Man, I won’t say that yesterday totally sucked, but a great big bunch of it did.
I like to think it was the full moon because I refuse to think that my life just suddenly starts sucking for no reason.
I need the cause to be celestial and wholly beyond my control.
I am, of course, mad at myself because I got no writing done on Blessed By Light. Every time I looked at it yesterday, all I saw were the current pages that were not working and I felt completely incapable of understanding how to make them work. And so, after quite a few hours of that kind of frustration, I focused on something – and someone – else.
My good friend Iris in NYC has another new book out. This one titled, Shame. I prepared a Q &A with her to post here later this week, most likely. So at least I managed to do one thing productive yesterday.
Btw, Shame has just been short-listed by North of Oxford as one of their Top Reads for summer. Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that Iris writes poetry, flash and microfiction. And even though she is one of my closest friends, I am serious when I say that she is an incredible writer. And not just because she’s my friend.
I had a lot of chores I needed to do yesterday, but I put all of them off, thinking that I needed to focus on the novel. So by last evening, I was just really pissed off. No writing got done and no chores got done, either. All I’d done was studied Italian and watched episode 2 of Endeavor.
And that means that today I have to get out there this minute and run all the fucking errands that didn’t get done yesterday. And hopefully make headway in the novel today.
So I’m gonna scoot now, gang. But I will likely post again later this evening, when (I hope) my mind clears and my frustration subsides.
We’ll see if folks in London post to Instagram tonight. Honestly, it looks like only 2 people posted from Birmingham on Monday night, so this might be the new trend. (I am of course talking about the Conversations with Nick Cave, if you’re new to the blog and thinking I’m out of my mind…) (I am out of my mind, but it has nothing to do with people in London or Birmingham and their Instagram habits…)
Meanwhile, have a great day. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. I will see ya later!
And not necessarily in that order. In fact, if 1 or 2 of those things is going on, I don’t need rum at all!
I am, of course, just kidding – I don’t need the lash, either. (We’re certainly hoping, however, that the sparkle and allure of that 3rd thing goes on forever!)
Yes. Indeedy…
Seriously. I am, of course, actually referring to that incredible Pogues album from 1985, Rum, Sodomy & the Lash.
(And YES!!!!! Most non-NYC-area, non Irish-Americans do not know who the Pogues were, who Shane MacGowan is, nor have they ever heard of that incredible album!!! America beyond the boundaries of NYC can be such a strange place.)
Anyway.
Even though it isn’t my favorite song on the album (mostly because Shane MacGowan didn’t write it), the Pogues still did an incredible version of “Dirty Old Town” that, for some inexplicable reason, I suddenly needed to listen to about 75 times yesterday – really loudly, while going really fast in the car.
I had a really weird day. I didn’t teach piano yesterday because the guy went on vacation. The day was just sort of mine, but I was extremely tired. Just exhausted from stuff that was on my mind and I was trying really hard not to let it get me down, you know?
It was a very humid day. Extremely overcast all day, but not too hot. Just sort of oppressively grey.
Yet Muskingum County looks incredible in all sorts of weather. Even with an oppressively grey sky, the pastures, dotted with cows, still look intensely green. And the thousands of green trees everywhere. The green hillsides surrounding everything for as far as the eye can see. There are ponds here and there, dotted with ducks and cranes and sometimes even with swans! And now the crops are coming in everywhere – corn, mostly – so all the fields in the valleys are green now, too.
Just getting out on that highway, up hills, down hills, twisty-turny, and then sometimes just really, really straight so that you can see clear to Coshocton County, too; just getting out on that highway becomes entrancing to me. And there’s nothing here that you can really call “traffic.” You really can just soar.
My heart was going through some shit yesterday. Even though my life couldn’t be better – actually, I’m happier right now than I’ve ever been. And if I can resist the temptation to wish that everything in my past had gone differently, I can’t complain about anything whatsoever.
Even so, I still have those yearnings, those desires that keep me wanting to evolve into something more, you know? Yesterday was one of those days. I was longing for evolution.
Even though I couldn’t be farther from living in a “dirty old town,” the song, the specific way the Pogues do it, was just really helping me feel shit. Just feel it and then get sort of entranced by everything I felt, and then, finally move past it. And I wound up having a really wonderful evening. Everything inside me eventually shifted.
Plus, for a few hours in the evening, the weather also shifted. It became sunny.
I sat at my kitchen table and watched the first episode of season 6 of Endeavor. It was really good. So fucking good. Those British guys can just act the heck out of themselves, you know? So fun to watch all that intensity. And the writing is just really, really good. There were only 2 lines of dialogue, right at the very end, that sort of jumped out as strictly “exposition,” but otherwise, the writing is incredible. So well-paced. It does everything it’s supposed to do; you hate this one, you’re disappointed in that one; you wonder wow, what’s up with her? and you know you’re going to find out before the season’s over. That kind of stuff, woven so nicely into the plot and you’re always, always, always rooting for Endeavor. Needing him to come out on top. Just great writing.
There are 3 more episodes left. I will probably watch them all this week. And then, I guess, wait another year before I watch TV again. (I find this kind of insane – that I don’t watch any TV anymore and I hadn’t even realized it had been a year. But, honestly, I just don’t have time or room in my brain these days to commit to television.)
Even though I was still really tired by evening, I was in the best mood. I just laid on my bed and listened to all the quiet outside my windows. Birds singing, an occasional car. That was it. The sun stayed out until past 9:30. It was so cool to just lie there and not do a single darn thing except be alive.
I’ve decided that I really love that new Springsteen song, “Hello Sunshine.” It really, really suits where my life is at these days. “Sunshine” of course, for me, being the return of the muse.
There are a handful of songs on the new album that I like, but “Hello Sunshine” is my favorite. So I streamed that a million times, while the sun went down and it started to rain.
And I was thinking about how albums like The Wild, The Innocent & the E Street Shuffle, or Darkness on the Edge of Town, and Born in the USA just blew me away and solidify certain eras of my life for me. From a long time ago, obviously. I liked Born to Run, too, but it was released while I was still in the mental hospital so it has some shaky memories for me.
In fact, when I was released from the mental hospital, a boy I had become friendly with in there, who had been released before I had, came over to see me to give me that album as a gift. He said, “You’re really gonna love this album, Marilyn.”
And he was right, I did. And it was such an unexpected and wonderful gift. But it still was a shaky time for me. I don’t think I found my footing, post-mental hospital, until I was about 25. (10 years later.)
Last night, though, as I was listening to “Hello Sunshine” and thinking how it’s been a long time since an entire Springsteen album could blow me away; I suddenly remembered that boy who’d given me Born to Run. We became really good friends for a couple of years, until we graduated high school, went off to our respective colleges and never saw each other again. (I stayed in college for about 14 seconds before dashing off to find my life instead.)
Anyway, last evening, I suddenly remembered how, when we were about 17, that boy was really, really frustrated with still being a virgin and he thought that if he weren’t a virgin, he could get more dates with girls. I’m not entirely sure what the thinking behind that was, but it is what he believed. And, of course, me being me – exceptionally cavalier about the state of virginity – I said, “Oh I can take care of that for you, if you want.”
He was absolutely stupefied. I mean, we had never even kissed or anything. We were just friends. But I was serious. To me, it was an absolute no-brainer. It would only take a few minutes, really. Technically. I wasn’t saying, “let’s have a date, ” or “let’s make love.” I was only talking about doing that one specific thing. So we did it! We went off to my room. Did it. And he was really happy. And then we went out and rode our bikes.
Too funny. However. What I also remembered last night, was that I did have a boyfriend at that time. A serious boyfriend, too. We were in love. He lived in West Virginia though, and I didn’t get to see him all the time. But we were definitely in love – wore rings and such.
When he found out what I’d done, he was so mad at me: “Why did you do that, Marilyn??!!”
And I was astounded that he got mad. I had considered myself strictly as a problem-solver in that whole “lose the virginity” thing and could not understand why my boyfriend had gotten so mad at me.
Last night, it really made me laugh – remembering all that. It had been, literally, 40 years since I’d thought about any of that stuff. It’s amazing what I just presume people will put up with from me.
Anyhow. While I was listening to “Hello Sunshine,” I was also remembering that song “I’m On Fire” from Born in the USA and how much I used to just fucking love that song. I just loved it. And I had kind of forgotten all about it. So I’m gonna leave you with that one today.
But before, I do, I just wanna mention that people in Birmingham, England are apparently way more law-abiding than I would have guessed. There were not that many photos posted to Instagram from the Conversation Nick Cave had there last night. And at the very start of the evening, someone posted a photo to Instagram showing a sign at the front of theater, that stated how you weren’t allowed to record any of the Conversation, including with your phone.
I guess most people took that seriously, as odd as that seems in this day & age. There were a couple photos of the theater itself, before the show started. It looked like a really cool place. But I can’t say a whole lot more than that, except that perhaps two people did post photos and said they really loved it. But that was all.
Okay. I’m in such a better space today, gang. So I’m going to make use of that and get some writing done here. I did absolutely none yesterday. I’m thinking that I might even finish Blessed By Light this week. So I’m off.
Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting. I love you, guys. See ya!
“I’m On Fire”
Hey, little girl, is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?
And can he do to you the things that I do? Oh, no
I can take you higher
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull
And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Those Welsh people don’t bandy that word “God” about too easily. They seem to prefer words like “man” and “myth.” Which, of course, still means that everyone in Wales loved the Conversation with Nick Cave that took place there last night. Even people who were as “far away as they could possibly be,” seat-wise, said that it was an incredible night.
Yes – same suit, or 1 in 1700 that look exactly the same . This is clearly a “conversation” suit.
My favorite Instagram photo of Nick Cave to come out of the weekend, though, was not from the concert, but taken at a service station somewhere with Paul Weller. I don’t know where they were, I only know that it was black & white there. Or maybe it was just the photo that was black & white… Anyway, I love that photo and I wish that I could somehow get it off my phone and onto my wall.
Yesterday was a really, really good day, gang. Some good news came in over the phone. Unfortunately it was business-related stuff that I can’t blog about yet. But I just felt so happy all day. It has to do with one of my plays and one of my TV pilot projects. I will, of course, keep you posted.
I did indeed chat on the phone with Peitor for a few hours yesterday, too. Not work-related, however. We won’t resume working on the scripts until next Saturday. Just lots of “life” going on there in his world. Some of which I didn’t even know about. It’s so interesting how you can know someone really well – I would say that Peitor is my closest friend – and still not know a whole lot about what might be going on in his head.
Of course, he is a man who always manages to keep things under control. He never leaps to emotional weirdness, like some people we know (who live alone in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of haughty yet beautiful cats). He’s always perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, perfectly been-at-the-gym every day, perfectly gone -off-to-the-meditation-place where they have those tranquil-sounding ringing bowls ; just always perfectly perfect.
So even if he’s disturbed about something, he’s perfectly calm and well-groomed about it.
I, on the other hand, leave grooming to those days when I think I might actually see somebody, you know? (I’m exaggerating, of course; I’m stupefyingly vain.) But my “emotional” stuff – wow, right? You usually don’t have to wonder if something might be bothering me, or if there “might be” something on my mind. You can’t accuse me of being passive-aggressive, either, that’s for sure. I’m not gonna tell you one thing and secretly harbor a totally different feeling.
But one thing I really, really value about Peitor is how even-keel he is, emotionally. It helps keep me centered; it grounds me. Even though most of the stuff I go through I keep to myself, sometimes, when I feel like I’m going to explode, usually from exasperated confusion over the entire human race, I’ll text him:
ME: r u someplace where u cn talk right this second?!!!!
HIM (usually): yes
ME: [punching numbers on my phone]
(phone rings)
HIM: “Hello, Marilyn.”
ME: [great big bunch of indescribably intense emotional gobbledygook weirdness]
HIM (talking very, very, VERY calmly): “You sound angry.”
I just love shit like that because it stops me in my tracks. It completely derails whatever outburst is going on in me.
Anyway. Yesterday was nothing like that. It was a good day. It truly was, on all fronts.
It’s a quiet, rainy Sunday morning here. I woke up in another one of those erotic euphoria things again — it has been several days since that has happened, so it was really nice. And I hope it’s gonna just set the whole tone for my day around here.
It is, of course, Father’s Day. Here’s a photo I love:
This is, of course, Tom Petty in socks & PJs, playing a harmonica. I don’t know which daughter this is. (He had 2, kind of far apart in ages, and then later in his life, when he re-married in his 50s, he adopted a son named Dylan.)
And here’s a photo closer to home, though from a very, very long time ago:
The photo has no date, but I’m guessing it’s my 3rd birthday, which means my dad is 33 here and that it’s 1963. (My adoptive dad.) That’s our first house in Cleveland.
Okay, the church bells are ringing right now outside my window, which means that Sunday morning is really getting started here in Crazeysburg.
As the picture way at the top indicates, I am doing laundry here right now and I’m gonna go finish all that up, get more coffee and get the day underway!! I am getting dangerously close to actually finishing Blessed By Light, gang. Hard to believe. But then I have to seriously hit the ground running with revisions on the play.
Thanks for visiting. I hope you have a blessed and beautiful Sunday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with one of my all-time favorite songs, gang. Truly. Just one of my favorites. I hope they play it at my funeral really loudly and that everybody is happy about lives well-lived. (It’s one of those songs that makes me think very fondly of Gus Van Sant Sr although it was a favorite song long before I met him.) Okay. I love you guys! See ya!
“Begin the Beguine”
When they begin the beguine
It brings back the sound of music so tender
It brings back a night of tropical splendor
It brings back a memory ever green
I’m with you once more under the stars
And down by the shore an orchestra’s playing
And even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the beguine
To live it again is past all endeavor
Except when that tune clutches my heart
And there we are, swearing to love forever
And promising never, never to part
What moments divine, what rapture serene
Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted
And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean
So don’t let them begin the beguine
Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember
Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember
When they begin the beguine
Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, please make them play
Till the stars that were there before return above you
Till you whisper to me once more, “Darling, I love you”
Then we suddenly know what heaven we’re in
When they begin the, begin the, begin the beguine
When they begin the, begin the, begin the beguine
When they begin the beguine
The Conversations with Nick Cave resume tomorrow. This time in Wales. I have never personally known a Welsh person to post anything whatsoever to Instagram, but that might only be because I don’t personally know any Welsh people. We’ll find out, though!
I saw this morning that he’s added some more shows in England (?) and in the Scandinavian corner of things. (I think this was only because someone suddenly realized there were a few days on his calendar where he was not working. And so they had to fix that.) (That guy never stops working, gang.)
But the really good news is that ALL of his Northern American concert dates have now sold out!
And, NO, it’s not because I personally wrote to every single person who lives in each of those cities, begging them to buy a ticket. Even I have better things to do with my time than that. Plus it quickly became apparent that I didn’t have enough money to buy all that postage and so the lady at the post office turned me and all my many handwritten letters away.
Anyway. Back to the local weather…
It is really sunny here this morning, gang. But oddly enough, it is only 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Quite chilly! I slept with all the windows closed, all over the house. And that felt very weird because it’s June. But I’m guessing that once July & August get here, and the house boils over with heat & humidity, this wonderful chilly morning in June will suddenly seem lots more appealing.
And now back to musicians who never stop working…
I saw some current footage on Instagram last night of Bob Dylan talking about the Rolling Thunder Review (this is being promoted everywhere because Scorsese did some sort of documentary about the 100th Anniversary of that famous concert tour. Yes, 100 years agotoday, Bob Dylan launched his Rolling Thunder Review tour!)
Or 45 years ago, or something like that. I don’t know. I was never a fan of the Rolling Thunder Review tour. Even though I love Bob Dylan. (And I did love Scorsese’s other documentary on Dylan from about 15 years ago. That one was really, really good.)
My point, though, is that, wow, Bob Dylan got old. I mean, I do know that he’s in his mid-70s now, but on the wall in front of my desk, I have tons of photos of Dylan from 1965-66, and so I’m really accustomed to him still looking like that. But, au contraire. Instead, he looks like he’s in his mid-70s… in a big way. (I mean, I actually thought to myself: holy shit.)
Another old-timer, though not quite as old, but who looks ASTONISHINGLY good — Bruce Springsteen has a new album out as of midnight last night. Western Stars. I pre-odered it a long time ago, and they’ve been dropping songs for it along the way, but I have not yet listened to the whole album because I’ve only been awake for, like, I don’t know- 2 hours? And god knows I needed to ponder Nick Cave’s touring schedule first.
I am, of course, just kidding. I spend time journaling after breakfast now, trying to “fix” myself. I am broken in many places.
No, actually, I am only broken in one place, but it affects so many different areas of my life, my consciousness. And you know, every time I fix something broken about myself, I soon realize: no, the problem runs a lot deeper than that. Fix this other, deeper thing.
I’m now, you know, using a deep-diver’s oxygen tank, that’s how deep it’s running now.
But in all seriousness, I am just so fucking sick of it. I know what my problem is. I have figured it out: I think erroneous, horrible things about myself because that’s what I was taught to think, a long time ago. I know how to fix that, for real: just stop thinking certain ways and think other ways instead. Problem solved.
But thought-habits are like an addiction. They can be hard to break, but only because I’m so accustomed to thinking a certain way about myself and I can just be already way deep into it before I realize, Fuck, I’ve done it again! You know? And by then, it is harder to pull myself up out of it. It’s a lot “easier” to do the mental work right away and stop it the moment I see it happening: Don’t go down that street, Marilyn. Just don’t do it. Go this way, instead.
It’s just constant mental work.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t affect my other work. I guess because a very long time ago, I learned how to identify myself through my work, my writing, and to value myself that way. Psychologically, that’s not really the healthiest thing to do but it kept me from killing myself. I could at least find a place that was part of me that had value. So overall, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it – to identify too closely with my work. It kept me alive when nothing else did.
But now, you know. I can’t let work just be a giant band-aid anymore. Plus, it’s gotten to the point where I don’t want “them” to win. I don’t want to end up a suicide even if I somehow manage to do brilliant work before then. It’s not good enough.
I used to tell myself, “they did their best; they were unhappy people and they didn’t really know better and they did their best.” But now I know for sure they didn’t come anywhere close to doing their best. And I also know now that they knew that. And so I feel less forgiving and more angry. (Because rape is also involved there and that is a seriously difficult thing to “get over.”)
But anger over forgiveness is probably good. It helps me stick up for myself. (Even though all of these dialogues just happen within me because most of my adoptive family – well there are only 2 people there that I even speak to anymore. I’ve gone back into the folds of my biological family. So all of this is just talking to myself.)
Anyway. Yes, that is how I spend my mornings – the very early part of it, after breakfast, after the cats have had their merry little feeding frenzy, when it’s just me and my wonderful new coffee cup that celebrates my never-ending use of the “f” word.
Okay, gang. I’m gonna get started here. Have a frisky, fantastic Friday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with this, one of the first singles from Springsteen’s new one, appropriately titled (for me, anyway) “Hello Sunshine”. I think it’s a lovely song, but that’s just me. Okay. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys! See ya!
“Hello Sunshine”
Had enough of heartbreak and pain
I had a little sweet spot for the rain
For the rain and skies of gray
Hello sunshine, won’t you stay
You know I always liked my walking shoes
But you can get a little too fond of the blues
You walk too far, you walk away
Hello sunshine, won’t you stay
You know I always loved a lonely town
Those empty streets, no one around
You fall in love with lonely, you end up that way
Hello sunshine, won’t you stay
You know I always liked that empty road
No place to be and miles to go
But miles to go is miles away
Hello sunshine, won’t you stay
And miles to go is miles away
Hello sunshine, won’t you stay
Hello sunshine, won’t you stay
Hello sunshine
If you went looking for that post from last night that had a photo of the night & the streetlight, etc., I moved that to Instagram. The photo is down there at the “Instagram” feed. (Unless you view these posts on your phone – I don’t know if the Instagram feed shows up on the phone layout.)
Anyway.
A new morning. I had a weird night.
I fought off the demons of depression and, by morning, I believe I won.
I’m one of those people who believes that all the probable realities of Life play out simultaneously and that we sort of “tune in” to one of those probabilities and then live it and call it our “life.” But that we can also sort of “tune in” to other probable versions of ourselves and the other probable choices we made and benefit from them while still being on our own unique conscious path.
(Yes, you’re right. These beliefs went over really well in Divinity School. I wasn’t even allowed to talk about them. You seriously had to tow the accepted Jesus line there & not deconstruct him in any way. Once, I lost 5 points in my final grade for my “Discipleship that Transforms” class (that I was getting a 4-point in) because the professor found out that, at that point in my life, I was attending a church that practiced gay marriages. And it wasn’t even an offbeat church, or anything. It was United Church of Christ, recognized the world over as an actual church. ) (I have since stopped attending all churches because it was painfully obvious I needed my own church and no one was going to give me one, mainly because they didn’t want me collecting any followers.) (I’m not sure Jesus wants that, either, but I’m not 100% clear on that.)
I digress. But I certainly don’t need to be the Lone Preacher, dressed in black, out there preaching weird shit to strangers and having people look at me funny.
I can wear any color I want and not preach anything at all, and get the same result.
Okay. I still digress.
Lately, I’ve been keeping a journal specifically for conversations with my Higher Self. (And now I’m laughing because that word “conversations” makes me think of God/Nick Cave, but it isn’t anything like that.) (And no, by that “slash” mark, I’m not suggesting that I now believe that God and Nick Cave are the same entity. Although I could probably have an indescribably successful church the world over if I did believe that, or pretended to, and then practiced it and took your money for allowing you to follow me.)
OKAY!! I yet again digress.
I have a few really deeply ingrained thought-habits that I really want to change. Things that have been a part of me since I was a little girl, having to do with feelings of worthlessness & futility; things instilled in me early on by my adoptive parents because, for the most part, they wanted me to disappear. They wanted a little girl (pictured above, btw) to fit a specific pattern that they’d had in mind and I was way left of center of that pattern, even at a really, really young age.
For a while, my adoptive dad tried to just go with it and let me be whoever I was (he eventually changed his mind about that and went through various phases of disowning me). I remember one afternoon, though, when I was about 12, my dad came into my bedroom just to see what I was up to.
HE: “How come you’re always holed up in your room like this? It’s summertime. You should go outside.”
ME: “I’m playing my guitar.”
And I was surrounded by stacks of paper – songs I had written – and he looked at one of them.
HE: “Did you write all of these?” He was just dumbfounded. After that, he let me just hang out, holed up in my room alone, to write & play my guitar. (And then he left us the following year…)
My adoptive family enjoyed certain types of music a lot. When I was first adopted, my dad was an accountant for Columbia Records and I grew up with so much music in the house but the family members, themselves, weren’t exactly musical. Whereas, music was everything to me. Literally. It was my heartbeat.
I sometimes believe that Elvis Presley is literally my heartbeat. Because when my birth mom was pregnant with me, she sat alone in her room and listened to Elvis Presley records all the time. She was 12 at this point.
I do believe that about Elvis and my heartbeat, on one level. But I also just believe I’m musical, in general.
My adoptive mother, on the other hand, was merciless when it came to my being different from what she was expecting or wanting. My childhood, up until I left home at 18, was pretty much all about living in terror and trying to figure out how to survive her.
I can’t go into all of that now but it is sufficient to say that it instilled in me an understanding of my “worthlessness” and the futility of my being here.
On intellectual levels, I don’t believe this. But on deep levels of my psyche, I do. And I’d like to not feel that way anymore. So I decided to keep a handwritten journal to see if my Inner Being – the true Essence of me, of the created physical me, regardless of any probable selves – could sort of talk to me and give me some sort of strategy for undoing all this damage.
The results have been kind of incredible. I won’t go into all of it on the blog, but the primary thing that has come to light for me, that became immediately empowering and has helped me redirect my own thinking about myself, is an understanding of my “birth self.” A version of me that is still inside me, that my adoptive family, for whatever convoluted reasons, tried to negate, deny, even to destroy.
And her name was Dory. My birth name. The name my birth mother gave me.
When I’m “journaling” I’m not consciously aware of what I’m writing. I only write about 3 or 4 pages each morning, but it just comes out and then when I read back over it, I am amazed by the words I’ve written there. And the primary advice from my Inner Being is for me to relate less to “Marilyn” and all that psychological baggage and to reconnect with the energy of Dory.
When I was created (meaning the moment I was conceived and before I was actually born), my mom was 12 and my dad was 14. “Dory” was created at that moment in time in a spirit of “wild youthful rebellion” (my mom) and “joy & adventure & fearlessness” (my dad). (I’m quoting from the journal.) Dory was created from, and still embodies, those energies.
As “Marilyn” those are the energies I tap into and create from – and I could see that this was true about my work, my writing, you know? It was so interesting.
The journal is not advising that I create a split-personality for myself or anything; just that I tap into that probable version of Dory who was not adopted and who stayed within the influence of the teenagers (my parents) that created me.
It has been just so interesting. When I find myself inching toward one of those thought-habits that I know is destructive to me, I stop and think, How would Dory react to this?
And the answer is always: She’d be full of wild, youthful rebellion and joy and adventure and fearlessness.
And, wow, does it change everything. Everything immediately looks & feels different; everything just feels so much more fun, too. You know, like: Just do it! It’s just life.
And everything inside me that usually wants to shut down, opens up instead.
All right. I gotta get to the bank because the lawn guys just texted and are arriving momentarily!! They seem to work harder and more effectively when they get paid!
Breakfast-listening music this morning was sweet. Thanks for visiting, gang. Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world. I love you guys. See ya!
“Everyday”
Everyday, it’s a-gettin’ closer
Goin’ faster than a roller coaster
Love like yours will surely come my way
A-hey, a-hey heyEveryday, it’s a-gettin’ faster
Everyone said, “Go ahead and ask her”
Love like yours will surely come my way
A-hey, a-hey heyEveryday seems a little longer
Every way, love’s a little stronger
Come what may, do you ever long for
True love from me?
Everyday, it’s a-gettin’ closer
Goin’ faster than a roller coaster
Love like yours will surely come my way
A-hey, a-hey hey
Everyday seems a little longer
Every way, love’s a little stronger
Come what may, do you ever long for
True love from me?
Everyday, it’s a-gettin’ closer
Goin’ faster than a roller coaster
Love like yours will surely come my way
A-hey, a-hey hey
Love like yours will surely come my way
All my little claims were staked and my lines were drawn and everyone stayed on their respective sides of them, and basically said, “Oops, sorry, Marilyn.”
So far so good. I only had to send off 3 letters. And writing letters is better. It gives me that time to really, really choose my words carefully. So that by the time a couple of the phone calls started to come in, all I had to do was “be nice.”
I was then able to focus on the always unwelcome fact that my current laptop is lurching into the sunset. (Yesterday was just one of those days on all fronts.)
Rather than hedge my bets, as I have sometimes done with laptops in the past, I decided to just get out in front of disaster and stop it from arriving and I ordered a new laptop yesterday, too.
(I’m one of those people who sometimes likes to see just how long I can go before the laptop completely implodes. I guess because I want to see just how much stress I can endure before my brains start springing out from the sides of my head – you know, when the laptop finally locks up for good and you can’t access anything and you’re in the middle of writing a novel or something and you neglected to put the file back into the dropbox or anywhere else where you can actually get at it ever again and so then you call The Boyfriend (if you have one of those in your life at that particular fleeting moment) and you shriek at him over the phone, loudly and in a wholly unattractive register, “My laptop just died!! What the FUCK am I gonna do??!! My novel is in there!!!” and then he, who is way too calm and maybe even just drinking a pleasant cup of coffee or something, says something stupidly calmly, like, “I’ve been telling you for weeks that you’d better get a new one.” Or some such scenario as that. I’m avoiding that this time.)
The heady days of my fearless youth, you know?
I’m still fearless when it comes to LOVE, baby, but in every other area of my life, I pretty much hedge my bets now.
Okay!
Yes, I did wake up in a really wonderful mood, even though I slept a little bit later than I would have preferred. The sun was already coming up and it enabled me to see myself quite clearly in the mirror when I got out of the bed. And my hair actually made me gasp.
I mean, it really looked that horrible; I gasped out loud. Like, what the hell? It seems to me that I had really great dreams last night. I really did. Vivid and beautiful and sort of flowing. And there was lots of music in the dreams, too. I was really happy in my dreams, and I don’t recall thrashing wildly about. So I’m not understanding the hair at all.
And I hate thinking (or in this case, knowing) that I look horrible because I am still vane (a lapsed narcissist, in fact; ready to rejoin the movement at a moment’s notice) and want to feel like a viable option to anyone, anywhere, regardless of the fact that I live alone now in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Peitor is still en route from somewhere to somewhere – I think he’s finally en route to Los Angeles from Manhattan. But he has been gone now for several weeks, so our usual Saturday-work-over-the-phone-on-the-video-scripts is not gonna happen, and so I am free to just wash my hair and work on the novel.
And it is a stunning day here, gang. Just amazingly beautiful (as I will be, too, once I tackle this hair).
I had no breakfast-listening music today, because I was in a sort of euphoria over just how lovely the morning was and I didn’t want any sounds around me but the birds singing. (And the quiet perk of the electric percolator, assuring me that the gentle thunder of the gods was on its way to me – to my delicate veins, my tenderly beating heart – momentarily. Meaning, you know – the coffee’s almost ready.)
But the music from last night… For some weird and inexplicable reason, the sole gas station here in the village, which usually has very expensive gas prices because we are captive here in the middle of nowhere; for some weird reason, they were giving away gas for cheap last night.
So I filled up the gas tank on the Honda Fit and then drove around the dark valley for a little while, and going not my customary 95 mph, but more like 50 mph, because in the pitch dark of the valley, there are scurrying animals galore.
And this is what I was listening to, really, really loudly.
I just love this song, gang. I love this whole album. (Oh, this is that album that also has that song “God is in the House,” on it – the very same song that people all over Europe this past month were using as a sort of metaphor for Nick Cave’s, well, Divine heritage? Is that the best way to say that he’s God and that God is he?) (PS: I was glad to see that both of his Conversations in NYC in September have finally sold out!)
Anyway. Thanks for visiting!! Have a terrific Saturday, wherever you are in the world. I love you guys. See ya!
“Oh My Lord”
I thought I’d take a walk today
It’s a mistake I sometimes make
My children lay asleep in bed
My wife lay wide-awake
I kissed her softly on the brow
I tried not to make a sound
But with stony eyes she looked at me
And gently squeezed my hand
Call it a premonition, call it a crazy vision
Call it intuition, something learned from mother
But when she looked up at me, I could clearly see
The Sword of Damocles hanging directly above her
Oh Lord Oh my Lord
Oh Lord
How have I offended thee?
Wrap your tender arms around me
Oh Lord Oh Lord
Oh My LordThey called at me through the fence
They were not making any sense
They claimed that I had lost the plot
Kept saying that I was not
The man I used to be
They held their babes aloft
Threw marsh mellows at the Security
And said that I’d grown soft
Call it intuition, call it a creeping suspicion,
But their words of derision meant they hardly knew me
For even I could see in the way they stared at me
The Spear of Destiny sticking right through me
Oh Lord Oh my lord
Oh Lord
How have I offended thee?
Wrap your tender arms round me
Oh Lord Oh lord
Oh My Lord
Now I’m at the hairdressers
People watch me as they move past
A guy wearing plastic antlers
Presses his bum against the glass
Now I’m down on my hands and knees
And it’s so fucking hot!
Someone cries, “What are you looking for?”
I scream, “The plot, the plot!”
I grab my telephone, I call my wife at home
She screams, “Leave us alone!” I say, “Hey, it’s only me”
The hairdresser with his scissors, he holds up the mirror
I look back and shiver; I can’t even believe what I can see
Be mindful of the prayers you send
Pray hard but pray with care
For the tears that you are crying now
Are just your answered prayers
The ladders of life that we scale merrily
Move mysteriously around
So that when you think you’re climbing up, man
In fact you’re climbing down
Into the hollows of glamour, where with spikes and hammer
With telescopic camera, they chose to turn the screw
Oh I hate them, Ma! Oh I hate them, Pa!
Oh I hate them all for what they went and done to you
Oh Lord Oh my Lord
Oh Lord
How have I offended thee?
Wrap your tender arms round me
Oh Lord Oh Lord
Oh My Lord
There’s a spot out on the highway where I can see all the way to Coshocton County when the sky is clear, and today was one of those days. The sky was just so blue. And all the hills and trees for miles and miles were so green. It was breathtaking. And it was only about 72 degrees Fahrenheit, no humidity at all.
I was driving home from giving that piano lesson. And I have to say, this new teaching stuff I’ve been studying is really just amazing.
The guy I’m teaching has no musical training whatsoever – never, none – but he was grasping so many basic concepts so quickly because I now have this new language for explaining stuff. It cuts right to the chase.
Toward the end of the lesson, I was talking about the black keys being half-steps, and then I pointed out how B & C are also a half-step, and I said, “Like in ‘Chopsticks’ – see?” And I played the beginning of “Chopsticks” and then hit a wrong note.
And he said, “That was wrong! What did you just play?”
And I showed him, and right away, he started trying to play “Chopsticks,” and even though he couldn’t find the right note to play, I could see his mind looking for that note – trying to hone in on where it could be and match the right key to the tone he was hearing in his head.
He was frustrated with himself, but I said, “No! This is exciting! You’re hearing the right note in your head. It’s in there and it wants to come out and you’re going to find that note. This means you’re musical!”
I don’t think he believed me, but I definitely saw it happening. I saw his mind working and I knew for sure that he had music inside of him. And it was exciting. Even just “Chopsticks.” Not everyone can hear the right notes inside themselves.
On a thoroughly unrelated topic, but equally exciting – almost.
I have a new Wrangler jeans jacket. And I just love it. It fits great and it is super soft. Already. Just so soft.
I was sitting out on my kitchen porch in my new little jacket because it was chilly out and this young woman I sort of know was coming over. She smokes so we hang out on my kitchen porch so that she can smoke.
She’s a really butch dyke kind of gal. She is definitely my type but she is way, way, way too young for me – over 20 years too young. I actually have no idea if she’s coming on to me these days, or what. But she’s chatting with me a lot more.
She asked me about the Writer’s Retreat thing in Italy and when that was happening, and I said, “Next year.” And she said, “Well, what is it that you’re doing later this year?”
And I said, “One of my plays – in New York.”
And she said, “I wanna go to New York. I want to see one of your plays. I’ve been saving my money. I wanna see what a hillbilly like you looks like when she’s in the big city.”
Hillbilly??!! Excuse me? I just said something like, ” Well, I’m sure it’ll be nice.” I still can’t quite figure out what’s going on there.
I was also wearing my aviator shades and she wanted to take my picture and I hate having my picture taken. I really, truly hate it. And I told her no. But she said, “Come on.”
I finally said that if she could make me look like a sex kitten and not a hillbilly, then she could take my picture. So she gets her phone out and, you know: click/delete, click/delete, click/delete, and on and on. And finally she said, “Oh this one’s good.”
I said, “Do I look like a sex kitten?”
She said, “No, you look like a biker.”
Jesus Christ. Go home. Smoke on your own fucking porch. But she is actually very personable and articulate. And she wanted to use my bathroom before she went home. So we went into my kitchen and I’d forgotten that I had been listening to T. Rex “Bang A Gong (Get It On)” – it was set on repeat on my little CD jukebox on my kitchen table. And it was still playing.
And she said, “What are you listening to?”
And I thought, Oh god, please don’t tell me that you have never, ever, ever, EVER even heard of this song.
But she had never, ever, ever, EVER even heard of that song.
And I said, “It was, like, the sexiest song to come out of 1971.” (She wasn’t born yet – not even close.)
And she wanted to know what the song was about but I said, “I’m not telling you. You’re way, way, way too young. ”
HER: “No, I wanna know what he’s saying.”
ME: “He’s talking about a girl who’s built like a car, with a hubcap diamond star halo.”
HER: “And that’s sexy? Really. ”
ME: “Yes, really. Go home.”
It was too funny. I felt 177 years old.
But after she left, and I went to teach the piano lesson, I put the CD on in my car and kept playing the song over & over. It’s quite hypnotic, and I actually hadn’t thought about the song in ages. It was only that mention of “Cosmic Dancer” at one of those Nick Cave Conversations in the Netherlands that made me think of it.
And I was listening to the lyrics and thinking how I never really understood that song at all. I still love it, but it kind of makes no sense whatsoever. And even though it is a sexy little song, if anyone who was even remotely interested in having sex with me for whatever reason, ever told me I was built like a car, with or without a hubcap diamond star halo, my answer would be no.
An unqualified no. Built like a car, indeed. It’s hard enough being a fucking hillbilly biker. Jesus Christ. (But a sexy song, nonetheless.)
Well you’re dirty and sweet
Clad in black
Don’t look back
And I love you
You’re dirty and sweet oh yeah
Well you’re slim and you’re weak
You’ve got the teeth
Of the Hydra upon you
You’re dirty sweet
And you’re my girl
Get It On
Bang a gong
Get It OnGet It On
Bang a gong
Get It On
Well you’re built like a car
You’ve got a hubcap
Diamond star halo
You’re built like a car
Oh yeah
You’re an untamed youth
That’s the truth
With your cloak full of eagles
You’re dirty sweet
And you’re my girl
Get It On
Bang a gong
Get It On
Get It On
Bang a gong
Get It On
Well you’re windy and wild
You’ve got the blues
In your shoes and your stockings
You’re windy and wild
Oh yeah
Well you’re built like a car
You’ve got a hubcap
Diamond star halo
You’re dirty sweet
And you’re my girl
Get It On
Bang a gong
Get It On
Get It On
Bang a gong
Get It On
Well you’re dirty and sweet
Clad in black
Don’t look back
And I love you
You’re dirty and sweet oh yeah
Well you dance when you walk
So let’s dance, take a chance
Understand me
You’re dirty sweet
And you’re my girl
Around 2am, the wind kicked up something fierce, so not only had it begun to rain again, but the wind was blowing rain in on my bed. Short of sleeping in some sort of adventurous, seafaring schooner, having rain blown in on me while I sleep is not my idea of a nice night.
So I got up and closed most of the windows again, and missed the morning bird songs and overslept again. Awoke at 6:30am to a bright, shiny bedroom.
And to two very intense texts on my phone.
Both texts had apparently been hanging there unanswered by the soundly-sleeping me for hours.
One was from Peitor. We had been texting before I went to sleep last night at around midnight, and I thought we were done texting and so I set down my phone and turned out the light. But it seems I was wrong. Because he texted something intense, unhappy and emotional (he’s in Italy right now, checking in on his elderly mother), and I left him hanging for over 6 hours! I felt terrible.
You know – lurch yourself from sleep, start typing: Oh god, I’m so sorry. I fell asleep!
And the other text was from a girlfriend that I am very close to and we had gotten into an intense conversation late last night, because (like Peitor) she is also going through some intense family stuff. And she looked so tired and so angry and so fed up last night, and I just wanted to fix that.
I try so hard not to tell people how to live or what to think or what to do. And I went through all that training in Divinity School on counseling people, and all of that, and I’ve counseled a lot of people. And I can be a remarkably effective counselor if I don’t actually know you and don’t have to get emotionally involved. I’m perfectly at ease with allowing you to find your own way in life and the “f” word does not come flying out of my mouth…
However. When it’s someone I actually know and care about, suddenly I can find myself saying things like: “You need to do such & such!!”, trying to tell her how to live her own life, in an escalating tone… because I am emotionally involved and I want my friends to be happy and I think that “being happy” means thinking the way I do.
Even though we ended it in a good place, I still felt bad about not giving her enough of her own space last night. And then her text was there from during the night, continuing some of her thoughts from the conversation and I had to force myself (not even out of bed yet) to not let my mind go to that place where I am trying to fix her life for her – even though I know full well she is not asking me to do that.
And even though I didn’t go as far as the “f” word last night, I still felt like I had. Because I truly prefer to allow people to be themselves, and to have their own thoughts and approaches to the world; and yet sometimes I don’t choose to actually do that. I jump in there and try to “re-script” them in a rather emphatic tone. And then I don’t feel very good about myself. I don’t want to simply paste my own perceptions of the world onto people, it dismisses the importance of how they feel about living their own lives.
And that was all, you know, before I even got out of bed this morning. I was still just lying there, under the cuddly blanket and my 1700-thread-count Italian cotton sheets, my head surrounded by all my soft expensive pillows – and I was staring at the phone, feeling like a terrible friend.
So I guess maybe it’s going to be an interesting day.
The Conversations with Nick Cave are on hiatus for a couple of weeks. Well, at least the Conversations that have an uppercase “C”. The conversations with a lowercase “c” that he will undoubtedly be having over the next couple of weeks are apparently private and his website is not revealing where he is planning to spend those evenings. This likely also means that no one will be posting photos of their lowercase “c” conversations with him to Instagram, so I will not be able to tell you what he is wearing. Or if any of those people he converses with in private call him God.
Yes, this means I will have to fixate on other things.
Like, for instance, my own life.
On Tuesday, I’m having lunch with the director of my play (Tell My Bones) so that I can discuss with him what Sandra said on the phone the other night. And move forward. Most likely at a pace I was not anticipating even a few weeks ago. We’ll see.
I still have some writing to do on that play. Revisions, I mean. But I’m waiting for rehearsals to start before I actually do that. And the pressure on me feels intense because the cart is officially before the horse now – meaning that a bunch of publicity about this play got “out there” in the world and on the Internet without me knowing it was going out there.
And now people all over the place are using my “award-winning script” as a way to try to drive up the value of Helen’s paintings.
When I first wrote the story about Helen, it was a TV movie script (and it is an award-wining script now and it did well in a lot of the top contests and at the Austin Film Festival). I was working for Gus Van Sant’s production company back then, working for his amazing dad, who was his business manager and who also managed Helen LaFrance’s career and that’s how I got exposed to her truly amazing paintings.
And I wanted to write about her specifically to expose more people to her incredible paintings. To her life. In my opinion, her paintings need to be hanging in everyone’s homes.
And so now, to find myself in this position where, you know, the play hasn’t even been mounted yet; you can’t actually go see it anywhere yet. And total strangers all over the world are taking it as a given that the play will be great and that it justifies their wanting to make more money off of Helen’s paintings right now…
It’s not a bad position to be in, but I am under a lot of pressure here.
Which is also why I want the novel finished and off my desk, because I need to focus on Tell My Bones, even though I love this novel and I’ve loved every moment I’ve spent writing it. I don’t really want to rush through it. But I also don’t want it being shoved to the back burner again. I had wanted it completed by Christmas and it is practically summer already.
So that’s that. My brain on a lovely Sunday morning. Still in my PJs and already way too stressed…
I hope that you’re having a super-duper Sunday, though, wherever you are in the world.
I leave you with this. I was actually listening to this song again yesterday, because I came across something I’d written several years ago – about how it had felt to be 12 and to love this song and to listen to it late in the night on a tinny transistor radio, after sneaking out of my house and just walking the dark suburban streets by myself, listening to the local AM hit radio station, thinking it really was going to be incredible – being a powerful woman in the world, living my dreams, making them happen… (I leave it to you to decide to what degree that has worked out for me.)
Anyway. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!
“I Am Woman”
I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back and pretend
‘Cause I’ve heard it all before
And I’ve been down there on the floor
No one’s ever going to keep me down again
Whoa, yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman
You can bend but never break me
‘Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I’ll come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
‘Cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul
Whoa, yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman
I am woman, watch me grow
See me standing toe-to-toe
As I spread my loving arms across the land
But I’m still an embryo
With a long, long way to go
Until I make my brother understand
Whoa, yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman
Oh, I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman
Yes, I overslept again. I am not sure why. I think it was because I got up in the middle of the night and closed most of the upstairs windows. It had gotten into the 50s (meaning, of course, the 1950s! And many a capella doo-wop groups had gathered down on the street below my window, making quite a racket!).
No, of course what I really mean, is the 50s Fahrenheit. It got chilly. So I closed the windows and apparently missed the daily wake-up call of the Muskingum County Bird Chorus and so slept straight through until 6:25am.
The sun was filling my glorious bedroom and I awoke totally blissed-out, gang. In no hurry whatsoever to get out of bed. Just totally digging cozy sheets & cuddly pillows and the wave of Eros that was all over me yet again.
However, get out of bed, I did. Cats were looming impatiently. Their opposable thumbs have still not arrived, even though I have Amazon Prime and they guaranteed 2-day shipping…
Yes. So. I had to get up, open cans of cat food and feed the cats. They don’t give a hoot about waves of Eros.
And so here I finally am and it is a beautiful morning out there today. And I feel terrific but, curiously, my brain feels mushy. It wishes me to go right back to bed and not do anything today!
However, that is so not gonna happen. I am going to dutifully work on Blessed By Light. I’m in a challenging segment of Chapter 22, where it is basically all about sex. But unlike all those earlier chapters, when these 2 did not really know each other yet, it was a lot easier to find ways to deal with the sex.
I say “deal with” because this whole novel is written in 2nd Person. And if you’re going to write a passage about having sex in the present-tense and in 2nd Person, this means that the guy has to talk all through the sex!
I need this section to be present-tense (meaning, he’s not referring to “the sex last night” or something like that, where he can talk about “what happened”) because things are getting extremely emotional for him. So it has to be “in the moment.” And even if he were a great orator like Billy Graham, you still don’t want him talking all through the sex!
Although, actually, no disrespect intended to the late Billy Graham, but I bet that would have been incredible – to be orated to by Billy Graham while having sex with him. He was quite the dynamo in that department (the orating, not the sex). (Although, perhaps he was really good in bed, too. I actually have no clue.) ( And when he was young – wow, he was certainly in earnest. All tall and magnetic. If you watch any of his really early TV appearances on Youtube, from like 1959 or 1960 or something like that. He definitely had an overpowering and charismatic way of honing in on what he was saying. I mean, plenty of people found God while listening to him, which would probably make for unbelievable sex.)
Well, anyway. I digress.
It is sufficient to say that I am being challenged by this segment of Chapter 22.
On an unrelated note…
Instagram made me so sick yesterday. I am so disgusted by this whole Tom Petty Trust/Estate thing. I really am. I know it isn’t actually any of my business, but just as a fan, he was always Tom Petty “AND THE HEARTBREAKERS.” Those men meant a lot to me, too. A lot. Even when he did solo records, or Mudcrutch records, there were “Heartbreakers” in there, too, along with tons of other really talented musicians & songwriters. He was never “alone.” And to try to erase these men now just disgusts me. Tom Petty put the lyric to the melody, for sure, but he always brought those songs in to everybody else to add to them and build on them and turn them into the hits they were. What is going on now just wreaks of greed and ego and narcissism and all that crap.
Anyway. I had to keep going onto Instagram yesterday, even though it was making me sick, because I needed to know what was going on in Sweden, for godssakes!! Where Nick Cave was having a Conversation!!
Man, the Swedes are big Instagram-posters. I mean, it’s like they had barely left their seats and they were already posting. Mostly in English, too. And in color – which, based solely on, you know, Ingmar Bergman or something like that, you’d have perhaps expected tons of artistic black & white. But no. Swedes apparently live in the here & now and know all about full color.
So that was cool.
The one thing that, of course, jumped right out at me was someone posting that “Nick Cave was in the house.” (And not the customary comment that “God was in the house.”)
Now, you’d think this meant that this particular Swede was breaking ranks and not calling Nick Cave “God.” Yet, if you ponder this more closely – as you know I did – what this Swede was really saying was diabolical indeed! Because he/she (I don’t recognize gender in Swedish names) was in fact saying that GOD HIMSELF has a new name, and it is Nick Cave.
So you can probably readily see now how this has jumped the track and is getting, well, blasphemous! Indeed!!
Too funny.
Anyway. Everyone seems to have really loved it, yet again!!
All right. I gotta get moving around here, gang. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from, well, breakfast. Since I was so blissed-out, I listened to one of my favorite “music to listen to while blissed-out” songs, over and over and over!! And that is, Simon & Garfunkel’s “Only Living Boy in New York,” from around 1970 or something like that. I was a wee bonny lass in Cleveland when it came out, I know that much for sure.
So have a blissed-out Saturday if you can, gang, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!
Well, the good news (sort of) is that my little cat, Daddycakes, hasn’t been gone for 2 months already; it’s only been six weeks. So that sort of made me feel better. Perhaps time isn’t flying quite as quickly as it had seemed yesterday.
The other good news is that the headache is completely gone, finally, and it’s not supposed to rain at all today. My brain feels totally back to normal.
I awoke, though, to the eerie sight of a dense fog covering everything outside my window – for as far as the eye could see. It was too cool. It was almost 4am. Huckleberry was sitting in the window across from my bed – she also seemed quite taken with the fog. One lone bird was already singing in our maple tree – and Huckleberry, being a cat and not an actual berry, was quite taken with that, too.
AND I had once again awakened horny as heck for some mysterious reason and so that, of course, excited me, too! Where is that coming from? I just don’t know!
AND there was already a text on my phone from Peitor! It was a photo of Mont Blanc. No, not the pen! The mountain! He’s in Switzerland and heading to Mont Blanc today.
I was, like – WTF? Two days ago, I had awoken to this photo on my phone (a lovely boat outside his window in that Airbnb on the English Channel):
Yesterday, he was finally leaving the UK and I had texted him some work-related stuff, and asked him if he was stopping in Manhattan on his way back to LA.
And instead he texts me from Switzerland today at 4am (my time).
ME (texting at 4am, my time): Wow! I didn’t know you were going to Switzerland!!
HIM (texting right back): I didn’t either but I am having the best time!
And then nothing more… Silence. No further pings arising from the phone.
So I guess we’ll find out eventually how he suddenly wound up in Switzerland, heading for Mont Blanc, when he should have been heading for LA.
(Methinks he was in a train station and, loathe to return to Los Angeles – a city he has lived & worked in for 25 years and which he pretty much despises – saw a train heading somewhere completely other than the airport and decided he liked that idea a lot better and so, answered that clarion call of “All Aboard!!!”… But we shall see.)
Even though I love their apartment in West Hollywood and would hate like hell to have to pay for an actual hotel in LA, I’ve been selfless enough to mention to him, you know, that if he hates LA so much now, he should move.
And he always replies with something along the lines of: “I know you’re really happy out in that old house in the middle of nowhere, Marilyn, where it’s so quiet and nobody bothers you and there are only about 3 cars during “rush hour” and your muses are flying all over your room all the time and you’re doing your best writing ever. I’m sure that’s all really nice and that Tell My Bones will win some sort of Pulitzer Prize. However. Some of us need to be near an airport.”
And of course he’s right about that. I’m near absolutely nothing. But I don’t mind getting into my little Honda Fit and just driving! (And driving and driving and driving… I’ve never done so much driving in my fucking life.)
And it never fails, when I go to the market and I stand there and I study my cart intently and I say to myself: Think, Marilyn, think! Have you got absolutely everything that you need for the week because God knows you can’t possibly leave your desk again for the next 8 days…
And I study and I study, and I look and I look, and I peruse very carefully the items in my cart and with brave assuredness, I think: Yes! I am ready to checkout!
And then I am on the highway, racing 95 mph toward home, when I almost always realize that I’ve forgotten something. And so, you know, I have to go without it for a week because I am not going back. I am not that kind of gal; I do not “go back.” Plus, it’s really far.
And in Manhattan, of course, there was never such a thing as “forgetting” something at the store because you walked right past the corner bodega 1700 times a day. If you “forget” something, you just go get it 13 seconds later.
Anyway. Okay.
People in Sweden are already posting to Instagram. Showing where they are dining before going off merrily to have a Conversation with Nick Cave! So that seems like a good sign! (Of what, I’m not sure really. It just seems sort of good, you know?)
And I am going to get started here because the very real reality of my life is that I need to finish writing this novel. I need to seriously do this and stop staring all the time. So I’m gonna get started on that business of stopping all the staring.
I let the cats choose the breakfast-listening music today and they unanimously chose “More News from Nowhere” from Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! I thought that was pretty cool. So I leave you with that today.
(Even though the lyrics are amazing and I know every wonderful word by heart, I’m not going to post the lyrics here because they go on and on and on and on and on, and would probably end up spilling over into someone else’s blog and I wouldn’t want to get everybody all upset. So.)
Have a great Friday, wherever you are in the world, gang. Thanks for visiting. I love you, guys. See ya!
Marilyn's Room 