It’s over. The experiment I wrote about last time. Aside from the fact many people here reminded me I was not helping to the situation by repeatedly shutting doors that did not need to be shut, Jill and I had a good talk and brought up the likelihood that this woman has OCD or some other obsessive anxiety disorder and she may feel she must shut the door each time I do. Or even worse, if she is just doing it to be a bitch, (which someone also brought up here), what other lengths will she go to. Where will this experiment drive me? So it ends. It ends before it really began, and this perhaps was more an experiment on myself than the lady behind the mirror. The lady behind the mirror probably went about her day after our interactions, whereas I sat in the house wondering if each door would be met with the reverse door slam, and I spent nearly two days thinking about what goes on in her home instead of enjoying what goes on in mine. Perhaps simply because what is going on in my home right now is a bit nutty. I’ve hired a sherpa to lead me up the glorious mountain that is book writing.
Well, I haven’t “officially” hired her yet because our collaboration agreement has yet to be finished, and I’ve yet to actually pay her, but we’ve met. Discussed plans and the near future, goals and dates and deadlines, and I think she is just lovely. I am very excited to have her in my life. To have her mentor me through this process. So the book writing begins. However slowly, it does indeed begin. Slowly because my computer is taking it’s final last craps on itself, and is dying a slow horrible death that only Apple computers can have. Every PC I’ve ever had dies instantly. The end is swift and sure and there is no question as to whether it can be saved or not. This little PowerBook though, which tells you just how old the laptop actually is, has been through hell and back and just won’t give it all up. She needs a new battery, a new charger connector thingie, new software and perhaps a new heart. And I wonder if it will be cheaper to just purchase a new computer entirely. It’s kind of sad to see this thing go. I’ve had it since I started doing boys on camera. It was my first “big” purchase with the money I made. And it was a good purchase. Two weeks after I bought the computer, it was stolen from the backseat of my sky blue 330i BMW. I never called the police because I felt like an idiot. I’d never registered the computer because I hadn’t owned it long enough to realize that’s what you do with electronic equipment. So I left the following week for Spain to do a shoot for Viv Thomas in the hills of Velez Malaga, and the last day of my stay in Spain, my little sister called me from the states. Said someone had stolen my computer and attempted to sell it to a young man named Kyle. Kyle wanted to take the computer home to check it out over night, and upon realizing the item was stolen, called the first name in my address book. This happened to be my little sister. So the computer was returned to her, and I thanked Kyle but never did anything special for him as I should have. I have a vague memory about his house then being robbed, probably by the same computer thief, but I never did anything about that either. Those were big weed days. I was so stunned to have the computer back, the whole world revolving again around me, I failed to understand the risk Kyle took in rescuing and returning my property. It still haunts me.
So after this laptop’s dangerously difficult birth into my life, I took it everywhere. Japan, Europe, Canada, all across the United States. And now, it is a slow slow girl, like an old dog that wants so bad to play but just can’t keep up. Where docomputers go when they die? And what do you do if they are dying a painful, “I’m not letting go just yet,” kind of death? Force them out of their misery? This computer is filled with journal entries from the past 7 years, and even though I’ve backed all the files up on a separate hard drive, I think about each time my fingers have tapped at this keyboard. The actual salty tears that have fallen between the cracks. The worn “Dunny” and “Kleemanandmike.com” stickers, an orange rectangular shaped box of Weepies with a a pear-headed man crying into his morning “Breakfast of Failures” cereal. I’ve tried so many times to read the teeny writing along the side of the box, and to no avail, my eyes never magnify the words and the words never grow on their own. The places this little computer has traveled, the bumps, the sweat, the noise it’s made and heard. I obviously still have a hard time letting go.
As I sift through years and years of journal entries, certain themes seem to arise, whether written by myself or as the character Penny. Themes, topics and particular incidents that will make completing the book that much easier, but also reviewing my past that much more difficult. At the time I didn’t realize I was documenting a life I’d been smoking weed to forget. The writing style has changed dramatically, the content, the vocabulary. I suppose this is all part of growing up, or as it may be, out of something. This is also the first time in over seven years I haven’t spent this weekend in Las Vegas for the AVN show. Interesting to still be nominated for things. There is enough footage of me as Penny that she will never age a day over 26 and can be released for years to come. And perhaps win awards for it too, which to me seems a bit silly and superfluous now. How many blocks of plastic can one woman need? So my own personal “me” experiment continues. Looking over the research I’ve done on “myself” and the characters I’ve played. The multiple lifetimes lived and documented on this very computer. The future of my literary career currently plugged into the wall and a battery unable to survive without a direct electrical connection to the source of all things technical. So the neighborly experiment seems to only have been a distraction from the one I’m conducting on myself. The “Can I Actually Write a Book” experiment. My theory is that if I work very very hard, and remained focused, the answer will be yes. But if I for one minute come unplugged from that source, the answer will be a very regrettable and resounding, No.