weds June 3 2026 -- five project day

At 5 am I was tossing and turning. I had to send the final casting email. We’ve been looking for the right actor for nearly two months. I wrote the decision email the night before, but needed to sleep on it. Strange as it seems, a young man’s voice floated into my head. In my half-dream state, the voice assured me, essentially, this is the right choice, if it isn’t, I will take care of it… I’ve only had a voice in my head like that a handful of times in life. Once while crossing the street as a child, once in my friend’s spare bedroom at 30, once on a beach in Moorea, and now I suppose right before I pressed SEND on an important email. Four different voices, I should note. I think I know whose voice this was, but, of course, I’ll never know for sure.

I managed to rest 6 to 7 before getting up to smash a dance workout then hop on my 8 am meeting with the high school theatre festival coordinator. We chatted about how I might attend a career fair or give some remarks to the students, tell them I did this exact same program 20 years ago and it drastically changed the trajectory of my life. Had to sidebar with the guy, what was the show that got him hooked? (He was in MacBeth as a freshman of course.)

By 9 I was really sad about the LA primary election results. It’s not over, but, to quote Puhg first looking at the polls for the reality star villain, “I don’t understand the world.” Yes, chef. Zipped to the cafe for an iced tea and necessary journaling session, to clear my little head. I ran into DR writing, chatted with the barista who is also pitching a comedy series, volleyed a few signifiant texts.

Showered, laid out various outfits for my big meeting. Puhg picked it in the end, as he does have a much better understanding of fashion than I do. I’d chosen a ratty concert crop top and pink skirt. He chose some smart black wide leg jeans and a classy pink linen tank. He also recommended I wear a bra. Wanted to reach my lawyer about the regional theatre deal, couldn’t, set a call with her assistant for later in the week.

Wrote the marketing team some notes about the announcement copy, wrote the director thoughts on the new option for understudy since our first choice passed. We did three rounds of callbacks to find the correct pair, but now we’re out of time. Director just happened to see this girl the day before at a different audition, gave me her name. I watched ten minutes of her YouTube videos and decided she’d do. This business is insanely unfair.

Ate an apple, peanut butter, cinnamon yogurt bowl while brushing my hair straight and listening to a new age YouTube video about embracing the next chapter. Drove to WeHo singing reputation and thinking about my path as a writer. I'm the one living it, but sometimes driving to meetings I have to think about me in third person. What's the story, for this storyteller...

M & B’s office was much bigger and fancier than I anticipated. I had to wait on a sofa for a little bit, read more of Cruel Optimism. One gal greeted me and told me about moving here from China. Then the other gal, more a honcho, led me into the conference room. I took a strawberry peach LaCroix from the mini fridge and they told me all about the program I’m being considered for. It’s incredibly cool and competitive. 500 applicants. And I…didn’t apply. I jumped the line because my dear friend SR put me up for it. All news to me.

They tell me what they’re looking for, and I simply don’t have it. They ask, well what are you working on? I tell them about my newest creation, the one that I’ve been breaking for the past year and a half. I'm positive it's not right. Honcho says, “I love it. This is exactly what we’ve been looking for.” As they walk me out I fish for my parking ticket. They ask if I need validation. I shake their hands and say, “Absolutely! I’ll take a compliment from each of you please!” They laugh and then I go to the front desk. The 20something there has a really cute tattoo, a bubble heart. He says it’s favorite “right now.” I repeat, “right now.”

I have to burn rubber to make my 3 pm meeting back home. I give my ticket to the valet and he pulls me into a disagreement with two other folks working in the garage. They want to know if a man or woman should cook. In about ten minutes I know all I need to know about this trio. I suddenly blurt, where is my car? A parade of porches and bmws and Teslas have rolled through. I point to my scratched grey beloved in the corner of the lot and someone fetches it.

I make it home just in time for my meeting with one of the most famous living comic artists. He’s very nice and sometimes I don’t think he’s listening, but then I realize it’s just that he’s signing covers while we talk. I’d been angry at this team last week because they dropped a bunch of balls. This week that much is all still true, but I have accepted it. I consider, as I do basically every day, how to stand up for myself in a way that doesn’t annoy people. Nearly impossible I keep finding, via trial and error.

Once we wrap, I see AB has texted me. Our production company has officially asked for script delivery! I double check formatting and send it off, finally. My manager emails: a prod co loves my play, they asked for a coffee but he thinks I’m too busy—can I zoom? We set.

Puhg lumbers in to see my tornado of a desk. I fill him in on everything, mostly positive but it’s all laced with thick anxiety. “Condolences on your good news,” he says gravely. Not unlike the other night when I was hunched at my desk. He walked in, gave me one look and diagnosed: “Living the miserable dream.”

Tons of emails about casting. How many shows will the understudy get, should they be paid equally or less than cast, will everyone flier if needed. Therapy at 5, so I close everything down at 4:50. I talk with J about disappointment, and how some people get uncomfortable when I express it. But if I don’t express it, then I’m uncomfortable. Also, if someone suddenly seems unsafe, is that good gut or bad wiring?

I close my computer. Sigh the biggest sigh ever only to see my manager calling. He wants to hear about the meeting. He chatted with the comic producer too, will link with my lawyer tomorrow. I admit I’m annoyed with __. I chuckle, “Ah the special moment in every creative partnership with someone I would have died to work with, where I kinda hate them.” Manager chuckles himself, “I can’t wait to get to that point for you.” I say, “And likewise.”

As soon as I sit down, SR calls. He inquires impishly, and I tell him it went very well! He says he knew it would! He encourages me, then, he has to go on a hike. I write down notes of what I need to do first thing in the morning. I feel myself crashing. Puhg suggests Burger King, and I agree. It’s Whopper Wednesday, which means $4 Impossible Whoppers on the app. I order very boring Whoppers. You can have it your way, and I do. No toppings except lettuce and barbecue sauce.

Puhg offers to scoop our paper bags, but I could use a little jaunt. We drive into the palm trees at dusk. Right as well pull up, the sign blinks on. They made a mistake and give me free fries. We eat our feast while watching an episode of Widow’s Bay.

I pick up my phone for the first time in an hour to see a billion missed emails and texts—details about cast offers. I stand silently volleying for a while then change into sweats. Tidy up my corner, sit outside genuinely doing nothing at all. Thinking at the trees, 9:30 - 10:30, when Puhg and I watch a Couple’s Therapy while eating churro-flavored Fat Boys.

busy Monday

up at 6, read my horoscope, it says to get dressed, so I do and I watch the sunrise on the balcony while journalling, go inside at 7 and work on my commercial for the Toy Conglomerate, it's a three-minute commercial and they sent me 47 pages of notes on my second draft, Puhg wakes up at some point and heads out for a walk, when I finish the script I put on my Taylor Swift zip up and head to the cafe, get there just about 9 am

order an iced tea from my preferred barista, sit with Puhg and we talk about travel plans for summer, the festival in Edinburgh mostly, he's got a job interview and I wish him so well, I stay for another hour reading my Polumbo book and organizing my schedule for the week, it's a busy one, I open Instagram to see some DMs and likes and news about Iran, terrifying and disturbing

shuffle home for a quick dance workout and shower before my 11 am zoom with my producers for the animated film, I really like these guys but it's interesting to work on a team of men, so different from what I'm used to, they're goobers, we're pitching AM next week and then SR, lots to do and we're behind but that's not my problem, though it IS MY PAYCHECK!

as soon as I hop off my lawyer calls, we talk about my two theatre deals, everything sounds like good news, I really like her though she always sounds tired, she asks for some follow ups for the feature deal, it's so important to trust who you do business with I have learned--though I paid the price to learn

my fingers FLY on emails, writing my Toy Conglomerate producer and my theatre producers and suddenly it's been half an hour so I have to shove all my junk into my backpack and drive to AB's for our writing session

great work today honestly, we cruise through many scenes totally in lockstep, her husband comes home halfway through and we talk about being multi-hyphenates and how to order our loves, for me it is so easy as it always has been I love to write more than anything, if I had it my way I'd live in a box for ten hours a day with nothing but my notebook, we end around 5:20, drive home, sit in my parking space for a little while confirming tomorrow's morning meeting and congratulating the indie producer who is putting up my play this spring!

realize I've only eaten four piece of veggie bacon a yogurt and banana but it's 6 PM smash in my headphones, go full blast on Sabrina Carpenter, trot to the store, help the unhoused man and his two carts in the door, he doesn't want help but he needs it and ain't that always the way, I decide on frozen pizza for dinner, run-into a Chicago musician in the chip aisle we talk about how he's gone back to teaching and it sucks, read through more commercial notes on my phone in the long check-out line

at home I cook up veggie buffalo wings and write the DC theatre director all the good and bad news,  I don't know her very well but I am hopeful about what we will make--and soon, which is wild, I text my friend Dizz and my friend Cass and my sister and mom and the young actor I am so worried about and I watch one video about fascism and try to come up with a bunch of jokes for 10 yo girls and open this blog post

golden age of something good and right and real

Woke up in a grouchy mood about something that happened yesterday. Someone needling me, my inability to stonewall. I'll stonewall more in 2024, I think, I journal.

Did a 1989 dance workout in the living room, showered with my purple shampoo and a rusty razor, listening to "State of Grace." Had my little veggie bacon, decided on purple yoga pants and my pink sweatshirt, walked to Starbucks. My favorite barista quit and the new one has to ask a couple questions about my order. I sit outside in an egg chair with my holiday drink and text Puhg I need to let it go.

I don't want to be a grouch. I will live fewer than 30-thousand days. Lately I've also been considering how when I let people get to me they absorb so much of my focus and energy. What if people who try to stir me are lonely and need to be important for a brief moment. When I ruminate on it all, I'm only giving them more and more significance in my life. I rip it away.

Focused, I get going on my pitch revisions. I become a machine for an hour, fingers flying on the keys as all my ideas finally exit in a straight line of text. I haven't been able to crack this one for a month. At 10:15 I pack up and rush home to Zoom with AP & co about the newest pod edits. I can tell everyone is tired, but the episodes are in great shape, I think.

At 1 I make my faux chicken broccoli bowl. I know I have to go back to the pitch, but it intimidates me. I watch part of a bootleg video of the Red Tour. I have come to have such high standards of Taylor Swift. She's absolutely magnetic at that concert from 2012, but her dancing is stunted and awkward, she slides up and down notes. It's as though she's been ruthlessly improving for ten years.

Ideally I hope to end my writing at 4 so I can take a walk before my Zoom with S___. But no, I get caught on a few details and finish right at 4:55, attach the doc to my exec before I can second guess. I catch up with my old friend--we're trying to do a call every two months. It's so nice to get a glimpse into her life. At 7 I toss on slacks and my pink collared shirt, run over to Little Doms to meet Lo. We gab for two hours. We don't finish the appetizer bread, so I pick up the loaf and carry it home. Puhg drives her home, and only after she exits the car do I realize I had a note in my phone of topics I forgot address.

I sit on the balcony listening to Folklore, and then I decide to dance to a couple songs since I never did get that walk in. I've realized this year I need to do cardio twice a day to not feel nuts. Around 10:50 I have the leftover bread with goat cheese and a honey crisp apple while Puhg and I watch an episode of Survivor Cambodia. Sweet Potato wakes up and zips all over tarnation.

AWRGFTGAR -- Nov 2, 2023

7:30 balcony journaling

8:00 Taylor Swift dance workout

8:30 getting ready and bothering the ham and chattering around the house

9:30 out the dang door to the swanky coffee shop

10:00 revising my play over a hot cinnamon roll, sending emails of interest

11:00 M____'s office for a meeting with the exec for my new show and a potential showrunner, she is excellent, we ask her to come onboard

12:30 call with Cowsk about the podcast

1:00 home for a broccoli bowl with Puhg on the patio

2:00 rehearsal for B___'s solo show, I sit in the dark corner and take dramaturg notes

4:30 rush home to review notes from the day, shove in a couple emails

5:00 zoom with the EP of our musical comedy movie and discuss who to approach as the lead, laugh at how cruel Hollywood is ("well she has an Oscar, but would she get us buzz?")

6:00 cram crackers and cheese in my mouth

6:20 walk around the neighborhood on the phone with my sister

7:00 rush around closing up and getting dressed

7:30 arrive at the clown theatre to see a puppet musical by a young writer I know--it's so great, I am so happy for her

10:00 Marco Polo Lavender in the car, then scream 1989 all the way home

10:30 greet Puhg and the ham, make vegan buffalo wings with ranch and eat them in bed talking about everything and nothing until I fall asleep just before midnight

First Saturday Back

First of all, I got to return to Step class at my gym. It was hard, as it always is after an extended absence. At a water break I asked the instructor to re-demonstrate the switchkick turn, and three women around me all (at the same time) told me how to do it. Isn't it infuriating to be told how to do something even when you have asked? And, by the way, why do people like telling others what to do? I don't. Which is funny because I'm the teacher.

I showered. Pug and I sat on the couch and talked over morning yogurt, a ritual I missed. We keep up when we're apart, but the conversations are more like maps and less like landscape. I convince him to walk with me to a new coffee shop, where I set up camp for lesson planning. After an hour I head to the train. While I wait a man starts addressing people on the platform asking the question "Why?" a lot. It's hard to hear him. At first he is ignored since he's ranting. He's holding a Dunkin bag and a large iced coffee with cream. He lays down on the platform over the line folks are not supposed to cross. Another older man walks up and tries to talk to him. He is batted away. I get closer. I want to kneel down and say, "Don't do this here," but I don't know his mental state and am worried he might throw me into the tracks. The board says the next Red Line to 95th is in one minute. Someone presses the help button. Someone else is making a call. "They'll put me back in jail," the man says. The train is now arriving. Someone at the end of the platform waves his arms wildly to the conductor. I bark, "Sir, please get up." In the nick of time, someone the fella by the ankles, and pulls him to safety. The dude, still on the ground, yells, "You almost spilled my coffee!" to which his savior rolls his eyes. I get on a different car and practice Japanese on an app.

I attend a producers workshop for marketing one's comedy show. I learn a couple things. Several men, not running the workshop, offer a lot of unsolicited advice to everyone n attendance. Again, I wonder what the appeal is. I go across the street for a Whole Foods salad and purchase a scone to eat between shows at night.

While home I have a little time to work on my book before curling my hair, changing into a new blouse, and heading to SC. On my commute I think about how we use Twitter, how I use Twitter, microaggressions, and how important but also stupid recognizing said microagressions are. It's my first show in Chicago since mid-July. The audience gives us "IHOP: The Musical" as our title. The singing feels good. The singing brings renewal. I call an Uber.

At the next theatre's greenroom I am met by some unusual faces. People from New York and LA visiting, jumping in on the fun. We do two acts of improv. It is okay. I am happy to be there though. Puhg comes and during something particularly funny I look out at him to see if he laughed. He's munching a french fry. He is standing at the bar when it is over. We take a car home.

Day in the Life, October 9

Turning the keys before 7 AM. The apartment is quiet, Bisque still sleeping. Wake up, wake up. Walk to the train in breaking light, One-D my soundtrack. Wake up, wake up. No seat on the el, so I stand with feet far apart and strong squatted thighs holding Ghosts by Chuck P. The train gets fuller and fuller, downtown emptier and emptier. It's just me and three other ladies by the time I'm at the end of the line.

First meeting at my new teaching residency. Google the neighborhood. Police officer shot and killed 17 hours before I arrive. I have a new hot pink Mace, and I tuck it into my seafoam scarf. Packed bus, everyone sighs when the wheelchaired person has to get off. Bless wheelchaired folk on buses. Bless them.

My new boss is a happy man who keeps his wrist limp. He brings six donuts to this kickoff meeting. Me and this happy sweetie and this fresh-faced creative writing ginger. The box is opened. "I got three of my favorite kind to make sure even if you both wanted that kind I would get one." I like this style. I have the favorite old fashioned. It is thick with hardened sour glaze. We walk to the train and men yell at me. We ignore them, but it isn't easy. "What is that smell?" my boss politely asks. "Oh, weed." I say. "Ah," he adds.

And then we're back to the rest of the world with skyscrapers. I stop in the Claire's and debate buying corn dog earrings. I don't because I don't have money for corn dog earrings. This shouldn't even be a consideration. People who don't have money for corn dog earrings should not even hold corn dog earrings to their faces. In my office adjuncts come and go. Sometimes the conversation is like grad school and real and potentially useful and sometimes its like, "Ohmygod how many times do people have to discuss music videos being terrible to women?" I guess they still are, so.

The students got into partners, and the students from the country south and the student from the country east were paired. They made up analogies. Some work too hard on these classroom exercises, and that is good. Grading papers, grading papers, grading papers. Scheduling classes, making plans, Next semester, money, lesson plans.

I collapse at home. "I'm sorry," I tell my man. "I need two minutes. What I ate today: a donut." I fall asleep sideways on the couch, and he wakes me up with a tiny pot of beans. I feel gooped. Brain whack. Like a confused baby being fed. Go to the theatre, have an audition for some little show. It's exercise like anything else. Audition, audition, write, write, write. I'm home grading papers again, always, forever and ever, in my grave, underground, so many student emails, "Can you tell me everything I missed today?"