Friday, July 31, 2009
At least the library is air conditioned. I drove here because I didn't want to walk in the 110 degree heat but the drive is so short that I felt pathetic.
At least George, Nick and Allen are around so I've seen them a little. Still, the two days I've been here have been painfully long and lonely. I miss the beach and the breeze and the endless amount of activities that exist in LA. I'm also very very ready to fly back east tomorrow. I need to recouperate from the summer, I need to see the people from my Old Life, I need to write a script that I am happy with.
I am still as lost as ever when it comes to my script. I want to write about robbery, since I have it on my mind, but when I told the Momelet my idea she dismissed it as contrived. Of course it is; I feel contrived.
I'll be without a laptop to call my own for a while longer, but I'll have my sister's laptop to dick around with once I get home before my own lappy arrives.
I'm not ready to be back here for real. I'm not ready for the semester to start. I'm just not ready to be a real person again after this summer.
Bye kids, be well,
Listening to: Some guy getting tutored in History a few computers down.
P.S. MONIQUE I SAW SKYLER! I was walking out of the blood drawing room after getting some taken and there she was sitting in the waiting room with her adorably large-headed baby. She said the shoot was great and she's very please with it, so obviously in my head I gave you all of the credit for that.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
To you, whom it may concern:
Manly creature, who smells good even when you don't, you wake up too slowly, with fuzzy, vertical hair and a slightly lost look on your face as though you are seven or seventy-five; you can fix my front door, my sink, and open most jars; you, who lose a cuff link and have to settle for a safety pin, you have promised to slay unfortunate interlopers and dragons with your Phillips head or Montblanc; to you, because you will notice a woman with a healthy chunk of years or pounds on her and let out a wolf whistle under your breath and mean it; because you think either rug will be fine, really it will; you seem to walk down the street a little taller than me, a little more aware but with a purpose still; to you who codifies, conjugates, slams a puck, baits a hook, builds a decent cabinet or the perfect sandwich; you who gives a twenty to the kids selling Hershey's bars and waits at baggage claim for three hours in your flannel shirt; you, sir, you take my order, my pulse, my bullshit; you who soaps me in the shower, soaks with me in the tub; to you, boy grown-up, the gentleman, soldier, professor, or caveman, the fancy man with initials on your towels and salt on your chocolates, to you and to that guy at the concession stand; thank you for the tour of the vineyard, the fire station, the sound booth, thank you for the kaleidoscope, the Horsehead Nebula, the painting, the truth; to you who carries me across the parking lot, up the stairs, to the ER, to roll-away or rice mat; to you who shows up every so often only to confuse and torment, and you who stays in orbit, always, to my left and steady, you stood up for me, I won't forget that; to you, the one who can't figure it out and never will, and you who lost the remote, the dog, or your way altogether; to you, wizard, you sang in my ear and brought me back from the dead, you tell me things, make me shiver; to the ones who destroyed me, even if for a minute, and to the ones who grew me, consumed me, gave me my heart back times ten; to most everything that deserves to call itself a man: How I do love thee, with your skill to light fires that keep me warm, light me up.
Less-Than-Three You, Monique
Listening to: Kings of Leon