We are rewatching Game of Thrones, although after two episodes of Joffrey, I don't know if I can do it all again. Every episode takes at least an extra ten minutes while we pause and dissect the sigils in the opening credits, or the sets we'll see again later, or the costumes, or the soft baby faces of everyone on the show. Tyrion's golden mane and drunken face break my heart--somehow it's all much sadder the third time through (once books, twice show).
You feel your own heart turning into something new and it is a strange thing. It still beats, and it still works, and you seem perfectly healthy, but something just isn't the same. Your skin tingles with a feeling of self-betrayal or invasion and you think, I must oust this newcomer! It's me against This, but it cannot be removed, it is in you and always has been.
I've mentioned a class I took at the Actors Fund this spring in a few places. If you're working in the performing arts or film industry in LA and you don't feel like you get money and you're always broke, I highly, highly, highly recommend taking this class. It's free and it's life-changing.
Over the course of six weeks, we learned a lot of practical things, but the biggest lessons I learned were:
We're all going to die (and I'm not even talking about Brexit!)
It seems important to be able to answer the question: What do I love to do with my time?
I skipped two days of writing in a row, which I said I would not do! But things happen and I don't feel bad about it. You'll be relieved to know that instead of writing I finally won 2048.
I went for a drive last night. I love going for drives. I haven't Gone For A Drive since I moved here. I've become diurnal, though this writing practice has me remembering and loving the quiet time alone at the end of the day, staying up thinking and writing and fussing on the internet.
I watched game 7 of the NBA Finals tonight, mostly because I really want it to be football time already. Besides, Paul talked me into thinking LeBron James is the best, so when he fell on his knees and SOBBED OPENLY FOR HIS HOMETOWN after the Cavs broke the 52 year title draught in Cleveland, well, there's no talking me out of it now. No long-suffering fan can see that and not cry along with him.
Earlier this year I wrote about football--between when the Broncos won the AFC Championship game against the godforsaken Patriots and the Superbowl against the Panthers.
cut flowers wilting in the heat.
flies crawling on food.
fluorescent lights reflected in shiny linoleum.
sweat under my eyes.
chandeliers at two a.m.
I wrote 1600 words today...but none of it felt ready to share yet. So here is something I wrote around this time of year at least two years ago and just uncovered tonight.
I went for a walk tonight at dusk, which these days is 9 pm. I walked around Lake of the Isles, where the water has flowed over its edges and is covering benches, and trees, and sidewalks. It's lovely. People wade in it, and go fishing. I saw a murmultir (small brown rodent), right up where the bank would normally be. Ducks swimming in a puddle as if it were a lake all to themselves.
You guys, I have a new....email address.
I'm writing about it because it still has that new car smell. The inbox has only a few emails in it. It still seems possible that I could maintain inbox zero, which is actually a lie, but the glimmer of that future is beautiful. My personal inbox is 482 emails that all serve to remind me about how I am a bad friend/record keeper/person.
I thought I could write a love letter to this new inbox, but the best I have managed so far is this: When I look at you, I don't feel a rising sense of panic.