After a late night at the Ipmrov, watching as Phil Varone led the crowd through a series of comics, some very funny, some not so much, and after sitting next to a very curious boy (if 32 is still considered a boy) who laughed when I laughed, and stopped when I did- a very strange and noticable thing, and something that turned me off almost immediately, I couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it was the singing birds that chirped away until the sandman sacked me, and perhaps it was the 2 late night cups of coffee that replaced my usual J&C, but in any case, I found myself in bed wide eyed till 3am. Normally I have no trouble sleeping. Last night was different.
I also had trouble waking this morning, the alarm ringing at 7:50am seemed far too early, and I hit snooze twice. It wasn’t until the 8:45am alarm that sounds like a doorbell, I finally sprung from my tempurpedic, convinced Duncan was at the door in search of coffee, a cigarette, and our Sunday usual at the farmers market. But it was only the alarm, and that doorbell trick fools me every time. That’s why I do it. It’s especially funny because I don’t have a doorbell at the new apartment, only people with fists pounding, which thankfully has yet to happen.
Every Sunday, we take a nice walk over to the farmers market to stock up on fresh organic veggies, flowers, coffee and the NY times ouside a local coffee joint. I get my coffee for the week, switching back and forth between the Peruvian and Guatelaman blends, depending on what mood strikes me. We say hello to our flower man, and I purchase tuberose, my favorite smelling flower, so I may place them by the window and have the soft scents float through my home on each gust of cool air. Even in the night, the entire apartment smells like flowers, and Duncan and I get a deal because we buy so many.
We stop at the Rasta man so I may purchase lotion, all organic and natural, with an unknown SPF #. He is always kind, calling me dear or baby girl, and listning to the sweetest sounding reggae tunes while I smell his dried lavender made for difficult sleeping situations such as last night, or potpourri that is supposed to ward off ants and roaches, but I’ve alwys used it to cover the smell of kitty litter or pot. We move on, a latte with the paper, and the foam in my coffee comes in the shape of a heart. With this small event, I feel it’s a good way to start a Sunday.
I hit a big meeting in WeHo with two girlfriends, one I’ve known is in the program and another who had disappeared off the face of the earth only to resurface in the anonymous rooms I frequent, the speaker today brings tears to my eyes when he speaks with joy, of his newly born daughter, and the hope that he has not only for her life, but also for his own. After the meeting, lunch with newly made recovery friends, and then back home for a quick blog session, some house cleaning, and a stroll up the canyons.
You would never know that it’s 85 degrees outside from sitting in my tuberose and gusty Hollywood air filled home, but the heart shaped latte and reuniting of old friends mixed with the meeting of new has promised that my life is changing for the better right now, and the heat just doesn’t seem like such a big and heavy deal. It’s 5:18pm and I have a feeling there will be no trouble in falling asleep tonight.