January 29, 2019

Call not until 2 for 8 PM shoot. But plop right on the couch and brainstorm last minute segment ideas the boss asked for. As soon as I am done, there's an email asking for more. I don't think--just pound four down and send. Run with Puhg--a weekday treat. The pressure to MAKE THE MOST OF THE DAY sets in and I power walk manically through the neighborhood looking for a place to nestle and write. I get my eyebrows done instead, type for half an hour, curl my hair.

Lunch date at the Thai place with long evening lines. A text as I walk to the car asking for jokes. I write six in the 8 minute Spanish-radio-station drive and two minute walk. I punch one up on the sidewalk and send. Papaya salad, spicy. I love the peanuts, the sticky coconut rice, the flat noodles. The strawberry table cloth. Connecting with the person across from me. Sometimes it's been too long. He drives me to work. I arrive early to find my ridiculous idea (the guest does a sound bath) has been chosen for the show. I start researching, I start printing, I start fact-checking.

Jooj the script, write the script. There are full blank spaces. We fill them in. Deep talks with someone on her way out. The sun sets in electric orange behind her. Are sound baths cultural appropriation? Is that news story sensitive to discuss? I've learned the reach of what I do.

At tape I find a bowl of broken chocolate Kim Kardashian sent over. I eat two slats and stand int he back row where I always do. Three of my jokes are picked and all three get applause breaks. TF is in the studio today. I look over and see her laugh at what I wrote. Our guest is a delight. My officemate featured in a bit knocks it out of the part. The final bit, penned by other officemate is perfect. I coin its recurring title. A thumbprint?

An exec from The Bachelor is in the audience. A friend of a friend. The three fangirls crowd him and ask as many questions as we can. In the end, Puhg picks me up. I tell him what a strange day it has been. It's only 10:15. I could write more, but maybe my brain deserves a break. I read my zombie novel, spitz the pillow with rose water, and sleep.

Oh, Oh, Ooh oh oh

He forwards the email, and as soon as I get home (I walk) I open my computer and send off my old packet. "Two packets, one week" I think. A little star wish. My social media has snowy frowns and mittens from Chicago, but here it's all palm trees. On Wednesday I wear my short grey dress. No tights. Friday night patio at a cantina with coworkers. They just saw me do a show. I ask them if they've experienced Destiny. One says meeting her husband, one says no, one says this job, two say every day. I'm unsure myself. But I do know if there is no Destiny, we can fake it. We can feel humbled by the perfection Arbitrary served up. And why not? I asked after I saw The Color Purple specifically. But I crumbled when I chose the wrong path. Is it the one that got away? It's too woven into my brain chemistry to write a new story that always includes a full circle. Anything is a circle if you want it to be. But why not let it be? Tira says that's how poor people stay poor. They wait on the lord instead of using their free will to fix broken systems. I don't disagree. I can't believe six days ago I was up at 5:30 AM editing so ferociously I passed out. Literally passed out. The evening sound bath with Tax Any & Maf couldn't come fast enough. I think the bowl vibrations hung in my ears all week. I made my first mistake at work, showed up two hours late once. But I also submitted my book to a lit agent, those two twinkling packets (what I swore I couldn't do). And beyond that, I dreamt I Did A Thing. It was good but not THAT good, which made me feel it was real when I woke up. Shellz texted me. She had the same dream. In real life Lo texted me tonight. Promising news. My hopes: not high about any one thing, but floating about any thing. I didn't care for If Beale Street Could Talk even though I wanted to. It was worth the $5 popcorn, but it was too slow. I'm not patient enough for beauty. Maybe I'll remember something years from now. Like the play about video games I thought was fine in 2014. I think about it every single week. And based on that or based on nothing I told Puhg on the lamppost corner what my new goal is. I think I have fifteen years, right? I couldn't have script doctored tonight. Thoughts too fuzzy. I wrote here instead. Without intention I already know tomorrow will be another early morning. I want it to be. I'll work on Act II of T____. It calls me. Like I have several children. I can only care for the one that needs me most.  Panic! At the Disco every time I get in the car.

Jan 19 2019

5:10 - wake up for no reason, read Reddit, spend twenty minutes analyzing one meme
6 - make way to the couch and start researching Rhett Miller and Gillian Jacobs for work
7 - nausea hits: stop researching, start barfing
8 - retch and retch, there's nothing left in me, and still I retch
8:30 - stare at the ceiling, Puhg gives me a wet washcloth for my forehead
10:00 - nap in bed, with the new bed frame that I love dearly
11 - finally the demon in my gut has been expelled
11:20 eat two saltines
11:30 - rapidly finish all the day's work
12 - email the bosses my files
12:10 - go on a sunny, slow neighborhood walk with Puhg
1:15 - arrive at the office in shorts, clutching a box of saltines
1:30 - start planning next week at work - Chris Sullivan, Chris Sullivan, what to do with Chris Sullivan
1:45 - everyone in the office wears face masks as we type
2:15 - at some point the girls who have never done improv decide they want to try it but are too scared to ever take a class, I say I will lead a workshop, and so we do a workshop in the celebrity greenroom
2:50 - everyone gives me a a lot of heartfelt compliments about how great I am at teaching, I am really moved, but also sometimes I worry I was meant to be a teacher more than meant to be a writer, it is difficult to not be in a classroom, I check my work email every week wondering how my old students are doing, I still get inquiries from CPS if I can run a drama workshop for girls at risk, and I wish I could so much, there must be ways I can do it out here, but right now I don't have the time, maybe when this season ends I can get down to Long Beach where a retirement home once asked me to come, I emailed a local prison to see if I can visit inmates, I worry about them
3:10 - I try to be productive, but the writer's PA asks me to read her sketches, so I do and give feedback, but I try not to give too much, like I would have three years ago
4 - the internet is down down down, more to do, but must be done later
4:45 - drive through Taco Bell and get three items each for me and Puhg, it silently breaks out rule of "two items only" but neither of us says anything
5:30 - we watch a Survivor rerun and regret breaking our rule
6 - wiped, I lay on the couch and scroll on my phone, I want to answer, like, one email but I can't
6:30 - curl my hair, put button-up, powder, my pearl lip gloss
6:50 - Lyft to the theatre
7 - warm-ups, cipher about birthdays, and meet new girls I recognize
7:30 - perform Phantom of the Grocery Store the musical
8:30 - greet my aunt and Puhg in the lobby
9 - watch the reunion of peanuts
9:30 - girls' night at the LF diner: milkshakes and tuna melts
10:30 - the steep walk home
11:00 - need some chips and about thirty minutes of The Bachelor
11:40 - Duolingo goodnight