5 am: I wake up, shake off the worries introduced by last night’s dreams. Shuffle into the kitchen, feed permakitten Grace, begin to make my coffee. Wash out a bowl rather than the French press. Put the tea kettle in the fridge and the carton of half and half on the stove. Correct my errors, wait for the water to boil. Pour it into the press before realizing I’ve forgotten to spoon in coffee grounds.
I have a fuckload to do on this day but already can see its headline: Girl Needs Coffee to Make Coffee. Oy oy.
All in good time, lady. All in good time. Except: The holidays mandate a schedule that’s very much not my own. Deadlines, deadlines, and did I mention deadlines? It’s all so unfestive, really, with a nasty undercurrent of forced togetherness that never jibes with my nervous system.
A dis-ease pounds at my center, as it always does when I lack sufficient time to collect myself. I flash on sentences I wish I’d not said, things I wish I had not done. A mouth I wish I’d kissed again. Continue Reading →
I had this wonderful dream last night that Lupita Nyong’o and I decided to hole up together for the holidays, and she let her hair go gray but I still wouldn’t. Instead of debating it, we watched old Barbara Stanwyck movies and ate really big bowls of the best stew my dream brain could imagine and admired everyone else’s Christmas decorations from my window while nestling beneath layers of fur and velvet and drinking pots of tea. I can now attest to the fact that Lupita is fantastic downtime company, at least in my fevered unconscious. I think I seized upon her because she is in my extended friendship circle, is that rare star who doubles as an extraordinary actress (usually performers are one or the other), and is a genius self-starter who makes everything shine with integrity and beauty, which is something I aspire to do. Continue Reading →
Moon was void of course all day yesterday so naturally I arrived two hours early for the very long screening I had to attend on 42nd street. The good news is that flying off the beaten path is magical during these astrological downtimes. I wandered west and found a Catalan bar with a brilliant happy hour wine list and drank a pretty red while writing letters to people I love and eavesdropping on conversations in my favorite language. Ninety minutes later I emerged into the city’s splendor: velvet and gemstone night sky, high and low culture bumping shoulders, clattering high heels, the works. “Ah,” I said with no small amount of satisfaction. “This is where I live.”
5 am: I wake up, shake off the worries introduced by last night’s dreams. Shuffle into the kitchen, feed permakitten Grace, begin to make my coffee. Wash out a bowl rather than the French press. Put the tea kettle in the fridge and the carton of half and half on the stove. Correct my errors, wait for the water to boil. Pour it into the press before realizing I’ve forgotten to spoon in coffee grounds.
I had this wonderful dream last night that Lupita Nyong’o and I decided to hole up together for the holidays, and she let her hair go gray but I still wouldn’t. Instead of debating it, we watched old Barbara Stanwyck movies and ate really big bowls of the best stew my dream brain could imagine and admired everyone else’s Christmas decorations from my window while nestling beneath layers of fur and velvet and drinking pots of tea. I can now attest to the fact that Lupita is fantastic downtime company, at least in my fevered unconscious. I think I seized upon her because she is in my extended friendship circle, is that rare star who doubles as an extraordinary actress (usually performers are one or the other), and is a genius self-starter who makes everything shine with integrity and beauty, which is something I aspire to do. Continue Reading →
Moon was void of course all day yesterday so naturally I arrived two hours early for the very long screening I had to attend on 42nd street. The good news is that flying off the beaten path is magical during these astrological downtimes. I wandered west and found a Catalan bar with a brilliant happy hour wine list and drank a pretty red while writing letters to people I love and eavesdropping on conversations in my favorite language. Ninety minutes later I emerged into the city’s splendor: velvet and gemstone night sky, high and low culture bumping shoulders, clattering high heels, the works. “Ah,” I said with no small amount of satisfaction. “This is where I live.”