I feel far from myself. And I know why. I’m not in my creative work routine. I often wonder if the secret to success is as easy as having a routine. A few factors are contributing to this distraction. Year-end duties like figuring out new car insurance, health insurance, possibly moving to a new place. But I know I can always write and post something, even if it’s a few lines. I get caught up in thinking it needs to be something really awesome to be worth posting. But maybe the mundane is the most interesting stuff we can offer each other in the blogosphere. So, my mundane:
–I’m considering moving out of my apartment. I’ve been here 5 years and it’s time for a change. But I keep running up against memories. Just now making chicken on my George Foreman grill, I remembered agonizing if I should get the grill with removable plates or not. It was $20 more, but would be so much easier to clean. Which got me thinking about how much I’ve changed in the five years I’ve lived here. I moved in poor as a pauper, $20 might have been $2000. I’ve gone through a lot here–breakups, hookups, surgery, dance parties, Koreatown Cabarets, tears and fighting, first kisses and last goodbyes. I have done a LOT of writing here. I wrote a novel here for fuck’s sake. I’m an eyelash away from leaving, but that also means leaving that all behind. Which I don’t feel totally ready to do.
–This year has been a rollercoaster for the creative projects. Had my series Johnny and the Scams picked up by a big studio, then dropped when the executive left the company. I started a new vlog and finished writing a thriller feature and co-writing an hour long pilot. Yet I feel totally unsatisfied. Soooooooooooooo many stories in my mind, battling to be told. Yeah, that many “o’s” on the “so.”
–I’ve started volunteering with WriteGirl, a rad non-profit that does creative writing programs for teen girls. I’ve been working with the in-schools part of the program, and every Tuesday we go to a girl’s academy in south LA and do poetry, journaling, goal-setting, this sort of thing with the girls. I’m endlessly humbled, especially with how smart and talented the girls are. Some of them write prolifically. I remember being that age, feeling like I had more emotions than I could possibly express.
–I feel like I don’t want to party anymore. I turn to wine and other mind alterers when I’m not writing. Because I wish I was writing so much I need to blast all thoughts out of me. So why don’t I just write? Bukowski, Hemingway, any ideas?
–I might get a kitten!
Those are a few mundanes things of my current life. Hope it slightly intrigued you, if just in a mundane way. Good bye.
My blog has become a tad too serious lately, so now I’m going to write about the penis plant in my yard and fake cleaning my room.
Last fall, a succulent in my front yard sprouted a huge appendage. It seemed to appear suddenly, several feet long, though it must have grown over time. The succulent was already impressive, elegant and jurassic, waist-high and a vibrant shade of green. The appendage (what else do I call it? a branch? an arm? frankly, it looks like a penis) grew perfectly erect at first, with a curve at the top. Over the months, it begin sag over my chain-link fence, taunting passersby, an obscene tongue protruding from an alien mouth.
I got swept up in the 12/21/12 solstice/Mayan/end of the world hoopla, and had fun imagining the appendage speaking to me on 12/21, that it sprouted with the purpose of guiding me through doomsday. I’ve saw other plants like this around Koreatown, and someone told me these plants bloom only once in their lifetime, then die. How tragic! How romantic! Week by week, I watched it get bigger, then it began to blossom little white flowers. I realized I was able to track the plant’s progress because this was the longest I’d stayed at my house, in Los Angeles, in America, in probably 5 or 6 years. I’ve been an international travel junkie. It’s easy to feel cool to yourself if you can say you’re soon traveling to Brazil, are in Brazil, or just got back from Brazil. Especially if your life at home is high-anxiety and high-stress.
Now, the monster in my yard is in full bloom, and weighed down with flowers. It’s so beautiful, and knowing it will soon die forever, makes me emotional, and makes me wonder what I’ll do with the carcass. I’ve come to embrace my lil plot o’ land here in Koreatown. Noisy, dirty, cramped Koreatown. I’ve got a yard and a huge penis plant and they’re mine to take care of, my few square feet of the earth to make beautiful.
The plant blooming made me realize the change of season, and so I got inspired to spring clean my room. Beth came over for dinner, I put on a fancy dress, and she took the below photo of my “clean” room, and a photo of the truth: I just stuffed everything into my closet. Because I’d rather write than clean. And because if there’s one good thing about being an adult, it’s that no one can make you clean your room.