the enchanted tea party picnic

"It's almost time for the enchanted tea party picnic."

I keep staring at that line, the only one I've written for this commercial due Monday. I think about all the little princesses in the pipe cleaner woods. I wonder if they are happy with the narratives I've written for them over the past year. This is my sixth commercial for the mega corp (mega corps). I don't choose the storylines, just the words the gals get to say about said stories. Honestly, not even. There comes a point in the process when the lead producer seems to tweak every single line in the five-page script. We start each kick off with her threatening we cannot go over length again. I turn in something short every time, and without fail, she adds two pages of bits and jokes, which her boss ends up telling me to cut. The system is perfect as you can tell.

But it's almost time for the enchanted tea party picnic.

I'm a little worried I might be cruising for a mental breakdown. I've been trying to slow down to avoid the crash. But the slower I go the further behind I fall, and there's so much to do right now. Like I have to finish moving my savings to a credit union and organize my taxes and get my scrapbooks done in case I have to move quickly, or maybe I shouldn't bother with the scrapbooks after I left most of them to burn while evacuating. Maybe I shouldn't bother with any of it. What's going to matter this time next year?

I'm going to remember the afternoons I closed my computer and sat outside. Or maybe I won't. Maybe what I'll long for will be this, posted up in a coffee shop with a heavy-cream iced coffee, writing a commercial, the radio playing "Nonsense." I had to jump the oc-tave.

I can't remember for sure, but I think I'm forgetting something important. Oh! Is it the enchanted tea party picnic? Seems to get closer and closer every year. Haven't even baked my cupcakes yet. We spent thirty minutes on the Zoom last week deciding which pastry would unlock the princess's magical outfit-changing powers. The beignets make more sense dramaturgically but the pretzel has a little clip, so it can attach to a doll's actual hand.

I wake up at 1 on the sofa. I wake up at 4 and stumble to the kitchen to eat fruitsnacks and take another hot shower. I took four hot showers yesterday. I wake up again at 7:30, another theatre producer texted at 4:45 AM. She says call when I get this. She asks how I am from a cab and I say I'm okay besides...she talks over me I DON'T THINK ABOUT IT anyway I met with a friend who might be interested in the play... Good news falls so flat now! There is nothing I believe will actually happen! Although I hope some of it will!?

How does a person stay sane with nothing to look forward to? I don't trust the single concert ticket I have for October. I don't trust the images on my mobile device since AI. I don't trust what to eat since there is plastic in our brains, I don't trust what I can say since reddit users are now being banned for typing the name L****, I don't trust my insurance that went up or our building manager who just painted the stairwells puke green without asking, I don't trust you, and I don't trust me. I've been hearing about the enchanted tea party picnic though, might stop by.

ten days of march

taught AB the HOT TO GO dance, which we then did in the living room before sunset, she expressed concern about the G like I don't know which way to go, either way I say, either way everyone gets the idea

laughed aloud reading M___'s play with an iced mocha at the grassy knoll Sunday morning, discussed it in the dive bar over mozzarella sticks in the afternoon -- extra ranch, what she struggles with is my biggest strength, she keeps saying ohmygod this is so helpful you have no idea, but I do have an idea because what she can do is be hilarious without trying or even knowing what it means, and what I do is obsess about what everything means, I show her all the themes she's already written and which patterns could be heightened to highlight what, it's all already there I keep repeating, what do you really think I keep asking, it has a shape she says as we scootch sideways from the semi-circle booth

dancing to "Maroon" in the movie theatre bathroom before seeing Mickey17, like the old days

great s'more bar with S on a Tuesday morning, I typically use social mornings to co-write with friends, always be writing, always be producing -- maybe I'd be less of a crone if I just had a fun coffee once in a while my god

free trip to Disneyland from J -- started with Indiana Jones ended with the cold ferris wheel, in the middle there was a jalapeño stuffed pretzel, Pirates, the Lamplighter patio, the orange mist of Soarin', and I took a Mickey rice krispie home with me (in one of the bright blue bags with the castle on it)

five current bites for my play: a young LA indie producer for this summer she met me wearing a little work outfit and a professional persona I was so preoccupied with the rain I forgot my whole purse at home and had to venmo her for brussel sprouts, workshop in DC at a regional theatre next fall, add a high-powered manager for an NYC world premiere question mark when, two college kids at a local university, small collective of 20somethings who do work in an ugly corporate room

climate theatre project approved by major activist group, will pursue without funding

Puhg buys my coffee on International Women's Day, a kids' quesadilla after a 7-hour non-stop writing session

mega corporation has offered me a new commercial contract

my horoscope said "bookstores" and then I had just about 45 minutes to kill, so I walked to the bookstore -- my books have sold out twice, I creep on the restock

Puhg's aunt is going to die this time, staying on chemo until the graduation party for her youngest grandchild -- thinking about it every few steps

Sweet Potato got some carrot slices last night, she was in a mood -- one night she was a little goofball, hiding in my hoodie hood for quite some time

can't wrap my head around how fast it's happening, how a student protester was detained illegally, how I post one Instagram story about it, get a notification the app is now using facial recognition in relation to my account

LA and I do music improv at the cutest little show in town, three friends come which is just so sweet and unheard of for 8 PM on a Wednesday, we open with this song about marshmallows happily enjoying the marshmallow world (where everything is made of marshmallows) until they realize they eat marshmallows and they are marshmallows (!), their cheery little tune becomes darker and deadlier until they vow to just not think about it! The hard part of two-prov is not getting a few little minutes on the sidelines to think of initiations for the next scene, I want to bring cannibals back into the finale but never have enough time to sort out the thoughts...Donner party, snow...marshmallows... LA starts a finale about a dog show, so that's what we do and it's fine -- the next day, on a walk, it all snaps into place -- the finale should have been us in a snowstorm after a plane crash, we realize we must eat our friends but we tell one another we're not cannibals, we're just marshmallows in the marshmallow world...

queer writers' group anniversary coffee. I made hasty purple construction paper membership cards. Group name est. 2019, a little quip on the back and a shiny heart sticker. Lan calls me right as I pull into my parking spot, says he's thinking of getting his laminated, he asks if I'm available to read something -- sure I say (I'm not) I ask what he's looking for, in terms of feedback, that's what I'm hoping you can tell me about he says the shape he says

how dare you say its romantic leaving me safe and stranded

What if there's only one spaceship off Earth?

And there's only one seat?

I know you'll want me to go,

but I think it should be you.

Sweet Ratty

Last Friday I was on a walk and saw a rat, squirming in a driveway. Their two front legs were curled up, so the critter could only roll about. I called Puhg for back-up, told him to bring a bucket. As I waited a woman and her dog walked past, I hopped out in front of them, said there was a sick creature, and maybe they should go around, so the dog didn't eat them. The woman thanked me, and, from a distance peered on. She said she actually used to volunteer for a wildlife org and they would probably not accept the little guy. I googled around in case, but there's not much for rats. There are some resources for dogs cats and birds but rats are rats. I kneeled down to speak with my new friend.

A man approached, also with a dog. I hopped out again, told him there was a sick mouse, and to maybe go around-- He yelled at me, "OKAY? WELL ARE YOU GONNA HELP IT OR TAKE A PICTURE?" I said, "I have someone coming--" This man jerked his dog forward and muttered loudly, "FUCK OFF." I knelt to my friend again. Puhg arrived and confirmed, this rat is really really sick. We decided not to let it get picked off or squished, to transfer the buddy into the bucket, and carry them somewhere green, at least.

I ran and got some seeds and cut up an apple into chewable pieces. We found a line of short bushes by a patch of grass and let Ratty roll out of the bucket there. They rolled right under cover, which was nice to see, but they were too out of it/immobile to eat anything. They rolled away, away, away. Until we didn't know where they were. Puhg said they probably ate poison. I said a prayer and organized a small collection of leaves, Puhg stuck a stick in the ground. Here was a rat.

The next morning on my walk I went to see what I could see. I had to walk through the garden beds, around the back. But finally, I did find Ratty. Dead. Chubby tummy up, adorable ears still perked. They had rolled out of the bushes and into a horrible concrete block. Passed away alone, with their head on cold manmade stone. It's not fair, and it's not okay with me.