This was NOT a good idea. I’d been saving this for myself, for a time when I wasn’t feeling well or sad. I’ve been both this week. I can’t get through five minutes without putting the book down and crying. Damn you, Chris Ware!
As a reward, I put on my headphones. My marathon playlist keeps me moving. I see stee pass in his car down the highway. I’ll see him again in about an hour. I run the numbers. 15, 25, 27, 37, 39, 49, 51, 101. It’s all about getting that medal.
It rains, just slightly. Continue reading
To put it mildly, I’ve been dealing with an overabundance of feelings. Apparently this is all very healthy and normal, and I’m handling it with the closest I can come to grace. “Grace,” for me, is crying until snot falls, flailing around my bed like an angry pre-teen, whining to any friend who will listen until he or she says the one thing they all say, “You will be okay.”
I’m the only person at the Standard Cafe. The wireless won’t be working until at least next week, so I’m currently swiping WiFi from the Sunset Strip, trying to nurse my stomach back into working order.
It’s all my fault, this feeling. Well, it’s a little not my fault, but it’s mostly my fault. Continue reading
About a year ago, if you’d asked me if I’m a guarded person, I’d have told you absolutely not. I write books and scripts that usually come out of some story from my life. I write quite publicly about my life online, for Pete’s sake. Clearly I don’t have a problem talking about myself. But I don’t write about everything here, and in the last month I learned quite a bit about my guard. Mostly I learned what happens when it goes down, even just a little bit. Continue reading
I am the last person, I’m sure, to say this, but it’s true. Jet Blue. It’s the only way to fly. This is because it picks me up in practically my backyard and drops me off in New York City and the five hours between that time it spends distracting me so much I don’t even notice I’m flying. That’s very nice. It distracts me with the little map that tells me where my plane is, how fast it’s going and how high up we are. And then it distracts me with SO MANY CHANNELS. I’ve never been so happy to have cable. Continue reading
I had a dream about Dad the other night.
He had this basement installed in the house, which — whatever — and he wanted to show me all of the antiques he had started collecting. It was a bizarre collection of ugly statues and souvenirs from places he’d never been. Some he bragged about scoring off eBay. Some still had tags from garage sales.
My father, as far as I know, never stepped foot in an actual garage sale. Continue reading
date: August 2, 2005 10:59:24 AM PDT
subject: (no subject)
I had A dream that I was At My House And I was Crying for mys sister that I haven’t seen in a long time.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
I don’t know why Meagan thinks I can interpret her dreams. I’ve never met Meagan, so I’m not sure what led her to sending me an email about her REM memories.
Just taking a shot here, Meagan, but I’m guessing you miss your sister. I know how that feels. I haven’t seen my sister in a long time. I love her very much, and whenever I stop to think about how little I’ve seen her since I left for college, it is heartbreaking. If you count up all the hours and lined them up consecutively, perhaps we’ve seen each other for about a month in the past twelve years. It’s not enough time. I constantly feel like I’m missing out on her life, and there’s nothing we can really do about it. I want her to succeed, she wants me to succeed, and we don’t want to live the same kind of life. We never have. From when we were little, as much as we loved each other, we never wanted to be all that much alike. It makes sense that we shot out in wildly different paths. Both of us would accuse the other one of taking the harder road. Continue reading