Friday, February 3, 2017

Early mornings

It is 4 am.  Again and I am awake.  Again.  Normally, I try to write stories in my head.  Compose my next great opus and then once I fall asleep I vow to remember it when I wake in a few hours.  Then, 6 am rolls around and every line is gone.  I can't remember a thing.
This morning I recited the same sentence over and over.  Not in an attempt to remember it, but trying to move past it, create more of a story.  "Rooster!  Get the gun!"  That's it.  I try to imagine the rest of the story and can't see it.
This morning I finally decided to actually sit down and write what was going on in my head.  I chose to use my computer thinking it would be quicker.  Of course, this morning my computer chose to not work, so all the brilliance I wanted to write got lost in frustration of waiting for the internet to work and Chrome to begin responding.  Yes, I could've just written in my notebook, but my mind and ideas move much too quickly for my pen, I am much more nimble on the keys.  When I write on paper, I feel stifled by the ink, but on the computer my fingers have a mind of their own and it doesn't even feel like I am really writing.  My hands know what to type and all I have to do is read it.  I've never thought about it before, but as I read it, it seems like an absurd thing to say.
I am  still trying to figure out a writing routine.  I found a fabulous online program that helps you get writing.  I posted it in my Google calendar for a Monday start.   That was weeks, oh my, months ago. I can't recall what my original start date was, as by the time I reach Friday I realize I haven't written, so I move the start date to the following Monday.  This wouldn't be so bad if it was only a couple week class, but this is a 12-week program, had I started, I'd be done by now.
So consider this a writing exercise.  Gibberish.  Almost of stream of consciousness, but that would imply free flowing words, which this is not.  I edit as I go. Making correction and choosing the right words so the sentences will make sense.  The only thing that probably doesn't make sense is the whole objective of this post.
What was I saying?  I do go on sometimes, but eventually remember the question that I began with and then answer the query in a simple sentences instead of blathering this has become.
"Rooster! Get the gun!"  Who is this Rooster character and who is yelling?  Why is a gun needed?   After considering this as the first sentence for the play, I consider myself brilliant, but then come to the realization that it's all I've got.  I know who these characters are, but I don't yet know how they move in the world.  I know the overall story I would like to tell and for what purpose.  I know the venue that it is being written for, so of course my producer and director's hat are subconsciously guiding where and how these characters can move and when they can move.  But what I need now is the complete story.  A beginning, middle and end.  A conflict along with an epic lesson that must be learned.
Victory!  The mister has finally experienced my pain of missing items from move.  I can now go on with life.

Aloha bitches!

Thursday, February 2, 2017

And now we're back

It's time to move again.  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  I have emptied out our L.A. home.  Nine truckloads of stuff to Goodwill.  Countless posts on Craigslist to get rid of large household items.  A full load of craft supplies to a non-profit in Venice.  Towards the end, after months of trying to move-on, you get fed up.  You start saying "F*ck it" and just start throwing things away and giving them away for free.

After coming to terms with having to live in paradise (yes, I know, boohoo for me) and emptying out the last remnants of my mainland life.  We're moving back to the mainland.

Getting rid of stuff here in L.A. was much simpler.  Although we hadn't amassed that much stuff in Hawaii, there were things that just weren't going to make the trip back.   What made it more difficult was that I was here and the man was in HI, responsible for the move.

Salvation Army in Hawaii, was not as accepting, so we had to pay to get rid of our stuff.  Any money we had made selling our stuff on Craigslist went to pay for some guy to take our perfectly good stuff.  What a racket.  I guess there's only so much space on an island.



If you have food left, you can either give it to the trash haulers, or drop it off at the food bank.

Another great moving item are these wonderful 27 gallon totes. I found my first lot on Craigslist from some guy in Malibu and bough 13 of them them.  Which made moving so much easier.  Being a bit type A and a need for things to match,  these boxes all being uniform the move a bit more bearable.  

But now as the boxes are emptied, I have found myself missing stuff.  Not in the longing sense, but stuff that had not made the return journey to the mainland.  I had culled a lifetime of stuff and kept what was most precious to me (or at least the things I could not part with) and now they are gone and I'm pissed.  I should be grateful and happy, but I can't be.  Every time I go into a store with the need to buy something for our new home, I can't bring myself to do it.  Why bother spending time and money with this ridiculous ritual of consumerism when it will just be given away or left behind. Gone are things that I have been toting around with me since college. They were household items that, over the years, I found indispensable and now they were gone.  I don't even want to unpack.  I have been living from boxes and suitcases since August 2015.  I can't bring myself to just settle in, even though it took me 3 months to finally find a matching set of dressers and drove all the way to Palos Verdes from the Valley in the rain to get them.

I am writing this post to try and get over my anger and frustration at moving.  I have listened to countless podcast and audio books on how to let go, and I can't.  I express my frustration out loud constantly in the hopes of releasing these feelings, but yet they stay.  Usually once I say my peace I can on, but now I can't.  I kicked and screamed and made a fuss about moving yet I was in the final stages of acceptance when life changed again. 

The audio books tell me that change is good and I don't want to believe that.  One of them even went to depths to tell me how change is essential and it is like science.  And still I can't accept it.  (SIDEBAR: I pride myself on being a person of science, so when "hokey" spiritual things that are good for you are explained to me in terms of science, I'm much more accepting of them.  So now I am writing this, for all the world to see, in the hopes of my mind will be free again so I can shop without having a meltdown in the middle of the store.   My only solace currently is that I am not spending money and coping with my living situation.  My new home now needs to be perfect.  Bulletproof.  Ready to move in an instant.  Every item I buy must be able to move at a moments notice with minimum effort.  

I now long for Hawaii and its beaches and hiking.  It was going to be a fresh start for me.  I guess I'll just have to figure out how to do that from Hollywood.  What will I be now?

Safe travels!