The Orphan Christmas

We're planning an Orphan Christmas this Saturday, for the friends that can't go home. We're thinking tapas and a hike and maybe listening to some carols. Love, Actually may be watched. Oh, I sincerely hope so. And there's going to be festivities, maybe a Secret Santa. Spiced cider, a crockpot full. On December 26th, I have off from my day job, and I've always wanted to go to the Getty Villa, so I got tickets to check it out on my day off. It will be nice to see the ocean, to be over where the air is clear. Not that it isn't clean here, but you can always see that delicious smog when you're out of it, and I want none of that. None.

A story, did I mention this? Was a Finalist/Honorable Mention in a short story contest. It'll be in the Winter 2012 issue of Copper Nickel. I'll post a link when it becomes available.

I finished another draft of the ISK novel. It's young-adult-ish.

How boring. To talk about drafts being finished. It doesn't really mean anything, does it?

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Tiny Furniture is now on netflix. I got through half of it last night, and then fell asleep. Not to say it was boring. I plan on watching the other half tonight. Tomorrow.

Soon.

Other than that, traffic is a breeze the days before Christmas. Los Angeles is dead. Only thirty minutes today. In the morning, that doesn't happen. Not at eight anyway. Not usually.

"The Enchanted City"

My story "The Enchanted City" is in the Fall 2011 issue of FLASHQUAKE.

Take a look, if you so desire.

What You Missed

I'm talking about two entirely separate things.

I need more sleep. Always. Went to bed around 11, woke up around 4:45, then I couldn't really go back to sleep, but I had a very vivid dream about being in the zombie apocalypse. We had found safe haven at a friend's penthouse in NYC. Though I knew we were friends in the dream, in real life I had no idea who he was. The penthouse was stocked with food. We waited for the government to come in, rescue us, but it soon became clear that no one was coming. The sun rose and set and rose and set. We tried not to make any noise. There was a pool there, in the middle of the room. Reflecting windows. Someone turned on all the lights, and I kept telling them, I kept saying, no, no, no, they'll see us, what are you doing? And I woke up with that sort of panic, the lights, the lights. Checking my phone, it was 4:48, not even five, I was relieved I had an hour, forty-five minutes at the most (let's be honest). But then I couldn't fall back to sleep. I went to the gym severely wishing I was still in bed.

Honestly, I feel the most rested and prepared when I've had eight hours of sleep, but with my current schedule that's next to impossible.

I'm okay with that. For now.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me.

You, you, you.

Matt thinks you shouldn't buy a house unless it costs no more than than 3x your income. At this rate, the only place I can buy a house is looking to be the desert. Las Vegas maybe. Perhaps a cardboard box under the bridge.

I never really wanted a house. I mean, if you have a house, that means you have to fix it. It's yours, forever and ever, or until death do us part.

Earlier this week:

The house smells like stale beer, wheat. The floor is sticky by the thermastat. Matt's curled up in bed still, so I tickle his ear so he wakes up. I write him a post-it and leave it on his computer. What it says though, what it says.

The people next door asked me what I do.

I would like to protest the question of "What do you do?"

Any takers?

During the day I'm addicted to checking my email. It cannot be stopped. I've signed up for so many bullshit emails, a genuine one's hard to come by.

But when it does come, when it comes I feel light and fuzzy inside. A poem I wrote is being published. More details soon. Maybe. A few months or more.

Work is more and more creative. Happier about that.

Looking forward to the holidays. We have plans to watch LOVE, ACTUALLY at our orphan xmas. A xmas hike. Tapas. Spiced cider. Maybe midnight mass the night before. Not for the boys though. Probably not.

Oh, it gives me unspeakable joy. What of it?

Almost 4AM and I haven't tasted blood in my mouth for awhile, but I really have no desire to roll over on my jaw, which is a little bruised. So far, so good though. Matt's sleeping soundly beside me. I was up reading this kick-ass book about pot smuggling before and then I watched 127 hours and although I thought I couldn't watch the scene where he cuts his own arm off, Danny Boyle did it in such a way that was almost okay. I'm also on lots of vicodin and ibuprofen. Yesterday I consisted on pomegranate pinkberry, and today, while one side of my face is more swollen than the other, as far as I can tell, I think it's going okay. Good, even. So far.

Okay. So, also. It's 4AM, and I always tell myself that I'm going to wake up at 4am and write, but doing so just seems a little too early. 5AM sure, but 4AM, it's like four hours from midnight, which I go to bed around there, a little before. I have a hard time pulling that off, sometimes it works, but I found in the five am area. That's the ballpark time.

I wish it could be a little later. Or I could wake up at five or six, do what I do, then go to the gym and knock that out a few hours later, then do what I do, then go hiking and eat lunch to break up the day, then do what I do, come back. Other stuff. Go outside. Smell the roses. Run errands around six. Come back do what I do. Perfect fucking day.

Or not, there are lots of ways to have a perfect day. I don't need much.

Matt's sleeping so soundly next to me. My eyes are dry, but I don't want to get up and put drops in them, seems like a daunting task. Where could they be? By the christmas tree?

Yes.

Stompy stomps was by earlier today (who is just this nice girl that stomps a lot next door - sometimes stays there). Occasionally, I'll catch myself stomping too. It seems like our house is hollow underneath our feet. Funny, these workers came by and actually pushed the house up to where it should be sitting on the foundation, but in doing so they just literally pushed the house up from below, so the wallpaper in many spots is sagged now, and the front door wedges, doesn't close properly. You can see where the wall paper, the bindings are strained. It's actually funny. I knew the house was slanted, I just had no idea how much!

Actually, it's not that bad, but seriously. That's one way to fix a foundation.

I came up with a new idea for a TV series, outlining the pilot now. I like TV, I like the structure of it. Even though I know it's all structure.

More later. Yes. Always more.

I'm not sure I know you, but I think I do.

The streetlight at the end of the street has been out, was out, for two days. I wasn't sure how to handle it, if I could. Traffic over the bridge would stall all the way to the other side. The first time I was stuck in it, the second time I pushed that little baby blinker down and inched to the other lane, driving down the freeway, out and around again.

I've somehow found a way to make my weekends quite packed, when really, sometimes, maybe, I want to spend it home, figuring stuff out, trying to make sense of it all.

I like coming home to Mr. Matt, he puts up with my shenanigans. My goofiness. I'm pretty damn goofy, I don't know how that happened, maybe I always was.

I've decided to take the bus to the wine tasting tonight. Matt's going to meet up with his OSU clan in Hollywood beforehand and we're going to meet there. It's a silly wine tasting really. Looking forward to it.

Looking forward. Best. Sincerely. Cheers. Take care. The things we say to get through the day.

Buses are funny in LA. You never know who you're going to be sitting next to.

I hope that doesn't jinx me tonight.

Generally though, I miss public transportation and actually prefer it. I loved riding the T and the subway in Boston and New York. I love walking -- it makes me feel strong. And like I'm going on an adventure whenever I step out the door. I'm connected.

What I'm writing now, this is just filler.

I can't stop eating pumpkin pie! It's in the fridge now. Matt made it from scratch from these real pumpkins that he gutted.

Crazy pumpkin killer. That's what he is.

I had this dream last night. We were on a cruise, but it was in the middle of New York City, but an Inception-style NYC, and you could leave or come - from city to cruise. The streets were moving like waves, made me seasick. Strange, how cities are different in my mind. I build them and sometimes they're monstrous and sometimes they're beautiful.

Sometimes I miss the mess that is New York. But I'd have to start completely over there. I distract easily. Lose my way. But the ferry, no, cruise, we were thinking of a place to eat, and all the people from Thanksgiving were there. Mitchell and Maddie and some other baby (was it spybaby?). And Jimmy Fallon was there, and he was cracking jokes (though he wasn't at Thanksgiving, just in my head). We were sitting at a banquet hall and there was talk we'd have to go soon, but I wasn't sure where. I was sitting next to Jimmy Fallon. He just appeared. Just like that. Was it because of that youtube clip I watched?

I don't know. I wonder how many talk show hosts have been in people's dreams. I'm sure a lot.

And then I was searching for something. Walking through this Barnes&Nobles, which in my mind is eight stories high, a skyscraper of books, corporate. Only didn't Barnes&Nobles close? And there's always this great hall full of books, dinosaur bones, a study of some kind that I'm stumbling into, always sunset.

Last night the power went out seven or eight times. We were watching a movie, Captain America, a super hero something, and the house blinked off and then on. One minute later it blinked off again. This time for longer. We could hear electricity popping and crackling from outside. The hairs on Matt's arms lifted. He showed me, and I thought about how just last week I had shaved all the hair off my body, just to see, and how now even if there was electricity coursing through me, I wouldn't have those little markers, because I wanted to be furless. A split second decision.

So there was electricity coursing through us, and it was all because of the wind. The palm trees swaying, branches crashing down on the street, satellite dishes falling off roofs, and the wind, so strong I felt the windows would cave in. I don't remember, didn't remember anything like it. The fan, the computer, the light from the garage, they turned on and off throughout the night, that white noise.

I wonder if tonight will be the same.

I've been consisting on pumpkin pie for so long. That and sausage balls. (Which, you know, are balls of sausage.) Oh, holidays. You slay me. Though if it's the end of the world might as well eat.