Kettle

Posted on October 26, 2009


I feel as though the pressure is building, as if the stove has been simmering for the past 6 months, and now, with the air of the show coming, merely heartbeats away from my own, I feel as though my little kettle is going to scream. A high pitched whistle, begging to be taken off the stove and turned into tea or coffee from my french press. I have a few things I’m working on that will help keep me busy during this next coming week, but in the meantime, because there is always a meantime, I’m trying to remind myself to breathe, because it’s an easy thing to forget.
Today I felt the weight of the world. And it wasn’t just upon my shoulders, it fell on my entire body, forcing me to lay on a blow up mattress left over from my girlies visit this weekend, glued to my computer screen watching “FlashForward,” anything to keep my mind from running loose in my apartment, unchecked and reck loose. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, giving myself a massive headache, and froze the second I sat down to write. I’ve been scratching my skin obsessively, compulsively, not even knowing I’m doing it, and have red marks on my face and shoulders, a terrible habit I’m trying to break. Thinking of purchasing gloves to wear in my home, maybe then I won’t fuck myself up. I watched 5 episodes of Flashforward, 2 Interventions, and 2 Trueblood, the Trueblood up at E-Deezy’s pad, and each time we watch Trueblood, I come back into my apartment thinking Bill Compton is waiting for me, ready to move quick like a vampire. I wish I was a vampire. All they have to worry about is drinking delicious human blood and getting to bed before sunrise. Sometimes the days are hard and the sunshine is bright. Today was one of those days.

I turn my car in this week, a voluntary repossession, and that has me a little unsettled as well. Not because I won’t be driving a Benz, just because I won’t be driving at all. I’ve had a car since I was 16, and this whole public transit thing in LA is just not as user friendly as one would imagine. New York? Fine. SF? Great. LA? Trash. I take the metro to my dance classes, so that’s all good, and I walk to most places I go, but there is something comforting in having a vehicle. After riding on the Harley with T, I want to get a bike, but as I have a tendency to be a bit impulsive, figure I should think it through. Or at least start small with a vespa. But in that meantime I mentioned, there is no mode of transportation aside from that provided by Los Angeles County. If I really need to go somewhere, I will be required to ask for help. And I’m getting better at asking shit like that, but it still makes my skin crawl. “I need help.” What horrifically simple words. Ugh. I hate it. Upside I will be looking good with all the walking. Downside? Upon giving the car back, it’s possible that the dealership will come after me for whatever difference in payment, they will auction the car off and seeing as how I still owe another 25 grand, and the car will probably auction for around 15, I may end up owing about 10 grand. Plus some fucked up credit. Upside? 10 grand is less than 25, I have to give it back either way, now or later, and everybody in America has fucked up credit right now. If the banks are ever going to be able to loan money, they will have to recalibrate the credit scores at some point. Besides I’m tired of being afraid of my credit score just because some bum driving a fucked up car dressed in a pirate outfit sings to me about how I can get a free credit report and he wishes he would have checked his ladies. Stupid commercials. My biggest hurtle in giving up the car is accepting that I just can’t afford to keep it. There is so much pride and ego attached to that fucking hunk of metal, to writing the check that makes it possible, slipping the envelope in the mail like everything is okay. Everything is not okay. But it will be as soon as I drop the thing off. No more signing car leases when smoking pot. Bad plan.

I also didn’t speak with B tonight as I had planned. It just didn’t feel like the right time. And I don’t know that there is a right time. How do you tell somebody that you don’t feel the relationship is healthy, and you aren’t healthy enough to sleep in a bed next to someone and not have it end up affecting your heart. I guess I just tell him. And then do what I say I’m going to do. Fuck.

To top it all off, there is a ton of press shit that I’m doing this week in anticipation of the show. A ton. And I can’t really talk about it until after it happens, which will mean there is no longer anything to talk about.

Sunday, attending a dinner party and viewing of the very first episode, with a big support group. After that, I’m not even sure that I can watch it. I was there. I know what happened right? Right.

Million miles a minute my little brain seems to be traveling. Perhaps it’s time to push publish on my worries, let the internet take them away, and crawl in bed next to kitty and Saucy. They know where the sandman sleeps at all times, and hopefully I can find him too.

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Posted in: Good Days