Sleep in Half the Day

big fuzzy white sweater, pushing my fingers against the desk (upset) only to write two pages but they were the best pages, put people in corners, new pink mouse like a mouse of my youth but wireless better on the thumbs, tried to write a list of things I like but mostly thinking of what's in front of me right now, and I suppose the opening notes of the Andrew McMahon concert I saw pictures of the space shuttle, the blue light on Puhg's face the Shirley Temple we split, hot pink gel nails, sugar cookie latte and listing all there is to do and write, I romanticize the chapters of the musician's memoir--him wandering studio to bar to car to beach searching for the next album and I think I'd like to be so lucky before I remember I am, being thought of, promise of the new year already secure, cinnamon bun soft edge to core, Snake calls for help with a script which I give her and she keeps (surprised) repeating "this is really helping!", in one week an actor and a playwright tell me they'd like to help me put up the script from last year, obsessed with Elizabeth Holmes, watch the new Jane Campion in bed on the projector with Trader Joe's cheese puffs in a big plastic bowl, when the little ham comes out when the sun is shining through the apartment sun-dappled angel, stay in bed for four hours and the wave of guilt comes but then it goes

Paper Book

Friday had an early dinner under twinkle lit patios in the neighborhood. Told Puhg about the coincidences I've been having lately. The same Broadway actress showing up in my TikTok, then my thoughts, then getting an invite from her executive for a meeting, then a friend knows that exec, then this person is national news. Or how I keep seeing ads for banana-flavored treats. I hunted Spotify for a Greenday song Thursday morning only to hear it on the radio on my way to the girl group sleepover, where RC mentioned it unprompted. We watched Jawbreaker and listened to Alanis Morrisette.

After falafel I mentioned I needed to stop by the bookstore for a pick up. The streets were buzzing. I slipped in, said my name, and the worker gave me a paper-wrapped package. I honestly forgot what the book was. I read a review in the middle of the night and ordered it half-conscious. Some little surprise for later. I rarely buy books. On the sidewalk I had the thought, "I should finish Danse Macabre. I always forget because it's on my Kindle." Puhg turned to me and asked, "Have you heard of the book Danse Macabre?"

Although there was no reason for celebration the night was too fall perfect and the street buzz too inviting, so I stopped at the Midwestern ice cream chain for a pint of banana.

Nice Morning

Slept in because I was up late at my new friend Mur's apartment. It was our first hang out, and I showed up in bike shorts. He answered the door in a tye-dye tee and slippers. "I ordered food," he said. One giant order of chili cheese fries and a cucumber salad it turned out. We met two years ago on tour in Scotland. We perhaps said two words to each other, but I followed him on Instagram anyway. Maybe because I wanted to tag him in a photo? He lived in New York, but I thought we might meet again. And then what do you know two months ago on a walk in my neighborhood, we crossed paths. He lives down the street in LA now. We exchanged numbers. "We should do something!" But how often does the something come to be? Then a couple weeks ago I was trotting to a meeting and saw him outside one of my favorite cafes. The something was brought up again. When we had an interaction online last week it was like Beetlejuice rules, someone mentioned doing something for a third time? That's when calendars come out. He suggested I come over to watch Urban Legend, which is a hilarious first hang out and also the most perfect invite someone could extend to me. We had a great time. At midnight he walked me the five minutes home, I went upstairs, played with my hamster, said goodnight to Puhg, and made a huge plate of nachos.

So I got going around 8:30 AM. I had strange dreams. They transcended my usual personal or career dramas. I wasn't sure if I was a real person, and so when I woke up, I had to ask. I decided to cosplay normal as write my daily gratitudes and read two chapters of Casey Wilson's book. I breathed in the sun and did a Peleton HIIT workout. It was 11 or so when I decided to run out for a coffee, do my weekly reflecting and to-do lists. But as I caught a glimpse at myself in the hall mirror I decided I looked kind of funny LA chic with my oversized windbreaker and little purple Adidas. Maybe it was a good day to sit on the Starbucks patio. I grabbed my notebooks and hustled to the shop. There was a huge backup of customers hovering around the pick-up. Since I was fifteen minutes late picking up my mobile order I saw the one grande cup, zipped past everyone, and snatched it. The barista even double checked, "Alice?" Like, "Ma'am you're too confidently taking that cup for someone we know is never coming." But I nodded as Ariana Grande wailed in my ears.

My favorite chair was open. A thatched little egg number with a table. I got my feelings out in one notebook, organized my action items, my goals, in the other. I sent cringe necessary emails. I texted a couple friends. I sipped the creamy pumpkin coffee. This city is often beautiful and pleasant--today especially so. There were fresh flowers somewhere nearby, I swear. How lucky and full.

Inside the Skull

I look at this person across the table. We're on a patio, as people wont to be in le pandemic, and they say something and I laugh and then I'm like, "was that funny? I'm not sure." And somehow before my conscious mind even knows it, a new question, "Do I like them?" I don't know. I'm better at identifying who is in my life and why now. Ever since that chilly night I trotted into my therapist's office. I remember it was so dark out the window as she asked me why I had various friends in my life and sometimes I really didn't have reasons. Not that you have to have reasons for all of it, but sometimes I had reasons that aren't actually that good, it turns out. Like, "I've known them forever" or "they were there for me ten years ago" or "I was there for them two years ago." Really and truly I ask myself is this how I want to spend my time? Is this person's energy good for me and the world? I know why I asked the person across for me to meet up. They're very available, they want to fill all their time. I almost felt I owed them a debt for being busy for a month or so. But that didn't guilt me. No, sometimes I like to talk to this person because they understand a very particular corner of our career. And maybe I don't like them. I mean, I really really really do not know sometimes when it's 9 PM and you're on a sidewalk. I'm not better than this person. They start talking about something but in my head now I've moved on--"Do they like me?" And they probably don't know. When they were driving home did they think, ah, I'm refreshed or, ugh, I'm annoyed? I get frustrated with this person quickly because they ask for advice and don't take it. Why does that drive me mad. Potential wasted? Or not feeling heard. More things I simply don't know! I dive into this person's tuft of head hair and blink around from their skull. If I were them I wouldn't like me. Not because I think I'm unlikable, but because "I" wouldn't want to catch up with a friend who's always on the cusp of annoyed at "me." How is that any fun or worthy of these LA prices? And yet two days later, they ask me to make more plans. And I wonder, for some of us, if it's just about the attention always and forever. Just the attention of being a person at all--whether you like the entity giving you the attention a darn lick.

Ghosts on Earth

Can't believe we're all just doing our stupid little activities as the world burns. Have a meeting, pick up bagged salad at the store, answer texts about a friend's visit. "YAY!" I type, squinting in the burning hot September sun.

The cafe still doesn't allow me to order coffee in a glass. For pandemic reasons. But there are several strangers at the bar, maskless sharing such close air. I take the plastic latte, try not to think about it. Use my metal straw, wonder if the metal in the earth will actually be better than, what, the couple hundred straws it's saved? I'm not a scientist.

We have those and we didn't listen to them.

Question if that email was passive aggressive and if my response was in return? I didn't mean for it to be. But how you feel and what you did are two very different things. Wonder what will politeness be at the end of days. I like my job because it's creative and pink and cute and the money is good. I'm saving the extra I took home this month for an emergency.  As though we're not in a climate emergency now. That's the term we're supposed to use, according to my environmental groups. "Global warming" was bad branding because it's not just that. There are also the Texas blizzards and NYC floods. I was told some ten years ago "climate change" was more accurate, but oil companies made that up. I only learned recently. It was a very sneaky way to sound professional about the whole thing. Things change that's life. I don't believe my life will be as long as I used to believe it would be.

Or maybe I should be spending every dime. If the computers really fry that alleged money, numbers on the internet, won't get me much. I think I'll have wished I bought more cakes and tipped better. Although I already came to that conclusion a few months ago, and I've been doing it. I'd be more extravagant if I had more material desires. I don't like delivery that much and I have no need for new clothes. If anything, I wish I would have gone out more when I lived in Chicago. But I couldn't. It would be so handy if you could give what you had in the future or past to your present self, but it doesn't work that way. Our government could give us a Green New Deal though. And, alarmingly, excitingly, it would truly work. I know. I couldn't believe it either. But, yes, it would work. And we could force it. But "we're" not. So. Something something get what you deserve. I make my stupid little calls to representative, pleading to end oil drilling. "Friends" I know saying, "You go, girl" and then not participating. I don't need a cheerleader, I need someone to kidnap the CEO of Shell.

But then again my hamster is only six months old. She's never known anything before the year 2021, and she is good lump. We're happy you're here, anyway.

Still, the work email makes me question. I have to lay in bed twenty minutes and close my eyes and give myself a little speech about not being weird when inside I am going insane. I type away at stupid little messages on this stupid little box whirring because I'm in the bedroom and the AC is in the living room. 13% of millennials can afford to buy a home. But maybe if I could, I wouldn't. Why? So I can spend good years fixing it up to have an earthquake rip the foundation apart, so an insurance company where my peers--overworked and melting--can argue with me about what settlement I'm not getting? I don't mind small spaces. Less to accrue, means less to lose.

Saw a video that this was the last "normal" summer of our lives. I'd assumed they meant because it's the "coldest" summer of our lives. But no, it was a Covid thing. Because Delta is just the first of many strains. Is going to a haunted house safe? Most people vaxxed, masks required. It's not the smartest choice, but not the stupidest. That was capitalism. Will there be haunted houses next year if the pandemic is worse, worse? In two years if the smoke from fire season persists? In eight if the houses quit being haunted when the planet is in itself.

It Feels Like You Lost It

But you didn't have it.

Pink Cup Calls

There was a toilet paper emergency Monday morning at 8 am. I swore there was a full roll Sunday and somehow. I laced up for the grocery store to right it, carrying my favorite tumbler with me. Pink, plastic, full to the brim of water and ice. A rare gloomy LA day, wet walks and fewer sunglassed photo-ready folks with dogs on patios. Some cafe smoking bread. The new spot's construction finally starting after the building was bought early last year.

In the shop I got my favorite chocolate bar, the tp, bananas for Puhg. As I chose my bunch, I juggled all the items. I went through the fifteen items or less line. The cashier told me karma always works, just you see. "Sometimes it takes a while though!" I replied. (I do not believe karma always works. I think, for the most part, it sadly does not.)

Dropped my sunglasses back on and walked to the exit. As the automatic doors swooshed I heard, "You forgot." It was the cashier, but when I turned around she was chatting with another customer, hands busily scanning. Huh. I went home only to realize I didn't have my beloved tumbler. I imagined where I set it, I remembered, by the bananas. I saw the cup in my mind's eye whispering out at me.

Weekend, July 10 & 17

Worked well into the evening Friday, bad vibes, so went on a run. Golden sun, such glorious California trees. Jumped in the pool when it was said and done. Texted friends from the steps as the light fled and I became cold in my suit. Night laundry--surprisingly busy. Watched half a 2000s teen movie over chips and fancy ice cream (delivered).

Saturday tried something new--a gymnastics class. More casual than I could have guessed. Flopping over mats. Sweat more than usual for noon--a good time to get back in the pool. This time Puhg joined. I did handstands, this time without a spotter. Watched cartoons to prep for a meeting, salsa on the couch, and then friends in Aloha shirts arrived. We chatted too long to play Clue. Brought the hamster out onto the bed.

Like true 30somethings we tried a sports bar Sunday night. Dressed in purple, game so early I got two giant soft pretzels with mustard for the happy hour price. Early enough, home for a movie.

Or Friday ended earlier than expected because I didn't feel well. Add arrows to the to-do items in the calendar. That's next week's problem now. Tried it all--laid in bed and ice packs and a hot uphill walk. Rented a Bad Times at the El Royale because it was so stuck in my craw to see it. I didn't like it, but now I don't have to wonder. A party I hemmed over, but finally decided to go and ended up driving the birthday girl. Loads of old faces from the old city arriving. It was almost like the i_, so open with tall ceilings and everybody a little goofy. Ah, not LA in LA. (But there were vegan nachos.)

Second week of tumbling. Knew what to expect, but still learning. "You have the physical ability, but you're too nervous," that's my thing, I thought. This time the hot pool jump was pre-meditated. Lo joined. We bobbed for an hour, she's been on dates this week. Too quickly it was time to head to friends' for the basketball game. A huge spread and many folks I wanted to hear so much from, but priorities.

This morning I finished my book about demon possession and suddenly considered brunch. Puhg and I were told it'd be 45 minutes, which we don't usually do, but it felt so normal we decided on it--even though I didn't get the french toast I wanted, I liked being at a spot with kitchy wallpaper and tiles and no distractions and a rose water latte. I've meditated and made my schedule for the week. I brainstormed my newest idea. After I post this I will do one online personal development class and then organized some papers I've ignored. Then I will pat myself on the back with a horror movie and snacks. Popcorn, I think.

Long Summer Day 2021

It always surprises me when days start getting longer in January, February. Such a wind-up for summer so far away. The evenings my stomach grumbles and I think it can't be right because it's still light out, only to find it's suddenly 7.

The summer solstice is special to me. I remember a night hike when I was 17, thinking about how every day can be so full. For the most part I take every drop to extreme heart. But especially on the namesake.

Yesterday morning I woke up anxious and sad, as has been a recent trend. It's like I had one to three worries for a year and a half and now I have dozens. It's too many and worse there are too many options for solution. I'm out of practice making choices.

Nevertheless I journaled, I penned a little something, I read this novel with the blue cover. I texted my dad for the holiday. I decided on a 20 minute Peleton cardio--the toughest kind of exercise I do. Maybe that'd amp me up. There was also cookie dough tea. Showered to Aqua and got dressed in a crop top and laid in bed for a while all clean in the sheets. I planned to avoid social media this weekend and for some reason went on in the late morning, regrettable. Had my veggie bacon and coffee on the nightstand, decided to keep the desk closed this once. Upkept my artist journal and my organizational notebook and my planner and my spreadsheet of progresses. It's a lot of on top of it I do every Sunday, but it somehow feels empty and the urge to produce something was great. Trying to honor my day off, I meditated instead. On the ground with the square pillow and seashell towel. I thought about the pool but decided no, and was happy I'd swum yesterday instead. The Suns won.

At 3ish began getting ready for an engagement party at the park. Puhg and I arrived near 4, eerie and bright merry-go-round music welcoming us. Heaps of families having picnics and a cotton candy man I eyed. We wished our friend congrats and heard his stories. Two others showed up and we chatted and laughed and pet their dogs. We played a lawn game and I kept breaking the pieces. This is fun, I clearly thought. Then what a treat so missed and rarely possible--it was getting later, so we said, "we might go get dinner, wanna join?" And they did and we went to the same diner Puhg and I had coincidentally gone yesterday. It was so cool in the patio shade and I was so aware of the yellow shine on the mural across the street. Lower and lower.

The hippy sandwich was a delight. The sun slipped below the post office wall. I checked the time, set in just a few minutes. We all discussed the summer camps we'd been to. Stood up and walked out onto the sidewalk corner, took a photo, back to the car, inside toward home. Ophelia by the Lumineers was on the radio as the glow faded. Fed the hamster seeds, searched for a movie, found a strange creepy one, started it, but felt dizzy. Had four Thin Mints who had been frozen for months, put in a sound bath headphone, fell asleep at 10 o'clock.

And it will suddenly be so dark. Some day in November. Clocking out of work before the brightness even had her chance. And it will feel long, like how does one fill all the midnight space. But we will only have to wait until December for the magic to reverse.

Altitude

Girls trip a success. Blasting BSB all glammed up on our way to the sky high patio, where we were seated in the corner under the TV. But is anyone as happy as four millennials singing 1999 anthems in a big car with windows rolled down?

Fire pit both nights, crafts on the second morning. I wrote at the Airbnb desk looking out at the woods, eavesdropping on my friends discussing next steps from their swinging seats.

I enjoyed touching everything in the gift shops but left with nothing but a one dollar thrifted turtleneck with candy canes on it. Oh, and a one dollar pink shirt with stains. Maybe I'll wear it with overalls. Also a chunk of frozen cheesecake with chocolate chips. Forgot that.

Sometimes it's just too late and you wonder if what you said was a welcome gate or a muddy path. Ah well, it is what it is in the cabin in the mountains. Everyone feeling just a little ill from the heights.

You hope the advice you give is good and you wonder why you didn't ask for any. Then again, did they? There's a tarot reading someone keeps apologizing for and a birthday almanac that deals it out for real. Took a photo for another May 19 in my life, and she confirms, yes, it's brutal.

Too bossy as we packed, too quiet as we drove. Or a couple comments no one needed to hear. Ate a bag of Pirate's Booty from a CVS everyone went to the bathroom in. All four people so alike from far away but nothing the same in molecules. No competition in this forest. I believe for them and only wish I could help more.

And the tiny dog whines every time someone leaves a room. She's a hearder, so we're told.

28 Songs of Last Year

 On my birthday I like to think about the songs that blasted me through the past 365. I wrote, cried, danced, ran, walked, drove, showered, dreamt to these songs. Thanks to them all.

All Too Well - Dan Campbell

Savage Love - Jason DeRulo

I Write Sins Not Tractors - Alex Melton

Mickey - B*Witched

Curtain Call - Ken Yates

3 Musketeers - ppcocaine

Mood - 24kGoldn

If That's Not Love - The Naked Brothers Band

Potential Breakup Song - Aly & AJ

I See the Sun - Tommy Henriksen

Leaving Town - Dexter Frisbee

Carmen - Suzie True

Stand Out - A Goofy Movie

Betty - Taylor Swift

Heaven - Brandi Carlile

Hold On - Wilson Philips

When You Wish Upon a Star - Pinocchio

I Love College - Asher Roth

Boss DJ - Sublime

Literally My Life - Hiko

From Now On - The Greatest Showman

Twinkle Song - Miley Cyrus

Always Remember Us This Way - Lady Gaga

Dreams - The Cranberries

Hope to Die - Orville Peck

Without You - The Kid Laroi

I'm in a Hurry - Alabama

Good 4 U - Olivia Rodrigo

Rainy Girl

 Fires last night, puddles this morning.

20 snails on the sidewalk, so

I airlifted them to the dirt

near the pool.

But the biggest one turned right around

to sludge into the path.

Some people are just like that.

Empty Cage

Balcony morning. I felt Puhg's shadow before he opened the door. I assumed he was trying to spook me, but he met my smile through the glass with a frown. "It's the ham," he said. My heart thudded. "Is she gone?" I asked. He nodded. I rushed to her cage. He had to be wrong. I reached in to her little nest. It was warm.

But she was cold.

I took her out gently. So small and so peaceful, curled into a crescent moon. Her paws under her head, eyes closed. She went in peace, and for that I couldn't be more grateful. I held her little body to mine, like I'd done hundreds and hundreds of times, but she didn't squirm and she didn't whir.

The tears come every day all the time. Our little precious potato gone too soon. I thank my lucky stars we rescued her from the store right before she'd be in a dark lockdown. I thank my lucky stars it was her, chunky and curious and ready to stuff a raspberry at any given moment.

We piled shavings in a shoebox, lined it with her favorite wooden apple slice, a blueberry treat, a chew stick. No yard cemetery, so we looked up critter cremation and found a place she would get individual treatment. But it was Sunday, so we'd have to wait a day. We took a walk, we sat, we failed at TV. I realized I hadn't eaten, went to pick up a sandwich at 2. A bee stung me. Died in my hair and poisoned my hand. Puffy still as I type.

On Monday she looked so the same. Soft fur and all, hard to believe. I researched hibernating. Never mind it hasn't been cold. Never mind she was stiff and her little nose less pink. We held her to our ears, like we often did to hear her sniffing. Nothing. I wore my black dress and brushed my hair straight. We wrote her letters and slipped them inside. Goodbye, little angel.

She'd been in our car twice--the day she came home and now the day she left. The sky was full of huge fluffy clouds. She'd be burrowing in them. Puhg filled out a form while I held her in my lap. A flower petal fell near us and we gave that to her too. We agreed to close the box together, a final look at our beloved girl. Just as we did, a gust of spring air blew. Is that you? I wondered just as Puhg said, "Ham on the wind."

She was so much more than a hamster. She was a puzzler and a snoozer and a muncher. Sometimes I'd watch her think through a problem or decide to relax. If I gave her a piece of corn she'd look at me for more. She kicked green seeds out of her cage. She had a coconut that she didn't enjoy napping in, so she filled it with grains. She made so many different tunnels and hoards. She showed me being is a wonderful thing. And small things are wonderful things. She gave us the opportunity to be quiet and still all together on the couch. She reminded us to be spontaneous. I'd take a break just because she zoomed out for a drink of water. She gave us happy, goofy times. I'll always remember dancing with her and Puhg, in my platform sandals, her eyes big from the jostles but ready for adventure.

Mornings are the hardest because I'd wake up first and always give a little look in, see what she'd gotten up to in the night. Sometimes I'd catch her stealing a snack. Occasionally I'd get a pre-dawn hold. But also nights are the hardest because we always wished her sweet dreams. Called it out from the bedroom. And mid-days when I'd come back from walks and immediately spy in on her are the hardest too. Every time I rounded the corner last week, I instinctually looked in the cage. Chest tight with false starts, but we cleaned and dismantled it. Put a plant and car keys where she used to be.

When my insomnia has been bad this year I've stumbled out to the couch where I can watch videos loudly or be nearer to the air conditioner or drink tea. And I didn't feel alone in my sorrow or confusion or headache because she'd be a few feet away chattering and running. I'd even take her out some holy nights, sit with her in the darkness. She might squeeze or squeak. The Thursday before we were together at two in the morning. I haven't been able to sleep all week, my hand itching fiercely, my love bruised. But I can't bring myself to go to the living room. I toss and turn instead. At last I dreamt. A huge monarch butterfly landed on my face. It was so real. I woke up, sure it was in the room with me.

I wish we had more time. Love you forever, my sweet sweet ham.

What does it mean? What does it all mean? I had a dream, but what did it mean, what did it mean?

Feedback Loop

On TikTok I came across a high school girl's video about her makeup routine. She was doing what all the major beauty influencers do--contour, highlighter, eyeshadow brushing, a bold lip. But sheesh. It looked terrible. I went to the comments to find thousands of people agreed with me. Not like I'd say it! This wasn't even a famous teen, just a regular gal trying her best. I felt so bad for her. I went to her profile to look at the next video she made after that debacle. I wondered how she would react. Clap back to the meanies? Shame them? Would she cry, be pitiful? Would she ignore it all and post a video with friends or playing soccer or getting Starbucks?

Her next video was none of that. She did another makeup video. Everything she did in the first, she did in the second--just more precise. She smiled and made comments like, "I'm not using as much blush like you guys suggested." What an option. As if she were a blonde robot, programed to absorb the useful nuggets from the trolls and unemotionally discard the rest. Her lewk did improve.

The oldest man in one of my writing groups does this thing I learned not to do when I was 19. In my first poetry class I learned when someone interprets your work incorrectly, you don't correct them because you can't tell someone they didn't see what they saw. It doesn't mean you have to agree, but now you know what you need to change to clarify your true meaning. This man in my group argues with us. I don't understand how he's come this far and doesn't know how not to do this. He's kind and intelligent and loves writing. He gives helpful feedback himself, but when we say, "I didn't understand why this person would do this" he quickly cuts us off, "Oh she does it because of this." And it's like, well, sure, okay, yes you have a reason, but I didn't see it. Last session his closest contemporary, with just a hint of frustration in his tone, told him, "When you get a note, you have to accept you got it."

Lanes

 My last year of grad school the campus became smoke-free. It was culture shock when I first arrived, on the heels of my little straightedge midwestern cloister, to see so many students casually walking around with cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Lowsta would zip up to sketch rehearsal on a skateboard, a Marlboro falling from his lips.

Once the signs went up, I didn't think about it again. Occasionally I'd see someone, extremely stressed, power-walking to the parking lot to cram in a light between classes. Once it shifted I couldn't believe my professor and classmates used to stand in the garden puffing away.

A few months into the change I was biking down the street and had to maneuver around some construction. I had to pop onto the sidewalk for a moment to avoid a pothole and cautiously watched a girl in pajama pants walking nearby. I didn't want to knick her with my handlebar. As I passed she started screaming at me, "YEAH I SMOKE. GET OVER IT. IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS." I was so beyond flustered I simply pedaled faster. I heard her screeching as I zoomed away, "THIS ISN'T TECHNICALLY CAMPUS. I'M ALLOWED TO SMOKE."

I was probably halfway home, whiffing that pizza place, before I fully grasped what had happened. I was staring at her, in an attempt to not hurt her, and she decided to digest it as judgement for her habit. I hadn't even noticed she was smoking, and I certainly didn't care. If anything I was feeling self-conscious for biking out of my lane.

Negotiating

Ordered cute copper mugs from Bed, Bath, & Beyond. The movie I wrote on was coming out. I said, to heck with it and paid the extra 9.99 for same day delivery. I ordered them at 6 AM with a guaranteed arrival by 9. It's gotta be sooner than though. I listened for hall scuffling all day, checked the mail three times. Finally it was 9:15 and I had to accept, the mugs weren't coming. The customer service line was closed. I made a quick plate of wheat crackers and swiss cheese, pulled my hood up, and watched. In the future, things always promise to be more glamorous than they are.

The next day, bright and early, I cancelled the mug order only to have them arrive in the afternoon. I got back on with customer service, who told me I needed to drive them to a store half an hour away. I said no. They haggled me--did I want the mugs for a ten dollar discount? I agreed, with shipping also knocked off. All in all $7.50 for cute cups. A very good deal. But as soon as I got off the phone I felt bad. Concerned. Should I have paid anything at all? Would they have just cancelled the order and let it be? They're a huge corporation, what's my $7 to them? I'd already spent an hour with customer service, and I still gave them money? How is that fair? My time is too valuable for these thoughts, but they have to pass through.

I've negotiated for pay so rarely. Sometimes it was moot. Teaching and comedy jobs, mostly. Other times I thought it was moot. Like, I don't know, should I have been trying to get a raise at summer camp? When the line producer for my first TV show called me the pay was a little under what I expected it would be, but what was I gonna do, not say yes? A week into work I asked my officemates if they had negotiated. They had, and the shame followed me like a raincloud for months. It turned into a success story when I did eventually fight for a title bump and raise, but I'd already lost out on hundreds of dollars at a time when it would have been very helpful to have hundreds of dollars.

This summer came up with a good number for one day of work, hesitantly I then asked for double, ready to meet in the middle. When the producer quickly accepted the offer, despite getting more than expected, I didn't feel good. I felt like a dolt who can't tell her own worth. I do not want to negotiate please. I would like life to be a menu with reasonable prices.

Waterpark in my Dreams

 The waterpark in my dreams is always about a quarter mile away, to the right. Sometimes I'm walking the sidewalk on my way when I wake up. Sometimes it's a backdrop. But it keeps recurring, the waterpark in my dreams. Always to the right.

The Mountain That Wasn't

Last month I was sitting in bed reading. I don't sit in bed during the day often, but on this day I was. I looked out the window and saw for the first time ever a large mountain n the distance. Majestic and capped, not unlike a Paramount intro. It centered me, slowed my heart rate. How beautiful and how somehow new. But the longer I looked at it, the more suspicion I had. It was a house. A house on a hill. It really did look like a mountain. But no, it must be a house. Actually. I liked it less.

Puhg came in to get a pair of socks. I asked him, "What's that? Is that a mountain?" He followed my finger through the glass. Way way too the left? No. No, right there. "Is that a mountain or a house?" Like the houses over to the right? Wedged in the hill? No, no, not those. "I'm not wearing my glasses," I explained. He looked a while longer. "You mean the tree?" he asked. And so I squinted and readjusted and, in fact, it was a treetop. Oranged and fluffy, with a particular cloud puff hovering over. Now it's all I could see.

Fall is delayed in the west. In January there will be a woodsy smoke that comes or a wet gutter or bare branches. Today I noticed the tree lost all its leaves. Nothing in it's place. Certainly not a possible mountain or even a house. And so one goodbye became three.

Tile by Tile

So often when we need to relax we think of the things that will relax us. And I do love these things, I do. Massages and cream puffs and sparkling tonics and clicking BUY on Etsy and send a flurry of witty texts out to numerous folks and posting and receiving the little hearts in return. These things do their best to meet the unsaid need, but sometimes. Sometimes we are probably stocked to the brim of all and don't need anything else. A pool floatie so aired it might pop any moment. It begs for someone to unclasp that little plastic nozzle.

The joke of "haha it's a boring Saturday night in a pandemic" has gotten so very old. It's the oldest, saddest joke I've ever heard at this point. Partially because it's so obnoxiously routine for some of us and a distant memory for others. But last night I made a veggie pot pie. I scrapbooked while watching a documentary about near-death experiences. We played Rummikub and put on a garage sale Taylor Swift record. Touched the tiles, won the first game, lost the second. Welcome to New York spun on. And I didn't want to eat any more snacks so I had a tea. A real tea full of leaves and scents and roots. Painted my nails and watched a movie. It wasn't hard to sleep.

Longevity

Been seeking out old emails this week. It started with a specific curiosity and continued for reasons unknown. I put controversial names in my search bar, see what they said, what I said. Sometimes I remember it all too well. Other times it feels like two mannequins typing to each other. Who was that person? Moreover, who was I? I'm so different. I would not say "completely" but perhaps 60%, which is significant. I get the impulse to write this past person and give context or explain I'll feel different later (but also I bet so will they). There's something about letting things sit and rest. Because years will tick on and change everything anyway. And if I hurt a being, I am sorry. At the same time, if they hurt me, they may be too.

Reading this book about sociopaths has made me even more narrowed. 4% of people don't have a conscience! Isn't that incredible! I didn't know! Most of them aren't violent. Many are actually just leeches. The question swims up, when you knew someone who surely couldn't be doing that one thing out of spite because who would that serve may have been indeed evil in their broken little heart! And here we are lifting, hefting, rearranging the furniture in our mind to accommodate them.

I watched a TikTok of a girl explaining she fell into her confidence about dressing bright and colorful when she watched a video the solar system. Earth was a speck and she a speck on a speck, why not wear a fluffy pink bubble dress? But isn't that oversimplification how we get distracted by mozzarella sticks and accept microaggressions/patriarchal cycles/the prison industrial complex?

Where Is He Now?

G was 60 or so when he worked at the ice cream shop in the mall. He had curly grey and white hair. He was always in a good mood and usually in some mild pain. He moved slowly. Once, he explained, it's because he went to his daughter's house and had to walk home. I had a lot of questions about what that meant but didn't ask. He said he got home at 4 AM. Was the walk that long or did he leave that late? Sometimes he told me stories that included a lot of 60s slang I didn't fully grasp, so I was always worried he'd already explained something about his life to me last week. I didn't want to make him think I wasn't listening.

The job was simple enough--mainly because I was never trained to do most of what we were supposed to do. I know this for a fact because one day a corporate rep showed up unannounced. I kind of made a show of trying to clean the scoops a little more intensely before she finally sighed and said, "Just work as though I'm not here." I did, and then we got an F on every section of the evaluation sheet besides "Hospitality" (for which I got an A -- insert angel emoji).

I was often alone, but G had some regular hours, so that's when we'd be paired up. Mostly people ordered a cup or cone, but once, a week into working together, someone ordered a sundae. G got a little nervous, like "oh great, something fancy." I said I'd make it, and G would not stop gassing me up for the rest of the day. "It looked just like a magazine picture!" he said. Whenever someone ordered a sundae for the rest of the season he'd point to me and explain something like, "You are not going to believe how good she can do it!" A kiosk nearby sold some weird wind chime music. We'd hear the same quirky hour of music on repeat all day sometimes. One of the songs was, "Our God Is an Awesome God." After a long day I said, I'm tired of Our Awesome God." And G said, "Oh but he's not tired of you!"

I remember one morning G was particularly happy. He just got a new job, he beamed, working in the refrigerator department of Sears. I congratulated him and asked when he was leaving. He clarified it was only half time, just like his hours at the ice cream shop. But the next day I overheard the store owner talking with our manager. "G got a new job, which is a relief, so we don't have to feel bad about firing him." We never said goodbye.

Fizzy Little Cherry Drink

This year's resolution is to rest more. Last April I decided to take Sundays off from writing, which felt ugly at first, but then like a long breath. Still, little emails and annoyances worked their ways into the holy day. Saturday afternoons started to feel sack heavy because I let all my essay and publishing research plop there. It was supposed to be a break from the television hustle, but it felt alien and difficult. So in 2021 I'm attempting to have two real, full, plump weekend days. Errands or phone calls or classes or activism, okay. But no spreadsheets or google docs, email filtering or trade reading.

The impulse to be productive is strong in me. I told myself these days after the new year were a treasured reset. I did a yoga livestream and bought a sound bath mp3. I hold my purple stone for balance and try to sit on the balcony a few minutes for no reason. The woodpecker taps on my brain, why not at least get to the draft and jumpstart the week, organize the story cards. There's a hint of fear in the morning. What to do with endless time, endless time in quarantine no less. It feels stupid to make up little busies to fill the space. Last night after (early) dinner, I had nothing in mind. So we got out some playing cards for a few hands, then a boxed game, next thing I knew I was unwound and delighted, my mind whirring quickly and challenged--but for something that didn't matter at all for a change.

I also bought a set of patio chairs for the aforementioned balcony reverie. "I'm so used to not getting anything I don't need," I said, cracking open a fizzy little cherry drink (also unneeded--the calories? The $2.00 cost?). Puhg agreed, but then he wondered if always operating from a need-based place makes you tired, worn, and extremely resentful of anyone who doesn't.

By the way, researching which patio chair to get took a very long time. I dislike shopping, so this would usually send me into an angry slump, but because I had nothing planned for the afternoon I could take my time. I spent thirty minutes on the phone with customer service in the morning, signing up for online workout classes, but what of it. All these mundane and necessary pins don't seem so bad with an empty day planner.

And now tomorrow I start strong. Revisions of this, new scenes of that, brainstorms of the other thing. I'll be looking forward to the whirl of all there is. It's been such rolling hills for days.

Midnight

Counted one, maybe two cars on the usually packed four lane street. A bus sped, a minute before the new year. We counted down, but no celebratory cheers. I remembered crunching into snow as a child, on the stoop of our house, with the horn. The fireworks spit up over downtown. We can see the skyline from the edge of the balcony. I wondered who set them off. Glittery and red. Silver pops. It looked professional, but did our city do it? The bar across the street dark. I wanted to watch for longer than I thought I would. The tears came too. So much relief to have made it, pride. But also the crushing weight of insanity we've all felt this year. How this is normal now. Not a soul on the sidewalk, no clacking of heels, the excitement hisses out like an old balloon. I've always had a new beginning at the year. Semesters or jobs changing or even a gust of what will be. Instead I stare down the upcoming twelve months in groundless imbalance. More of the same, and the same wasn't particularly welcome. There's nothing on the entire calendar. I logically made the peace it's likely next year looks no different. When will I embrace a friend again? There's no way to know. I thought I'd settled on another 365 of isolated life, but then I read an article about vaccines being rolled out so poorly millions may expire on the vine. At this rate, the culture we used to know returns in seven years. And I know these are safe crying gasps, here, seated on the weight bench. I'm not going to go hungry or homeless or die alone in the ICU (I don't think). But it feels good to feel. Because there's only so much pivoting a human can do before they no longer trust their own self. I don't make promises I can't keep.