Orange Drop

I recognize most people don't understand, but I am still grieving Cap. I've been reading grief books, so I know judging your grief only makes it worse. But I do judge myself because I know caring so much about a hamster is not seen as Acceptable. So many glamorous things are happening right now. Getting tapped for exciting development projects and extended meetings with my favorite artist and pitching to the crown jewel with a crown jewel. But underneath everything I do and say there's a weight on my heart and a crumpled photo in my purse. I feel embarrassed even writing this, but to my knowledge only six people read this blog and no one else can find it. I just wish I was normal.

Yesterday we took down her cage. I've been dreading it. I didn't know what would be worse--always looking in to find no one home or no home at all. But it was time, Saturday January 28th, 2023 at 3:30 PM. We sorted things into donate and toss, I walked the shavings to the dumpster, we took a photo of her paw print in the sand bath. I knew the sand bath would be the worst. I guess because it was the last place I could touch she touched. Put a peanut in her ashes box.

Now there's open space on the wall and a picture frame where her whole life used to be.

We decided to take a walk and drop her extra pellets along the way for neighborhood mice. I thought hiking up the mountain for sunset might be nice. Up at the top the sun looked just like a juicy, peeled orange. It dropped heavy and slow.

I always feel equally enlivened and melancholy at sunset. What an incredible gift to live a single day, and what an incredible responsibility to live it well. The sun disappearing feels so final. That's a wrap on January 28th, 2023 forever for all time. But tomorrow the goodbye repeats itself. I think I worry about final goodbyes, but the truth is there's always a new one right around the corner.

Pack It Up

My college cut its football program mid-term in the winter of my junior year. The team had been struggling for a long time. (Forever?) Football is simply not a sport for an itty bitty school. Too much money, not enough bodies. And yet there were some bodies.

A guy I went to Japan with played because, I think, he played in high school. Another guy in my dorm played a sport every term, and football was his fall choice, I suppose. I think some guys played because the coach asked and why not? But one guy in my grade chose our college TO play football. I suspect his grades or athletic skills were not strong enough for any other school. So here we was. I think he had one friend. I didn't see him at social events. I certainly didn't see him at church. I noticed he ate all his meals early, before other students filled the dining room. No clue what his major was.

When we got the campus-wide email the team has been cut, he packed up his dorm, threw the boxes in his car, and drove home. He failed all his classes and no one ever saw him again.

I Wish I Was Her

2022 was one of my favorite years of life. And then it kicked me in my teeth on its way out the door. Highs so enduring I forgot they were highs. Walking on clouds became status quo--until the plummet. I try very hard to remember things are what they are, not how they end.

Another year of habits. Workout every day, journal, read, meditate once a week, Scrapbook Sundays, no writing weekends, log everything, fill my checkered notebook with to-dos and to-do them.

I dislike how undone these twelve months feel. So much happened, but to what end is TBA. Which is why you're supposed to enjoy the journey and not the destination, but sorry, no matter how comfy the seats in first class, there are certain places you'd prefer not to land. There are certain trips I would never buy tickets for had I known there'd be an emergency landing in Boise, you know?

I worked with two of my all-time artistic idols this year. I was challenged creatively, I made them laugh, I sat in rooms torn between "pinch me" and "why me." I pitched and sold, twice. I wrote a new sample, revised a screenplay a dozen times, produced a live reading of it. I wrote another screenplay. I sold a short. I developed. An actress I admire "responded to the work" and we met. I wrote a new play, had a beautiful workshop of it. I consulted. I wrote for a fancy benefit of stars, attended a premiere of even more sparkles. I was pulled into the corner private booth of the Sunset Tower Hotel, surrounded by three powerful women I'd only ever seen on screens. People let me down, but maybe it wasn't their job to hold me up. I wrote five B____ series, still an accomplishment, but overshadowed by my vicious drive to Do More. I spent this past week writing a new outline for the first feature I'll write in 2023.

Hm, a few music improv shows. None very good, actually. But I did them all the same. A podcast recording. Parties, mixers, coffees.

There was, in reverse order, Mexico Christmas, post-Thanksgiving Scottsdale, a sister visit, a Santa Monica getaway, the hottest funnest week ever in service to a reunion concert and soy milkshakes, bucket list roller coasters with my mom, Wisconsin pontooning with my dad and aunt, Tahiti (!), the windiest wildest Palm Desert range, a celebration meeting of the Alice minds in a large tiled rental, San Diego family seaside excursion, Chicago for Dal's wedding, long-planned Disneyland, cool Arizona winter weekend, a Valentine cabin.

There were patterns. Like, what is my body doing when my mind doesn't know what's next? Or pretending it's not a big deal until it's not. There's no shortcut to putting in the time. There were unlearned lessons. About mind reading and getting older.

There were a million magic moments with beloved Cap. And then a thousand terrible moments I still can't shake. I walk around the sunny neighborhood in a raincloud. My coach at gymnastics encourages me I'm so close to the handspring even though what he really means is, "I can tell you've been crying in this Tumbling for Adults Class." The morning after she died, Puhg and I went for breakfast at the cafe with orange wallpaper. "Time to pretend," he sighed, stereotypical east side book in hand, as we walked in.

I saw some amazing theatre for the first time in years. At least a dozen productions, finally, in this tinsel town. Search for Intelligent Life and 2:22 and Man of God, the stand-outs. I liked several books--Evelyn Hugo and The Brittanys for certain--some TV, mainly Players and Yellowjackets, and sure, movies too. I can't think of what meant something to me right now. I had a low tolerance for things written by men this year, which can be a challenge. But I definitely know I loved going to the movies this year. I adore the Burbank escalators and the hummus shop around the corner and the butter machine and the Freestyle Coke and discussing with Puhg on the breezy ride home. My favorite albums were Beach Bunny and Taylor Swift. I got into a stupid little cooking game on my phone, and I really did enjoy dressing cartoon salads.

I lost a friend, I made a friend, I reconnected with all the best and took note of who wasn't there. Most of the brightest moments are never what you think. Laughing on the patio as the moon looks over me and Puhg, that day Cap ate her first blueberry, the Gatekeeper with my mom before park close, chatting with my dad while I looked at the sun setting on palm trees, my sister prancing around an art supply shop, our wooden bungalow, playing Mafia in a pool, all the Cornish Pasties and all the people I ate them with. So many sunsets in so many places. I cherished each one.

I tried my best. If there's anything you could say about me, it's that I always always tried my best.