It's the time of year when the sun wakes me and I'm not too cold to stay in bed and not too hot to wrestle out. I close one eye and use the other to look into Puhg's. I decide, urgently, I need to go to a matinee at the movies today. I book the 1 PM Nosferatu in the huge theatre with recliners. I do the Espresso dance work-out and time my shower to be ten minutes flat. I feel determined to make it to the cafe before 8:40, so I can have a few choice minutes with my honey. I fold my vegan bacon slices into quarters so I can eat them in single bites. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. I decide on my black joggers and pink thrifted Scream crewneck. I wear the t-shirt I wore to bed, honestly.
I make it down the street by 8:32. The jolliest barista is in a mask and got a cool haircut. I have too much oat milk and Puhg has too little, so I do some extraction shots with my straw, like a surgeon. We talk about people's odd need to defend systems that don't even serve them and spaghetti vs. waffles. I read two sections of Women Who Run with the Wolves, about the mystical meaning of dolls and naiveté, then jot a list of my favorite art of 2024. I look through my notes from my first play read-through. No one has read a word of this thing yet, and I'm getting nervous. It is boring? I wonder, then, later, no it's it's not boring...it's too cringe to share to even find out if it's boring. I rewrite the notes in better handwriting, with more structure. I outline which scenes I think need reordering and which can be hacked or collapsed. I have to cut about 50 minutes, if not 60! I've never overwritten to this degree! I try to sign a contract for a conglomerate. They forgot to do some paperwork months ago. Two hours after I say I'll review the documents and send them back, they ping me, saying they'd really like the signatures now. I think about all the responses I want to fire off: well I don't actually work for you right now shall I bill you for an hour or two for the rush delivery I have my own life I have other jobs you've actually never ever asked me a single question about myself your folly is not my emergency chill out we live on a rock in space on which everything is controlled by a fake paper currency with no real value. But instead I walk home, open my laptop, sign the documents, and write, "Here you go!"
My friend asked me to note his screenplay. I've read five of his projects. He's worked with me so long that my rate has more than tripled since we met. I still discount him, which isn't great business, but sometimes other things matter more. The first act was hilarious, two and three could use shaping. I type up my findings while fielding all the Coffee Pings. Coffee Pings are so cute and validating and a tiresome never-ending Hollywood boulder to roll. One of my Conglomerate Producers is tapping me for a different comedy project and wants breakfast Thursday. The social outreach gal from the activism group wants to Zoom about my play. The college director checks in about the Saturday reading start time, yes 7 is great and I'm bringing a new scene I exclaim. My old college professor pitches an idea for a guest lecture. The most whimsical playwright I know texts thank you for my contributions to her writers' group yesterday: "smart thoughtful kind meeting everyone where they’re at - just so good." She wrote this incredible piece about a haggard woman who runs a grant program for a sociopath and I laughed my butt off reading it. Another bite from an LA director about a regional theatre producer I should know, I say I'll follow up. Grief asks if I can attend a game night with executives next week and Buckle says we're overdue for face time so I open my calendar and volley 16th afternoon in WeHo and Roll: "Want to get a coffee sometime soon? I would like to sit in your glow for a bit :-) " A trickle of gals RSVPing yes for our next gab sesh. Different Conglomerate says their client is two months late on my notes, but go ahead and bill for the commercial now. That random $300 gig money gets wired. I get overwhelmed and text Gos about how horrified I am that we've been witnessing/normalizing a genocide for over a year! I'm sorry but it makes me completely break-down once a week or so! I'm seeing dead children every day! Intentionally dead children! With bullet wounds in their heads! How are we just walking around listening to pop music and eating pretzel bites!
Thirty minutes later I'm in the AMC parking lot blasting "Karma" and pre-ordering cinnamon pretzel bites. I smuggle in my own can of Diet Cherry Coke. Everyone flipping loved this film, and it just didn't hold me. That's fine, I'm glad I went. Three other people were in there. I clapped for Nicole Kidman alone. I reemerged like a vampire from her crypt at golden hour. I walked along the busy street to the promenade, fully basking in the California winter. Got a falafel bowl. The owner was scooping hummus today. I trotted around remembering being a teen at the mall. When I got back to my car I decided to do another lap, then another. The line was long at In N Out, two girls drink Frappuccinos, I pass an unhoused woman with hair over her face one way and again on the way back. Notably, she has a new Target bag.
I decide not to play music and take the long way home, through the park, by the old zoo. It's a gorgeous windows-down winding drive. The runners are out and the kind of cars who don't rush to be the first to zip through an intersection. I'm very proud of how I timed it all. The darkness, just creeping up on the skyline as I pull into my apartment gate. Puhg came into the bedroom and sat on the bed. We thought about if things we do are responses to or reflections of our stimuli. He went on a walk, so I wrote this. Felt like listening to Glycerine by Bush.
We live in a wheel where everyone steals / but when we rise it's like strawberry fields.
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