Tile by Tile

So often when we need to relax we think of the things that will relax us. And I do love these things, I do. Massages and cream puffs and sparkling tonics and clicking BUY on Etsy and send a flurry of witty texts out to numerous folks and posting and receiving the little hearts in return. These things do their best to meet the unsaid need, but sometimes. Sometimes we are probably stocked to the brim of all and don't need anything else. A pool floatie so aired it might pop any moment. It begs for someone to unclasp that little plastic nozzle.

The joke of "haha it's a boring Saturday night in a pandemic" has gotten so very old. It's the oldest, saddest joke I've ever heard at this point. Partially because it's so obnoxiously routine for some of us and a distant memory for others. But last night I made a veggie pot pie. I scrapbooked while watching a documentary about near-death experiences. We played Rummikub and put on a garage sale Taylor Swift record. Touched the tiles, won the first game, lost the second. Welcome to New York spun on. And I didn't want to eat any more snacks so I had a tea. A real tea full of leaves and scents and roots. Painted my nails and watched a movie. It wasn't hard to sleep.

Los Angeles Winter

The vibe is so aggressive. In Chicago I get catcalled like one might actually speak to a pet cat. It's obnoxious but at least it is gentle. In LA it was gross. The highway was not only jammed but mad. Tob and I snagged the last tickets for an overpriced comedy show, but the theatre was too small to hold us so we sat in a stairwell. A lot of Yelping even for locals. What to do, what to do, where to go, where to go. How long will it take? (Long.) I don't think I'll ever like it. But that's not the real question. It's "Would I ever even be okay with it?"

I had a great trip. Don't get me wrong. The trip was the trip. But my life is my life. The pros are the pros: the sunshine, the palm trees, the beach. There are many more, but not really. The people, like Yosh, A Jar, a slew of other comedy friends--even Skars. But would I see them? It seems nights are more free there than here, but still. Something is amiss.

The food. Okay, yes, I ate an astounding curry pot pie, one of my top five donuts ever, cashew parfait, a churro waffle. But it's all so far away. I just want to putz around town and come upon things. I don't want to drive an hour for a scone. I would drive an hour for a scone. There are neighborhoods. So, that, I think, I could do. The mornings I ran through Highland Park, trotted about to read in a local coffeeshop--those were okay. I could make that work.

The opportunities. I can't deny those. But I can be denied those.

I believe I can do anything, but do I want to? I am feeling new. Reborn in the crack of November 8th. Recharged and reforming in the afterglow of my solo show. The world is open and the world is an open wound.