 7-hour non-stop writing session

mega corporation has offered me a new commercial contract

my horoscope said "bookstores" and then I had just about 45 minutes to kill, so I walked to the bookstore -- my books have sold out twice, I creep on the restock

Puhg's aunt is going to die this time, staying on chemo until the graduation party for her youngest grandchild -- thinking about it every few steps

Sweet Potato got some carrot slices last night, she was in a mood -- one night she was a little goofball, hiding in my hoodie hood for quite some time

can't wrap my head around how fast it's happening, how a student protester was detained illegally, how I post one Instagram story about it, get a notification the app is now using facial recognition in relation to my account

LA and I do music improv at the cutest little show in town, three friends come which is just so sweet and unheard of for 8 PM on a Wednesday, we open with this song about marshmallows happily enjoying the marshmallow world (where everything is made of marshmallows) until they realize they eat marshmallows and they are marshmallows (!), their cheery little tune becomes darker and deadlier until they vow to just not think about it! The hard part of two-prov is not getting a few little minutes on the sidelines to think of initiations for the next scene, I want to bring cannibals back into the finale but never have enough time to sort out the thoughts...Donner party, snow...marshmallows... LA starts a finale about a dog show, so that's what we do and it's fine -- the next day, on a walk, it all snaps into place -- the finale should have been us in a snowstorm after a plane crash, we realize we must eat our friends but we tell one another we're not cannibals, we're just marshmallows in the marshmallow world...

queer writers' group anniversary coffee. I made hasty purple construction paper membership cards. Group name est. 2019, a little quip on the back and a shiny heart sticker. Lan calls me right as I pull into my parking spot, says he's thinking of getting his laminated, he asks if I'm available to read something -- sure I say (I'm not) I ask what he's looking for, in terms of feedback, that's what I'm hoping you can tell me about he says the shape he says

how dare you say its romantic leaving me safe and stranded

What if there's only one spaceship off Earth?

And there's only one seat?

I know you'll want me to go,

but I think it should be you.

Sweet Ratty

Last Friday I was on a walk and saw a rat, squirming in a driveway. Their two front legs were curled up, so the critter could only roll about. I called Puhg for back-up, told him to bring a bucket. As I waited a woman and her dog walked past, I hopped out in front of them, said there was a sick creature, and maybe they should go around, so the dog didn't eat them. The woman thanked me, and, from a distance peered on. She said she actually used to volunteer for a wildlife org and they would probably not accept the little guy. I googled around in case, but there's not much for rats. There are some resources for dogs cats and birds but rats are rats. I kneeled down to speak with my new friend.

A man approached, also with a dog. I hopped out again, told him there was a sick mouse, and to maybe go around-- He yelled at me, "OKAY? WELL ARE YOU GONNA HELP IT OR TAKE A PICTURE?" I said, "I have someone coming--" This man jerked his dog forward and muttered loudly, "FUCK OFF." I knelt to my friend again. Puhg arrived and confirmed, this rat is really really sick. We decided not to let it get picked off or squished, to transfer the buddy into the bucket, and carry them somewhere green, at least.

I ran and got some seeds and cut up an apple into chewable pieces. We found a line of short bushes by a patch of grass and let Ratty roll out of the bucket there. They rolled right under cover, which was nice to see, but they were too out of it/immobile to eat anything. They rolled away, away, away. Until we didn't know where they were. Puhg said they probably ate poison. I said a prayer and organized a small collection of leaves, Puhg stuck a stick in the ground. Here was a rat.

The next morning on my walk I went to see what I could see. I had to walk through the garden beds, around the back. But finally, I did find Ratty. Dead. Chubby tummy up, adorable ears still perked. They had rolled out of the bushes and into a horrible concrete block. Passed away alone, with their head on cold manmade stone. It's not fair, and it's not okay with me.

I Love It Here

Slept for 10 hours! Popped out of bed like a slice of toast hopped into a Midnights work-out followed by Olivia Rodrigo and even Post-Malone I had so much energy. Puhg headed out for his neighborhood walk in his orange cap. I sang in the shower to Red on shuffle. Sweet Potato woke up! We sat in the cream chair together. I read while she sniffed. Eventually I give her a slice of apple, me a plate of vegan bacon, and head to the coffee shop. I love getting there before 8:30, before any crowds. Puhg and I plot out the day, whether or not we'll see his cousin. We won't but they talk on the phone, near the bagel truck. I write out my Weekly Action Plan as I have every week for the past five years. The secret to my madness. We do our little puzzle and dream about the ocean. Several dogs have a conference on the sidewalk. I read a section of my wild woman book then tap away at revisions of an essay. I send it off to Gos, to see if it's anything. I have vegan buffalo wings with carrots and then we head to G______ to order new glasses. We went to the optometrist last week. It was Feb 10 but felt like Valentines sitting in the tiny office together. The frames I chose are bigger. I like them, but these are the kind of changes I always dread. We zip home in our grey bug, listening to the 80s station. walk down to the grassy knoll at the bottom of the park. I read more and journal about students I remember and eat apple slices in the sun. I listen to "Call It What You Want" and stare off at the skyline. An activist has left me a voice note about a project. I text Puhg asking if he wants candy for the movie later, he says why not. I walk the few blocks to the grocery store and pick up Sour Straws for me, Reese Sticks for him, Girl Scouts are outside. I buy a few boxes. The gals tell me they're hoping for a trip to Catalina Island this year. I smile crossing the hot parking lot, chatter at Puhg once I'm home. Now I'm in the bedroom watching Glow and writing this.

Doing an Experiment

 Text me when you get this.

A Nice Day in Hell

Felt like a morning for the Olivia Rodrigo work-out. Puhg was gone, up and out early for a meeting. I didn't need my laptop, so I walked a bit further, to the very hip coffee shop where there's usually a line out the door and barely ever room to sit. Because it was only 8:45 I didn't have to wait for my cream top coffee and croissant. I asked for a paper cup, but the barista said they have a strict no substitutions policy. Then she added she was pretty sure the plastic is compostable. There was one little corner to squeeze in so I did. I sat there for three hours, my neighbors being a guy in orange flip flops who never looked up from his phone, a business man with a tiny curly pet-able dog, two aspiring actors, three girlfriends--one whose house burned down. A lot of people's houses and places have burned down. It's bizarre to overhear multiple conversations per day about it. How the insurance company won't pay for that vintage wardrobe or where the kids are going to go to school now or if anyone else is thinking about renting a place in Joshua Tree for the next six months because the air might be giving us all cancer.

One of my corporate producers approved the new episodes with heart emojis. I confirmed lunch with my friend whose house burned down for next Tuesday. He's moving to the east coast Wednesday. I wrote one of my writers' groups I have to step out. I say it's because I am overwhelmed with work, which is true, but it's more true that I am overwhelmed with other people's misguided goals about our work. The Hollywood racetrack has quietly become a hamster wheel, and I don't like watching people hop on. I've been in the room when powerful people lose their deals, know how many execs are getting fired and fleeing into random careers, usually real estate. 

A new fire pops up, near our family friend's home. AP texts me back, this week sucks. I write that other producer back who kind of wastes my time. A friend reaches out saying she gets what I mean, about how I don't make five-year plans, on principle. I set a meeting with the exec who found a comic for me to adapt. Finally I can scootch back, cross my legs like apple sauce, and get lost in the first feature draft I wrote with AB. I carefully read, surprising myself with laughter, forgetting jokes we ourselves made up. I jot all my notes carefully in a pink notebook.

I munch some vegan wings and carrots and head over to AB's house--reminding Puhg to please call me repeatedly if I don't pick up the first time. AB and I gab in her basement and then talk through everything we'd like to change about our script. We're almost exactly aligned, which is amazing. Her husband tells us congrats and her stylist's assistant shows up with a suitcase of outfits for the festival. AB tries the suit and corset combo, which looks stunning, but she thinks the pants might be too loose. I gesture to my yoga pants, two sizes too big and mutter I'm the worst person to ask. Nevertheless, the three of us squint at AB's crotch, deciding if the word "saggy" need apply. We wrap around 4:30, and I listen to "The Archer" on the pink drive home. The fire has gotten much worse.

I was going to write some emails but don't have any energy left it seems. I read a little of Prep in bed. We think about walking to the theatre for a movie, but it's sold out. I trot to the health food store for Puhg's favorite soda and a candy instead. We can do movie night at home. We fall asleep halfway through Y Tu Mama Tambien. At 11:30 or so we get up from the couch and bring Sweet Potato out. She doesn't run around. She sits on her feet and listens, like a little watch ham. There's another new fire, closer to us, but blowing in the other direction. At 3 AM I wake up to check, still no evac warnings.