I guess I just don’t have a lot to say lately. (I haven’t posted to this blog since March.)
I guess I don’t have the discipline to maintain a blog.
I might just be bored with myself.
Perhaps, but that’s another story.
I might be too busy and distracted to spend time writing about my life.
You there, with the italics key, who invited you in here?
I’m here. You can acknowledge me or pretend otherwise.
Here I am in Woodland Hills, a calm area in the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles, California, sitting in the enclosed shady patio area of the Whole Foods on Ventura Blvd near Canoga Avenue because this was the closest thing to a café within walking distance of the hotel. I’m sipping occasionally on a coffee I shouldn’t be drinking, feeling the sweat drip down my back, my journal and cell phone to the right of the laptop I borrowed from work for this trip out from NYC, and I am starting to feel a few different kinds of loneliness.
I’ll might rattle them off in no order of significance.
I listened to some music last night that reminded me how far away I am from home. Yes, home. Home is a new concept these days. I feel like New York is home.
[I just deleted a long section detailing the only times I have felt at home. What’s the point of that? It felt like I was complaining about most of the times in my life when I haven’t felt at home some place. It’s pointless and unproductive to look backward-—oh, I didn’t like it there, or there, or…–because it only highlights my unwillingness to improve situations that weren’t good for me and also focuses on unhappy times. I want to look forward, not backward, with hope, not regrets, so I’ll attempt to just talk about me, right now, how I’m doing, where I see me going.]
I miss people and places today. And I will be hanging out with my son this weekend, so while I am feeling some sadness, I am also excited to be seeing Jake. There’s nothing planned except maybe a visit to a museum today and Sunday. Other than that, we’ll just spend the time together in whatever way we choose. The important thing is that we have some time together.
Writing about being sad is not easy for me; it feels self-indulgent. The critic in my head, the judge in me, he’s saying through one side of his mouth, “Quit yer bellyaching you fucking crybaby. Get on with your life already. What the hell do you have to feel sad about?” I know that’s BS, yet I still allow it to dictate how I express myself.
I started seeing a helper recently. She doesn’t call herself a therapist. [Annoyance: I just found out that I bounced my last check to her. The story is too complicated as to why this happened, but it is super annoying and embarrassing.] I think I finally found someone who gets me in the right way and is sufficiently off-center and can help me deal with the weights I carry. She’s going to help me silence the Critic-Judge-Father in me that I use to punish myself.
I’ve been sitting in this patio area for a while now, at least an hour and a half, and it is probably time for me to head back to the hotel. I left to allow housekeeping time to clean my room. It’s very hot today, and the sun is very bright. I’m not accustomed to this climate yet. I might go jump in the pool to cool off. I might watch an episode of X-Files Season Two (the box arrived from Teresa today—more on the box later). I might just lie on the bed until I hear from Jake. He’s probably going to call me soon to say he’s on his way.
I’m sleepy from the heat.
I’m back at the hotel. Housekeeping just finished my room when I arrived on my floor. I wish I had resisted the urge to have that coffee. I’m not supposed to drink it because of the LPRD. [More on the LPRD aka The Leopard soon.]
I’m not yet adjusted to LA time. I am still waking around 6 a.m. Yet, and this is the petulant five-year-old in me, I stay up until I am exhausted.
You still haven’t set a bed time for yourself
You’re back. No, I’ve never set a bed time. Should I? I don’t think that would work for me.
Some sort of routine might help you.
I do agree with you. That’s a very grown-up thing you’re suggesting there. I’ll have to think about it. Can I get back to you?