breesays

Today I was like OMG I WANT HIGH CEILINGS AND NATURAL LIGHT AND A BALCONY and it made me feel antsy and weird and I knew it was a “you want escape even if it’s from the frying pan into the fire” thing so I made a couple calls then was all CALM DOWN, SELF. 

(And I want a kitten)

(And all the things I already have like underground parking and laundry and secure entry)

There’s that quote: bloom where you are planted.

Also: Do what you can, with what you have, where you are

OK. 

One thing at a time. Take care of you.

There may not be a place or a person or something tangible that makes things feel OK right away. 

Sometimes you’re going to get to the end of the day, unsatisfied. Like you need one more hing to happen, and it isn’t up to you. Hey, Universe? Can I leave a message?

I’m sorry. It happens.

But it’ll be better in the morning, love.

Just like your cells repair so does your mind and your muscles and your lungs. You’ll breathe deeper tomorrow morning. You’ll think clearer. The sun will shine on you and you’ll be like a plant absorbing it all and it’s a brand new day, go BE. Go do.

Go to sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.

Good night, mood.

Friday we had a late afternoon shoot in Burbank that I was mildly stoked about because I could just hit Wildwoon Canyon afterwards. Observations: changing in one’s car in an open-air lot (as opposed to a garage IKEA lot) is much more challenging. YOLO.

First—I saw a deer. Straight up Bambi’s mom

Do you see the deer in this photo? No? TRY HARDER.

ps. I hated the movie Bambi. It’s ultra-depressive I can’t even.

Then I’m like, OK, not going to go off trail today but also don’t feel like doing the hard hike… let’s try trail #3 because I haven’t yet. And then this

Oh. Well, fuck. The other 2 trails don’t say this. And how good do my ankles look today? Aside: Do people with cankles get LESS INJURED when a rattlesnake bites them? Aside aside: Do people with cankles hike?

I went back to trail #2, hiked it, then sent myself back up.

On my way out, A/C blasting and bangs plastered to my head… I heard a really strange beeping sound. Sounded kind of like an alarm, but had some faltering inconsistencies every now and then. I drove toward the beep. Can you guess what the beep was?

IT WAS A SQUIRREL, atop a post. I texted Jacob, asked him to check my Vine and he said “How do you know it’s a squirrel? Sounds like a bird,” and I said because I saw it with MY EYES and it had SQUIRREL FRIENDS and a SQUIRREL HOME.

SATURDAY. I had a goal. I wanted to read a book on a blanket in a park. First: I had no appropriate blanket. Becca said: Get a serape! I had to google what a serape was. I hit Olvera Street for less than 20 minutes ($2.50 parking!) and found a pretty blue one. Now, the park. Yelped some and ended up at Fern Dell Nature Center which is basically part of Griffith Park. Grabbed some Stumptown coffee from Trails cafe and set up shop near a quiet creek. A bee drank some of my coffee.

I read for a couple hours. Then decided to return some baggage to my Fiat and go for a walk slash hike. About 15 minutes in, I wasn’t sure where I was going, so I turned back. But then I saw lots of PEOPLE walking along this curvy road. Populated places mean safety, right?

I didn’t know where I was going but I felt pretty good and then I decided I needed to climb a tree before the day was over. I NEEDED it. And after about 20 minutes of walking, there he was. Lucius the tree, wanting to be climbed.

Lucius, my friend.

Yes, I named the tree. No, I did not hug it.

We hung out for awhile.

Then Uhnet was like come watch a movie on a roof and we did and talked about how everything was much cheaper in the Valley and then i got drunk on pre-made cosmos and took pictures of her friends dog who we think is slightly depressed.

Today I got my laptop wifi fixed and bought a zine at Pygmy Hippo Shoppe and some nasty ass Detox Lemonade from Erewhon and then read in a park on Olympic for 30 minutes about 4 minutes of which was spent looking for four-leaf clovers.

I didn’t find any.

But my book is good and I’m doing OK being alone again. Emotions SHALL NOT besiege me. 

What: 99 Problems by Jay-Z

Why: Because you’re a middle class white girl who’s never said the word “gat” unless you were drunk and trying to express a synonym for FELINE. Sometimes you have to throw yourself into something you can’t relate to.

We gotta figure this shit out. I know it’s been bad times sad times but we have to find a way back to a place where you took better care of yourself.

This has been a whole new brand of sad and I haven’t really been adept at handling it. It’s been too much to even make food for myself. Shove some pita chips in there. Roll through a drive-thru. Eat what’s free.

How do I feel excited about things again?

Wash your face, at least. Take your vitamins. OK, that’s maybe that’s asking too much.

I feel too much. That’s what’s going on.’ ‘Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?’ ‘My insides don’t match up with my outsides.’ ‘Do anyone’s insides and outsides match up?’ ‘I don’t know. I’m only me.’ ‘Maybe that’s what a person’s personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.’ ‘But it’s worse for me.’ ‘I wonder if everyone thinks it’s worse for him.’ ‘Probably. But it really is worse for me.

We can still get up and go get ‘em. We’re just a little weighed down by wishes.

Today has been a trip. I woke up feeling like the strings of my mind had repaired themselves—it’s just that I questioned the material they used to do so.

The sentences came. The gravity wasn’t too much. I was able to absorb some things again (words, food) and not just let them hit me and slink into the gutter.

I felt an explosive burst of joy over a game announcement (PvZ2) that also tugged some relationship memories with along with it. It was a thing we did. It was a thing I taught you.

Before the show, a stranger stopped me, said I needed to take better care of myself, that my aura was darker than it usually is. Said he’s a good person, but like day and night.

Does she read my blog?

“You are what you love, not who loves you”… I heard Save Rock & Roll and that’s all I ever wanted. OK maybe would’ve been happiest if Elton made a cameo but

I might be putting too much faith in strangers but somehow they’re seeing me clearer than you are.

I made a list of things I didn’t really like about him. It was hard and it took a collaborative effort from my best friend. He’s a likable person. Ask anyone. Only two things on that list mattered, although I put them under the same #. The rest could be totally stupid.

He doesn’t have a favorite band. Nor does he have a favorite song.

This actually blows my mind. 

When I first asked him, and he didn’t know, didn’t even have a top five, I expressed disbelief. I had never known anyone who couldn’t answer this question. Even the douchebags I dated said something like Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones or this song they remember hearing repeated on the radio during a summer road trip. If I ever had a pickup line, “Top 5” was it.

“You’re making me feel bad,” he said.

(I wasn’t trying to.)

But right now, it’s the thing that makes me feel better.

I had a favorite song when I was 3 years old.”We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister. After that, “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper.

I work in live music, and it absolutely matters to me, but music is also a really, really personal thing to me. I can invoke all kinds of feelings and moods through songs. And I don’t think I’ve ever gotten through ANY kind of personal crisis without it. Even this breakup married me to all the verses of 99 Problems. You know the type loud as a motorbike but wouldn’t bust a grape in fruit fight.

I could write you pages and pages on the stories certain songs evoke. I could tell you what bands affected certain turning points in my life. I could summon color schemes and tears and nights that were all about that lifeguard stand and slurpees and hot cheetos. I can engage all my senses in a song.

So when I remembered that you didn’t have a favorite song, or favorite band… everything clicked. I wanted so badly to understand you. But that’s not going to happen.

I don’t have a casual relationship with music. I don’t sort of like a lot of things. I don’t want to just be AROUND it. I don’t want it to be a motive—if I meet people because of the music, OK—but the music comes first. I want to dig around until I find songs and albums that mean something, that get under my skin.

You’re non-commital. You spread yourself thin. You want to feel a little bit of everything that’s out there. OK. I wouldn’t want you to miss out.

I want things to hit me like a fist and explode into color and light. I want to experience things that make me shiver 2,000 words. I want to feel passion ignite and burn and when it dies I want to bury it in tiny graves and write its eulogy. I’ll give it a good outro song.

Maybe it’s a strange thing to make me feel better, but I feel like it has a lot to do with how we’ve lived our lives and how we expect to from here on out.

I will never be a song in your head. Not even if you had more feelings. And if even if you heard the songs in mine, you’d never understand.