New Things to Love

 Puhg looked out over the balcony. "Sometimes I feel guilty I'll never get to all of it." He meant all the books he'd never read and all the places he'd never go and all the movies he'd never see.

I've never felt this way. Every time I like something I think, "Well there it went, the last place I ever liked going, the last book I ever enjoyed, the last movie ever made for me." My taste is so specific. I know what I'll like and what I don't, I really don't. And yet last week I read a fifteen book comic series in one night and reveled in it all day. I started Yellowjackets in November and this morning I voted it best drama at the WGA Awards. I'm afraid to go on a new vacation, but when I went to the redwoods in December, I adored every mushroom on the trail.

Same Hundred Dollars

Back got hot, itchy looking for that envelope. The envelope with $100 in it. It was a gift from last year. Been on my bookshelf since for a special (undetermined) purpose. Suddenly doing my frantic New Years' Eve scrub of the apartment, I couldn't find it. I wanted to cry. I'd shoved so many papers in the trash. Old statements and receipts--did the envelope and its cargo end go with them? I made the peace when, an hour later, I saw it. Sitting next to a book. In plain sight. I carefully hid it inside my cigar box of things not to lose--

--next to a gift card for $100 to a swanky Hollywood spot. A piece of plastic with real value. I look forward to using it but couldn't tell you when that might be. I haven't eaten inside a restaurant in months. But when it's safe enough, and when I find the right date, I'll be ready.

Because of omicron, no parties to midnight. Instead we ordered a pizza. For pick-up even--to save the delivery fees. When I arrived the girl behind the counter was stressed. Our order was under the wrong name and a line was forming and I peered into the kitchen to see a couple masked, hair-netted, workers rushing around the ovens. "How many people are working tonight?" I asked. She told me a couple drivers, her int he front, a few in the back...but they were super understaffed. I'd gotten some 20s for a drive, pulled five out, and put them in the tip jar. I walked out feeling generous, but by the time I reached Puhg idling on the street, I felt dumb. I go on work hiatus February 1st.

Two months ago some young 20something guy in a Tesla scratched my bumper in traffic. We exchanged info. It was such a small scratch (on an already scratched up car), the $1200 fix and calls on calls to insurance companies seemed excessive. I texted him I wasn't moving forward with action. He gratefully Venmoed me $100 as a gesture. It was nice. But now, when I'm in a bad mood, I see that scratch and get so upset. I saved that rich guy a thousand dollars and he made me late for gymnastics. Not the right way to think about it.

Wake up to an email from this designer I follow on Instagram. She makes one-of-a-kind coats repurposed from old quilts. I raced to her website to see five new coats for sale. I had to act fast. Only one remained. $300. I put it in my cart...but then wondered if it was indeed the perfect color for me. Maybe too pale. I knew if I didn't buy it now it would disappear forever. What's money if it's once in a lifetime? I didn't buy it and the next day revisited the photo. It was fine.

I pay my thousand dollar rent and don't question it. I look up rentals for a vacation. Some hundreds of dollars more than others. But that's negligible. I remember my friend in high school who had me spot him $5 to buy tickets to another school's play. He never paid me back. I spend $40 on fancy donuts, get fussy my license replacement was $38. 

I wish it was easier to kiss you on the mouth,

like it is to work hard, and earn an honest wage.

You're not always fair to me, like I wish you would be.

He's the one who left home, and I'm the one who stayed.

It's My Blog & I'll Brag If I Want To (2021)

Traveled to a snowy A-frame in Big Bear, old friends in Arizona, new friends in Idyllwild, the present in Santa Barbara, the past in Chicago, the future in Mexico,  the midwest for family, Catalina for family, Encinitas for fun, Big Sur for love, Palm Springs for Christmas.

Wrote a full revamp of an old pilot, heavily revised two others, sold a movie on a pitch, wrote said movie, wrote a Scream feature spec, wrote a new thriller feature on spec, revised a horror thriller feature about six times (only for it to be shelved), started development on three TV shows, co-wrote two Barbie series, independently wrote four more Barbie series, negotiated for better pay, signed with a new manager, published an essay, wrote a new play, dramaturged another, two film festivals, consulted here and there. Weathered about 100 rejections--some that left me for dead and others I've forgotten. Expanded my network and ran a successful writers' event.

Graduated from an online attachment style program and made progress in monthly therapy. Read, I don't know, a dozen books? Did, I don't know, 300 work-outs and 52 meditations? Enjoyed so many afternoons at the Burbank movie theatre. Played board games with and without friends. Beat Mario Odyssey on the Switch. Kept my spaces tidy. Mourned a sweet little bb and came to love another. Never got Covid, managed my health insurance. Needles in my skin. Finally freed myself from a three-month long bank fraud nightmare. Started gymnastics, 

Went to Six Flags and Horror Nights. Andrew McMahon and Future Islands. Mentored a teen in writing every week. Helped mobilize for green legislature in LA. Began communications with an inmate writers' program. Maintained my status in the NAACP and White People for Black Lives. Showed myself. Liked being at home, liked taking meetings at the bakery patio down the street. Said no out of a need for rest, said yes to weekly Survivor with the neighbors. Made it.

We're just left to decay, modernity has failed us,

and I'd love it if we made it.

Sleep in Half the Day

big fuzzy white sweater, pushing my fingers against the desk (upset) only to write two pages but they were the best pages, put people in corners, new pink mouse like a mouse of my youth but wireless better on the thumbs, tried to write a list of things I like but mostly thinking of what's in front of me right now, and I suppose the opening notes of the Andrew McMahon concert I saw pictures of the space shuttle, the blue light on Puhg's face the Shirley Temple we split, hot pink gel nails, sugar cookie latte and listing all there is to do and write, I romanticize the chapters of the musician's memoir--him wandering studio to bar to car to beach searching for the next album and I think I'd like to be so lucky before I remember I am, being thought of, promise of the new year already secure, cinnamon bun soft edge to core, Snake calls for help with a script which I give her and she keeps (surprised) repeating "this is really helping!", in one week an actor and a playwright tell me they'd like to help me put up the script from last year, obsessed with Elizabeth Holmes, watch the new Jane Campion in bed on the projector with Trader Joe's cheese puffs in a big plastic bowl, when the little ham comes out when the sun is shining through the apartment sun-dappled angel, stay in bed for four hours and the wave of guilt comes but then it goes

Paper Book

Friday had an early dinner under twinkle lit patios in the neighborhood. Told Puhg about the coincidences I've been having lately. The same Broadway actress showing up in my TikTok, then my thoughts, then getting an invite from her executive for a meeting, then a friend knows that exec, then this person is national news. Or how I keep seeing ads for banana-flavored treats. I hunted Spotify for a Greenday song Thursday morning only to hear it on the radio on my way to the girl group sleepover, where RC mentioned it unprompted. We watched Jawbreaker and listened to Alanis Morrisette.

After falafel I mentioned I needed to stop by the bookstore for a pick up. The streets were buzzing. I slipped in, said my name, and the worker gave me a paper-wrapped package. I honestly forgot what the book was. I read a review in the middle of the night and ordered it half-conscious. Some little surprise for later. I rarely buy books. On the sidewalk I had the thought, "I should finish Danse Macabre. I always forget because it's on my Kindle." Puhg turned to me and asked, "Have you heard of the book Danse Macabre?"

Although there was no reason for celebration the night was too fall perfect and the street buzz too inviting, so I stopped at the Midwestern ice cream chain for a pint of banana.

Nice Morning

Slept in because I was up late at my new friend Mur's apartment. It was our first hang out, and I showed up in bike shorts. He answered the door in a tye-dye tee and slippers. "I ordered food," he said. One giant order of chili cheese fries and a cucumber salad it turned out. We met two years ago on tour in Scotland. We perhaps said two words to each other, but I followed him on Instagram anyway. Maybe because I wanted to tag him in a photo? He lived in New York, but I thought we might meet again. And then what do you know two months ago on a walk in my neighborhood, we crossed paths. He lives down the street in LA now. We exchanged numbers. "We should do something!" But how often does the something come to be? Then a couple weeks ago I was trotting to a meeting and saw him outside one of my favorite cafes. The something was brought up again. When we had an interaction online last week it was like Beetlejuice rules, someone mentioned doing something for a third time? That's when calendars come out. He suggested I come over to watch Urban Legend, which is a hilarious first hang out and also the most perfect invite someone could extend to me. We had a great time. At midnight he walked me the five minutes home, I went upstairs, played with my hamster, said goodnight to Puhg, and made a huge plate of nachos.

So I got going around 8:30 AM. I had strange dreams. They transcended my usual personal or career dramas. I wasn't sure if I was a real person, and so when I woke up, I had to ask. I decided to cosplay normal as write my daily gratitudes and read two chapters of Casey Wilson's book. I breathed in the sun and did a Peleton HIIT workout. It was 11 or so when I decided to run out for a coffee, do my weekly reflecting and to-do lists. But as I caught a glimpse at myself in the hall mirror I decided I looked kind of funny LA chic with my oversized windbreaker and little purple Adidas. Maybe it was a good day to sit on the Starbucks patio. I grabbed my notebooks and hustled to the shop. There was a huge backup of customers hovering around the pick-up. Since I was fifteen minutes late picking up my mobile order I saw the one grande cup, zipped past everyone, and snatched it. The barista even double checked, "Alice?" Like, "Ma'am you're too confidently taking that cup for someone we know is never coming." But I nodded as Ariana Grande wailed in my ears.

My favorite chair was open. A thatched little egg number with a table. I got my feelings out in one notebook, organized my action items, my goals, in the other. I sent cringe necessary emails. I texted a couple friends. I sipped the creamy pumpkin coffee. This city is often beautiful and pleasant--today especially so. There were fresh flowers somewhere nearby, I swear. How lucky and full.

Inside the Skull

I look at this person across the table. We're on a patio, as people wont to be in le pandemic, and they say something and I laugh and then I'm like, "was that funny? I'm not sure." And somehow before my conscious mind even knows it, a new question, "Do I like them?" I don't know. I'm better at identifying who is in my life and why now. Ever since that chilly night I trotted into my therapist's office. I remember it was so dark out the window as she asked me why I had various friends in my life and sometimes I really didn't have reasons. Not that you have to have reasons for all of it, but sometimes I had reasons that aren't actually that good, it turns out. Like, "I've known them forever" or "they were there for me ten years ago" or "I was there for them two years ago." Really and truly I ask myself is this how I want to spend my time? Is this person's energy good for me and the world? I know why I asked the person across for me to meet up. They're very available, they want to fill all their time. I almost felt I owed them a debt for being busy for a month or so. But that didn't guilt me. No, sometimes I like to talk to this person because they understand a very particular corner of our career. And maybe I don't like them. I mean, I really really really do not know sometimes when it's 9 PM and you're on a sidewalk. I'm not better than this person. They start talking about something but in my head now I've moved on--"Do they like me?" And they probably don't know. When they were driving home did they think, ah, I'm refreshed or, ugh, I'm annoyed? I get frustrated with this person quickly because they ask for advice and don't take it. Why does that drive me mad. Potential wasted? Or not feeling heard. More things I simply don't know! I dive into this person's tuft of head hair and blink around from their skull. If I were them I wouldn't like me. Not because I think I'm unlikable, but because "I" wouldn't want to catch up with a friend who's always on the cusp of annoyed at "me." How is that any fun or worthy of these LA prices? And yet two days later, they ask me to make more plans. And I wonder, for some of us, if it's just about the attention always and forever. Just the attention of being a person at all--whether you like the entity giving you the attention a darn lick.