FLATTENED

Ever since I got back from New York I've been feeling a little fatigued. I thought it was just a looooong case of jet lag. Then Tuesday afternoon I started to feel really bad. Like really fast. I left work early and became aware on the drive home that perhaps I hadn't left early enough. I barely made it in the door and then I collapsed on my bed. My body was in so much pain I could barely walk down the hall to the bathroom to get the thermometer.

My temperature went up and up and when it got up over 102, approaching 103, I called my friend Christina and made confirmed that she had promised to take Molly and Pete if anything ever happened to me. She offered to take me to the hospital but having already called them I said no. They would only make me wait in chairs and the best I could expect would be a hook up to a bag of saline. Unless I can get Demoral I'm not going.

Many people called and I told them how sick I was. They all wanted to bring me something but I just wanted my mommy. I'm a terrible sick person. I'm mean and unreasonable and the only person I feel completely comfortable being that way around is my mom. She's so lucky.

Yesterday morning it was clear that my temperature was still raging so I started taking aspirin - the miracle drug. I felt well enough to get completely stressed out about pending unemployment and the fact that I could barely make it to the bathroom, much less the computer to send out resumes, made death start to feel like a really viable option. Then the aspirin kicked in and I got some sleep.

I drank some fluids.

I ate some yogurt.

But I couldn't manage the energy to make some tea. I was too tired to deal with fire.

A. called in the afternoon and wanted to bring me soup. I told him to call me back in a few hours because by then I would know if I felt good enough to allow someone in the house. I took some more aspirin, dragged myself into the shower and took another nap. When he called at 8 o'clock I had been dreaming about food and requested some motzah ball soup. He showed up an hour later with that and more, you know, just in case I felt like eating. I was able to get down about a cup of soup and I had the energy of a wet rag.

But he made me tea.

Put me back in bed.

Did the dishes.

Held my hand.

Told me I looked gorgeous even when I'm sick.

And went home.

Even though he's not "the one," he is most definitely one in a million. I am still laid low by this foul virus, but I have a couple quarts of motzah ball soup which should last a couple days, and a turkey sandwich in case I ever feel like eating solid food again.

BROKEN OR LONELY?

Today when I checked in to see what Sheila's been up to I was delighted to find links to the Demystifying Divas, four women who pick a topic each week and then opine about it on their blogs. I'm too lazy to link, but Sheila has done so and it would behoove you to go read what they've all written about this week's topic: Is it better to have a broken heart or a lonely heart. Not great options but still interesting to think about. While you're at it read what Sheila wrote on her "Salieri" link. I love her self awareness and her willingness to share all of herself in what she writes. It doesn't hurt that she's a kickass writer.

I've done broken and lonely, and for me it has mostly been a choice, e.g. the broken heart after falling for R., but then I knew what I was getting into so it was basically running onto the sword. I guess, in retrospect, I don't really count it except when we're together and I want to push his buttons and I bring out the "You broke my heart!" speech which I deliver with great drama and gravitas and occasionally a tear. There were lonely heart years after that ended, but that was also a choice. I was certainly out there dating it up on the internet and let me say that nothing will make your heart more lonely than going out with that many guys and discovering that there's not only no attraction, there's no connection either.

It was like the universe was beaming down a message to me via each bad date, "You are meant to be alone go forth and rejoice in that aloneness with great relief." Isn't it funny how my messages from the universe are kind of like dialogue from some old movie about the bible? Clearly I didn't have to be alone there were definitely options via the internet, but going there would've probably landed me on medication in a suburb of Temecula with two kids and a husband that I had to get really drunk to want to fuck, much less talk to.

And that would be a really lonely heart.

When I think about it my heart has been truly broken once. Broken in the sense that it wasn't about a wounded ego. When Gary died at the age of 30 it broke my heart to lose him. My heart still hurts from the missing of him. When I was at Allison's last week I was sitting on her couch Friday night, the 13th, having a wonderful, meandering, tea sipping conversation when I realized that it had been 12 years to the day since he died.

And my broken heart ached.

I don't think you can have a broken heart if you've only ever had a lonely heart. A lonely heart is a heart that hasn't loved. That's why it's lonely and why it can't be broken. When your heart is broken it feels like you might not survive. And part of you doesn't want to. But once your heart is broken and you do survive then I think it's easier to go for it. What I end up with a lot now is a bruised ego and some heartache, but it's not anything that I can't shake off. And you know that saying, it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Well, it's not bullshit. I would rather have all those experiences and memories of loving Gary - the good and the bad, than not have had the experience at all.

I'd rather have a battered, broken heart that survived the experience and knows it can, than a heart that is lonely.

But I didn't really know that until right now.

YOU'LL BE SORRY

I have so much to write about my time in New York, but today has been filled with tedious busy work and now my brain is fried so I will share my New York stories very soon when I can actually conjure the words.

But, very quickly, the last day there Allison and I went to Central Park per my request - I really, really love that park - and she took amazing pictures with her digital camera that she had just gotten repaired. I had forgotten my camera though I did have my SX-70 so I did some manipulated polaroids. We went to Strawberry Fields so I could get a shot of the word IMAGINE tiled into the center of a circle of benches in memory of John Lennon who was killed close by in front of his building. I had no idea that there would be people sitting around playing Lennon songs and singing and praying. I mean seriously! And they were. Very. Serious.

It was hard not to giggle.

As we wandered on into the park toward the most beautiful lake upon which you can row and ride in a gondola, we were drawn to the sound of drums. I might guffaw at the John Lennonites, but there was a time when I myself would dance around the drum circles in memory of Jerry Garcia down at Venice Beach. I also once participated in a full moon drum circle at the African drumming center in West L.A. Can you say "In over her head?" Um, yeah. So anyway, we wandered up to a group of men playing drums and doing call and response in a scene right out of Cuba. Only we were in Central Park. It was awesome!!

After standing there wiggling my butt to the drums complete with white chick overbite we went to check out the boats on the lake. It took me a while to notice, but eventually it became oddly clear that something was a bit off. In every boat that we saw there were women rowing men around the lake. This brought to mind a metaphor I have used to describe every dysfunctional and just plain wrong relationship I've ever had. To explain how they went so horribly wrong I have always said, "It was like I made the picnic, rented the boat and rowed his ass around the lake. It sets a bad precedent."

And here it was manifest before my eyes!!

It was all I could do not to stand on the bridge and scream, "Stop it! Give him the oars right now!"

You're going to be sorry!

S'UP BROOKLYN

I got to Allison's house late last night. It was a full day of flying on almost no sleep. A. had spent the night to take me to the airport early and he wasn't feeling well so we didn't get to bed until late. And then, per usual, I didn't sleep because I was scared I wouldn't wake up in time to leave. Consequently I was dozing in the Denver airport on my three hour layover and it was only the fact that my book kept falling on the floor and waking me up that kept me alert enough to make the flight to NYC.

Of course I don't sleep on planes. Don't know why, it just won't happen.

I was so thrilled to finally meet Allison who has been one of my "I tell everything to" best friends for the last 4 years. But until last night we had only connected via e-mail or the phone. So when I got here we had to stay up and drink tea and chat until about 1 a.m. and then I passed out. I woke up early this morning because it really doesn't matter where I am, I'm still going to wake with the dawn.

Ali made me a cup of tea and left for work at 8a.m. and I swear I was going to get up and try my luck at getting myself into the city. She got me a metrocard and everything. My friend Stephanie was planning her day around me coming to visit her. But I went back to sleep and just couldn't wake up. I kept opening my eyes and looking at the clock, 9:30, 10:30, 11:30. And I kept going back to sleep. I had some really wild dreams about shoot outs from helicopters around the Statue of Liberty and I was swimming in the water off my friend Marcia's dock which was attached to her house at the end of a long pier.

So you can see why I didn't want to get up.

But I finally did at 12:30 and then it took me another hour and a half to motivate myself into the shower and get dressed. At 2:00 I finally called Stephanie and we decided that tomorrow would be better. I set off to discover Allison's neighborhood - I think it's called Greenpoint, because there's a lot of signs on the businesses that say "Greenpoint". I also wandered over to Williamsburg.

Along the way, there and back, I heard people speaking in Polish, Hebrew, French, Italian, Spanish and English with an Australian accent.

I saw lots of people walking no less than 5 German Shepherds. Apparently that is a popular breed here. I saw lots of other people with dogs as well. The biggest difference between Los Angeles and Brooklyn is that here people have their dogs on leashes and in LA they carry them in their purses.

I saw lots and lots of health food stores all prominently featuring Myoplex. I'm not kidding when I say lots, I mean like two on every block.

I am fascinated by the grates that open up in the sidewalk revealing ramps and stairs that go under the buildings. We don't have anything like that where I live, and I live in an urban/city area much like this, where commercial properties and residential properties line the streets.

Everytime I walked past a small tree planted in a square of dirt on the sidewalk I would silently say to myself, "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn." At least for the first couple of miles and then I started to annoy myself. It's easy to imagine Frannie and her mother walking down the street here at the turn of the century.

I could tell when I left the predominantly Polish neighborhood that Allison lives in and wandered through Williamsburg and down into a neighborhood where people were speaking Spanish and I saw some pretty good looking guacamole being eaten at a sidewalk restaurant serving "California style" tacos and Mexican food. It's interesting how one mile changes the language of the signs in the windows.

I was oggled and hissed at by numerous men on the street. This does not happen to me in Los Angeles. It has always happened to me in New York. I remember walking downt he street in Manhattan and being throw by the continuous commentary of men I walked by. It's not threatening or offensive, well I guess it could be considered offensive if I stopped to give it any rhythm, but it is very very weird.

I think that it doesn't happen so much in LA because no one is walking around. Everyone is driving, and as I mentioned before I pay no attention to people honking or attempting to run me down, so maybe it is happening, but I'm pointedly ignoring it. I like the walking here. I like the community. I like all the little stores and the churches and the kids playing in the park. It's all very alive.

And exhausting.

After all that walking I'm really tired again so I stopped at the market to get stuff to make for dinner because I don't think I can go out and walk anymore today.

There will be more walking tomorrow only it will be in Manhattan.

Till then.

SHINING A LIGHT

Last week I found a wonderful website written by a wonderful light who illuminates life in the most lovely and profound ways. He only recently started writing on his site, so I am savoring his posts like a really delicious piece of chocolate. I read the current post and then I go back and read the older posts. It's interesting to me that when I'm going through the archives - randomly - I will often land on a story that I needed to hear/read in that particular moment.

Funny how that happens.

Today's post was about another lovely light - Vicki - as evidenced by her photo. It occured to me as I read the story about her photo shoot that if we are willing to let light in we can all be illuminated. So many of the stories that Trevor writes are all about that quality of lightness in times that feel very dark. I am aware that I have a choice about my perspective on things and my perception of reality in any given moment.

When I looked at Vicki's photo all I could see was grace and beauty and light - she is timeless, captured in that moment. I'm passing the light along so you can see too.

LATE LIKE THE RABBIT

I am feeling very much like that rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. The one who was late. I feel like I have so much to do and not enough time to do it in. Much of this is becaues of my propensity to overbook my days. In spite of that feeling however, I am getting things accomplished. For instance I completed the re-write on my script and sent it off to L. on Friday. I am very much looking forward to her notes and hoping that another page one rewrite will not be required. Tweaking I could handle, and in fact would welcome because I can feel that it's not quite there yet. It could be better but I'm needing guidance to get it there.

A page one rewrite would put me over the edge.

But that's getting ahead of myself. After mailing off the script I went and met my wonderful friend A.D. for snacks and beverages at the bar at Border Grill and then we walked up the street to Burke Williams where she treated me to a spa facial. I am dragging out the celebrating of the birthday to new heights. Afterwards I was not quite in my body - margarita and massage will do that to me - so I called A. and went and met him for coffee. We had plans for Saturday night but I wanted to hang with him prior for a minute to get back in our rhythm.

The whole "I want six kids and I would never marry you" conversation had been digested and processed and I realized that the fun we are having is much more the grand affair kind of fun and not the let's commit to each other and do the day to day dance. There are a number of things that made me realize this, not the least of which is that although I am falling for him, it's not in the way that precludes me being interested in other men, or possessive of him in that jealous dog way that I sometimes have.

So although I called him in the midst of the madness that is the end of the workday on Friday he came and met me and fed me and we laughed and hung out much longer than either of us anticipated which meant that I got home a lot later than I thought I would to prepare for the garage sale that was happening on Saturday. And I had a birthday party to go to at 10pm. So at that point I was about 2 hours behind.

And then when I stayed at the party until 2:30 a.m. things got progressively more and more behind as the weekend progressed which necessitated the flaking on certain activities. So while I did do the garage sale at the crack of ass on Saturday, I did not drive up to Malibu for Alexander's second party - a party I heard was fabulous, but when you're functioning on four hours of sleep and you've spent the morning saying $2 over and over again to strangers who are picking through your stuff, the idea of hanging out with a bunch of people and their kids, even with a glass of tequila in your hand, sounds like a challenge.

Then there was the cleaning of the house because L.E. is coming to stay while I'm in NYC - did I mention that I'm leaving on Wednesday and I haven't got all the stuff I need for the trip, but you know I've still got some time. The house really needed cleaning too. At 3pm it was abundantly clear that I had too much planned for Sunday, e.g. Goddess Temple, visit Diana, take Nana out for mother's day, grocery shop, so I called Teefah and told her I wouldn't be making it to the Goddess Temple most likely as that required my presence in Huntington Beach at 11:30.

A. got to my house late - he's always 30 minutes late - and I was still in my bathrobe because we hadn't yet decided what we were doing and I wanted to pick the right outfit. Plus, I was freaking exhausted. Thankfully his friend Darren, the guy with the super groovy loft 'o fun, called and said that they were going to watch Steve Zisou and then there was a party. Yay! Jeans and a t-shirt and laying around watching a movie with the option to go hang with the artsy creative types after. At this point I was really into playing it by ear.

Of course once we got to Darren's there were such interesting, genuinely nice people, and such a chill environment I ended up being "what's next" and we walked through the abandoned streets of downtown L.A. to a warehouse where there was an art show and then next door to the Bedlam Warehouse for a party. Both places were fun with that 21st century boho crowd, but just way too much cigarette smoke. Smoking has been so verboten in clubs and restaurants here for so long that I forgot what it's like to have the stench permeate your hair and your clothes. Sadly I was wearing suede which still stinks as of this morning. Gah.

Lots of fun people watching. Sara the naked angel from Darren's house was at the party channeling Theda Bara. She's not a particularly pretty girl, but she's one of those people that you can't help but stare at. The chubby bald man who was also naked the last time I saw him was also there although this time he was wearing a black jumpsuit and what looked like ear muffs on the top of his head. I was hanging with Holly, a darling redheaded artist who was wearing a white vintage victorian dress and is dating Darren - stook me up on the roof where I gratefully inhaled fresh air and hung out with the friendliest people.

It was refreshing both the people and the air but I was hit with a wave of exhaustion and inquired as to the time - 2:30 a.m. I announced that I had to leave. Right now. Because that feeling of being late for all that I had to do the next day was pervasive. Thankfully A. was on the same page and we headed home and I had weird dreams all night, a restless sleep that lasted until 10a.m. at which time he had to leave and I attempted to get up and get a move on. It took me three hours to get it together. I skipped visiting Diana and went to Nana's and took a nap on her couch. She slept too so I guess it was okay. In fact I think she was relieved that I was hip to her routine.

After we had dinner I drove back to L.A., finished some laundry, returned some phone calls and decided to blow off grocery shopping. A. called about 11pm to tell me how much he liked being with me the night before. I dittoed on the sentiment and chatted a bit longer before I began to feel coherence slipping away.

Woke up this morning feeling about 1 day behind which isn't good because I'm leaving in less than 48 hours.

I'm just feeling so late.

GOT WORK?

I'm back on that bubble of not knowing if I'll be employed after the end of this month. It's not the first time I've been here and every time I've been in this position before I've always ended up flowing into the next job. The difference this time is that I know what I want to do and I'm actually doing it, e.g. writing drama for television. I'm not writing it for anyone in particular, nor am I getting paid, but it will be a great writing sample once I've finally gotten it all down on the page. I'm 3/4 of the way through the rewrite and it's coming albeit slowly. When I started writing everyday a year ago I became aware that when I write down the things I want to accomplish they have subsequently been accomplished.

So I'm writing down what I'd like the next job to be - not the specific job itself but the qualities of the experience. I want to write and participate creatively at a job where I work with great people and I get to move around. This sitting on my ass all day is really contributing to the wagon I'm draggin'. I would like my days to be filled with work that holds my attention and challenges me in the very best way, and doesn't feel like work at all so that when I get up in the morning I'm happy and excited that I get to go back and do it again. Even when it's hard. And for this work I will be abundantly compensated both financially and creatively. And if this work involves writing for television well woohoo and hallelujah.

Although I'm still freaking out and feeling a tremendous amount of anxiety about what's going to happen, at least I'm not hyperventilating as much. And my appetite is gone which is way better than stress eating. Way better. Because it sucks to be stressed out and to also not be able to get your jeans zipped without shutting down your circulation. I'm sleeping pretty well all things considered probably because I'm working out to help blow off all the anxiety that's rolling around inside me. And because I have my friends Valium and Ambien sitting by my bed should I need them.

I'm keeping the faith, but it's hard not to think about the fact that I'm so upside down financially that I'm one of those people you read about in those ominous articles about middle class Americans who lose their jobs and then collapse in a pile of debt and end up in a homeless shelter.

Or on a corner with a cardboard sign that says "Got work."

SPEECHLESS

So A. comes back from Israel last week. He calls me right when he gets home because he wants to see me. I had plans Tuesday night and he was carless having dropped his car off on consignment prior to leaving. I had dinner with my friend and then took my leftovers to his house afterwards. He was very jetlagged from the 20 hours of flying and the 10 hour time difference. So I guess that's why he forgot to edit out the photos of the chick he hooked up with while he was there. Because as he's showing me the slide show of his parents house, his brothers and their families, the trip to Egypt, the people he recorded a song with for his brother's wedding, there were also pictures of this woman. In bed. Naked.

He freaked out, "Are you okay? Nothing happened. She was an unemotional person."

Um, whatever. She's also unattractive and you're not my boyfriend. This was the silent response in my head. I was aware however, that I was completely unphased by it although if she had been a hot chick I think I would've been. Because I'm shallow like that. I think I just assumed that he would hook up with someone when he was traveling because that's who he is.

But then.

The next two days are a total disconnect. I call him on Thursday to touch base thinking that he's back in the mire of work that he was freaking out about leaving, only to find that he's on his way to the ballet. And he made me ask who he was going with. If you make me ask it makes me think that you are hiding something. When I finally asked he said, "With my friend Emma." And that combined with the disconnect and what felt like deceptiveness pissed me off. So I very tersely told him that I'd let him go.

Yeah, so Friday he wants to have a "discussion" so that we can "figure things out" and in that discussion he told me that what he wants more than anything is to get married and have six children. Now he had told me this before he left, but I thought he was kidding. Not about the getting married and having a family bit - but the six kids part. What ride in fantasyland are you on to think about starting to have six kids when you're in your mid 40s? Not that I begrudge him that - he's middle eastern and I think that it's kind of the norm in those cultures for old men to have young children.

And I don't want six children. I don't even want one if I have to gestate it. I'd take gift with purchase kids, or I would adopt children, but I don't want to do pregnancy and labor. I'm too old and I'm already losing the battle against gravity. And if I did have kids I don't think I'd want them with A. While I completely enjoy him and really, really like him, his lifestyle doesn't really lend itself to parenting and I think that whoever ends up having his six kids will be tending the litter alone because he's a workaholic who doesn't seem to have the knack of balancing even a good night's sleep with all that he does.

But what pissed me off, or more honestly hurt me, was that he told me that I wanted the whole enchilada with him and that he would never marry me. Um, dude after three weeks of you giving me the full on rush, I was just settling into the idea that I really do like hanging with you, but I was also fully aware that it had literally only been weeks. I am a fickle female who tends to get bored after a few months with the same old same old - but I was willing to see where it might go. And marriage was never even on my radar. I was still having fun.

Now I'm just bummed out and exhausted.

And after his pre-emptive strike on Friday night, I don't know if I even want to see him again. I think that was the male version of the "freak out."

It's funny, usually I get there first.