I am lucky that so many people really like to entertain me. And by that, I mostly mean Julie Taymor, the director of Titus and Frida and others, but most recently The Tempest, which arrives in my neighborhood on December 10th. Titus is my favorite of her movies, and probably my favorite movie all around. I saw some still photos of The Tempest and she's at her beautiful stark colors once again. The cast is incredible too...
Then, the New York Times entertained me with a crossword and an article on Lisa Kron's play, In the Wake, which is now on my read list. They also wrote a much deserved article on Tony Kushner's many achievements with Angels in America, which is one of the best plays I have ever read (and seen).
It's amazing what a night with my son sleeping at Nana and Poppy's house will do for the soul. I obviously got caught up some and now he's back and crankier than ever. He fell asleep on my lap with his head against my chest while I beat my man at scrabble. He smelled like McDonald's chicken and his hair had a 'need washing' sheen to it that would shame most shampoo commercials.
That leads us to the saving graces of bath time. He is playing while I write, coming up from blowing bubbles in the water to yell something like "Up!" or to make unintelligible sounds and then yell "Down!" and make a jet noise.
I have to say it makes me feel a little grateful for having such a ridiculous seeming ritual. I get to laugh hard at least twice and then go back to my writing.
I listened to a podcast of This American Life today on love, with two stories on children with intense illnesses who made crankiness, though annoying, hardly worth griping about. The story of Ben, an autistic boy whose parents were incredibly honest and who made me absolutely fall in love with their family despite it's troubles, was so hilarious and moving. As most of what Ira Glass entertains me with is. So a shout out to Ira and his ability to connect humor, a crackling kind of honesty and pain into one beautiful show.
That's all I've got. I'm off to be entertained with some homemade tofu stir fry and some love. Which is always exciting one way or the other.

Grand Re-Awakening

Ah. That sounds refreshing and dramatic, just my style. I feel so light after my last post. This, my friends is the begining of my promise to blog more. The Grand Re-Awakening of the blogger in me.
At this very second I should be (and will be in a moment) writing Wrecked, my second novel that I am 200 pages into and should be done with this month. It is one of my three writing mornings a week, and I have entire silence in the house. I might partake in a nap...
Ahhh, this is so refreshing.
Picture a beach and a yawn, a step out of the airplane, a stretch of the back, a lovely flower necklace and a lay.
This is me. The blogger me. Back in action.

Capitalism and Her Wicked Ways

So. Here goes. This is my angry post, but for those light at heart, there is a sweet happy one coming after this. Not to worry.

It's been on my mind lately that capitalism has stolen a few of my friends. Yes. That greedy bastard has won over a few of my not so rich friends with a short day trip that they couldn't otherwise afford, or a nice vegetarian meal out. This is my story about her, and for the sake of anonymity, we will leave her name as Capitalism, and go from there.

Once upon a time, I too was captured by her wiles, which she promised were strictly friendly, and even though I knew better, I still believed her. She came up with wonderful ways to treat me to dinners, movies, plays, trips... without ever wanting a dime. May I add that she was considerably older than me, which made these treats feel somewhat alright to accept. I assumed her age and her position at our work made her more honest, sane, and sure of herself. And when your boss shows this much interest in you, it also indiscreetly means (or it did to me) that your time and hard work is being valued.

I did know better. Nothing comes for free, even if it's promised. Let's face it, it's a flat out lie giving people gifts all the time and expecting nothing in return. It is absolutely a human quality to need something back, even if that something is intangible. For example, needing love back. Acceptance. Though I don't really believe she thought these things as she bought me, or even would admit to them now...

Anywho, I was bought. I whored myself out for a feeling that she cared so much for me that she was willing to do all these wonderful things for me. I felt so special.

She was in love with me.

Gradually the demands started to rise. I had to text her a certain amount and in a certain way for her to feel like I cared. I had to hug her or it meant I was angry with her. And I started to back away. And the manipulation started.

Things went awry very fast. She hurt me with her obsessive behavior, saying nasty things to me because she was angry that I was pulling away. But let's face it, by this point she was always desperate and angry that I wouldn't meet her demands. The obsession became so harmful that I had to switch jobs.

The Buddhist, or really just the adult in me, didn't want to involve my friends that knew her because it's not fair to vent to them to make myself feel better, especially when they still work with her. But it backfired. She came in hard and fast as I sat in the back trusting that keeping calm and quiet about it all would serve me better in the end.

Capitalism created a quick drama for those friends that I loved, and along with promises for adventure, fun trips and dinners that are 'free' (now that I am no longer there to occupy that spot), they have found that they too are special and loved by her, and I am kicking myself for falling for it, and wanting to cry at the loss I feel without them. And maybe the loss I feel because what they knew about me for two years became disfigured for just a few free drinks. And the loss I feel that any friend of mine that was able to make up their mind about me so crassly after knowing me for that long, without even talking to me about it. And that friends that way weren't good friends to begin with. Ouch. It's been aching.

This is my wound for the day. Actually it's been on my mind for a while. I can handle the loss of her. But it's been harder to swallow the loss of the others. I think I learned my lesson. And, coincidentally, I've been reading Tana French's The Likeness, which covered a ton of my thoughts on actual capitalism, which could be an entirely different post. There is no brevity when it comes to this topic. And for an amazing read, you should dig into some of her books. They are beautifully written and glorious, thrilling little escapes from real life. And on that note, from her character Daniel in The Likeness and ending this lovely little chat, "Take what you want and pay for it, says God."

And on an aside, I don't think silence equals the best way. I think honesty does. The End.

Late

I have approximately 27 minutes to blog, put on clothes, makeup, shoes, and drive to a restaurant for lunch with a friend. For those of you who need to know because you just can't wrap your brain around how I think, here's how I break it down. And it starts by saying that I just talked to my mother unexpectedly and used 6 minutes.
Five minutes for makeup and clothes, because really, I already know what I'm wearing and that helps. Anyone who knows me knows that I love makeup. So that five minutes...yeah, it's a lie.
Oops. Forgot the blog. It's short. Three minutes. Four because I just spelled out three instead of using 3. And yes, if you know that I am a perfectionist, you know that I just accidentally lied again.
Shoes and keys, no time at all. Except I can't remember where I put my house key and I'm not sure if I have clean socks, which makes me wonder if I ever put the clothes from the washer into the dryer last night, and if I didn't, I just added another 3 minutes. Whew.
And now I need to drive. This is where it gets tricky. If I am on my way, and I left before the time I'm supposed to be there, then I am on time. And five minutes late is still on time.
All this excludes my thinking before work, which is generally much simpler. It goes, "Oh S***, I'm late! Oh S*** I'm late!" and I run around frantically until I leave.
12 minutes till lunch. I can still make it.

"The End"

Today is Wednesday, workshop day. It is usually my favorite day of the week because it's the place where I feel most at home with myself. Tonight is the last read of my novel and I can actually say "the end" and mean it. It is exciting and frightening at the same time. Now that I am finished I can say I am a novelist. But that also means I am responsible for another book. And another. And so on. How wonderful, right? It really is. It makes me excited to start new projects and challenge myself. I also feel nervous about letting go of this one book. But it seems to be a good theme for my life right now, running parrallel to all that I am going through. It is a beautiful and exciting thing to start a new world. It is also hard to learn a new set of rules, a new way of thinking. It goes against my beloved "routine" that I talk so much about. In the end, the more challenge, the better. Within reason, of course.

Crazy is my Supervillain

So, here we are again, pretending to have an audience while my word-lust follows me around at 10:35pm. It's been too long, and I have a few things to say about that. They may or may not be related, but I hope you enjoy them, my deeply loyal imaginary friends.
I created this blog and won't tell anyone about it. That is the first and only secret I will reveal tonight. Except for how I've been reminiscing about the days I went crazy and did nothing for two weeks. Maybe a month. I lost track of time.
The glorious part about it was that I got down to my bare minimum, and was able to hear my body asking for the most basic needs. I do so much based on routine. I listen to my body only when I want to fight off a cold or some other illness. Otherwise, I manipulate it. When it was tired, I would give it coffee. When it was exhausted, I'd try and sneak in a few more chores. I was deceptive. I loathe deception.
I think I've gotten better about taking care of myself. I'm making more of an effort. And it's just like my body to snuff out the routine manipulation with mental illness.
Mental illness is my own personal supervillain. My worst fear.
So that was on my mind today. My fear of crazy. Let me tell you, it only takes one trip to realize you don't want to go back.

Funeral Cupcakes

Nancy died about two weeks ago, and just now our families are getting together to honor her. The past two weeks without this event felt wrong. There was no burial because she was cremated. Our families have been very close for the better of thirty years and I felt like I needed a funeral, even if it was an informal gathering just for us.
My mother asked me to make cupcakes for the occasion. Whether I was asked to make cupcakes because my cooking ability is weak or because there was an actual need for cupcakes at a funeral is still unanswered. I didn't really question it. I just made them. They were a box mix of yellow cake and chocolate icing. Nothing special. I felt, even cooking them, that Nancy would have hated that I was going to bring cupcakes instead of my original idea to bring Gouda and bread. She would have wanted something a little more upscale maybe.
So, tonight, uniced cupcakes and a jar of frosting in hand, I left my house and opened the trunk of my car. Alongside the snug plate of cupcakes I left my one key to our one car. And I shut the trunk. Yes, I did it. I left the funeral cupcakes in the car with my key and no way to get where I needed to go.
Wanting very badly to kick the car and very passionately yelling all kinds of profanity, we called the locksmith. Two hours and 125 dollars later I had officially missed the funeral.
I thought earlier in the day how it really didn't matter whether Nancy would have liked the cupcake idea. She is gone now. She can't say anything about it. And it's true. She can't. But she might be able to get me so frazzled that I lock my key in my car and inavertantly leave myself, with the cupcakes, at home. She's so tricky.