yoto

Been hard to move. Everything is changing so fast I can barely keep up. It's hard to keep up. With what? The urge to race has always been in me. I always knew I'd get less time than I wanted. I didn't realize to what degree and how it would look. I wish to race now, to push a few more things through before whatever is next. Joanna Macy encourages that is not good, not right. To race at all is to be part of the Racing Machine that is killing us. When the movie first sold it felt like finally a thing might be real. Now I hope I make it, through the next three weeks, so I can see my play.

I trampolined to the Lover era. Showered. Haven't been able to move all day since, which is okay, because I over-worked earlier in the week. Today was supposed to be for reorganizing my bookshelves. I guess the books got lucky. I wrote a whole post here then decided it was too sad and deleted it. You're welcome.

Didn't go out for coffee, nothing sounds right to eat, off social media for a while, TV depresses me. I am truly just staring out the window, at the pine trees. It upsets my inner racer when I get "nothing" done. But perhaps there is no other work as important right now, than to let myself rest.

It is scary to rest though. All the truth comes up. Namely the question of what can actually be done with what there is. Time to ruminate on what others have done or said to me, and how it hurt. I can imagine some people might think such rumination is unnecessary. But if I don't remember, who will? And if no one does, won't it just happen again and again?

 Sleeping in on Saturday
Just to keep the world ten miles away
Another time, another place
Maybe I would try self-isolate
The coffee is colder
And time is slipping through
Slipping through
Put me on your pedestal
'Cause I'm the queen of self-control
I'll smile when life hits the wall
But inside I'm afraid
Even in the great abyss
It's the year of the optimist

the fate of ophelia

For some reason I've been writing posts every other week or so and not posting them. They've been rotting in word docs on my desktop, some for months. I'll start posting them, I suppose. Why not?

I'm not sure what exactly happened to make me start writing blog posts in a word doc at all. I used to just pull up to the website. I'm doing it now, getting back to my roots. Not all my writing has to be edited so thoroughly as a play. I'm on the 13th draft of my newest, by the way. I feel good about everything except the most important scene. So that's not...ideal.

Went to No Kings Day, a very good way to spend this afternoon. It was ultra sunny, met Bear in the parking lot of 7/11, joined on with KZ--the head of my social justice Hollywood circle and Katydid--the last time we hung out was the Mayday protest. My friendships are getting so weird. I'm never with who I'd expect, but that's not a complaint. I made it home to spend a glorious hour at the pool. I mostly drew clouds in my journal and listened to "Honey" from The Life of a Showgirl.

I was up pretty early. I spent a long time on Reddit. I jumped on my mini trampoline. I worked on the cursed scene. I am going to get a pizza tonight, it's already been decided. The local place, with the sweet crust. The owner's dad asked me last month, "Were you born that way?" I asked what way, He clarified, smiling, "So you!"

Life is a song. It ends when it ends.