Last night I spent a while cutting up a heavy yellow melon called “kandy” that was some kind of hybrid between a honeydew and a cantaloupe and something else. I was trying not to waste too much melon while I cut off the tough skin. It was sweet and somehow acidic, like pineapple. Later that night I had strange dreams with lots of responsibility. I can only attribute those dreams to the kandy melon. I woke up with a splitting headache and the urge to clean out my closet. I sold some clothes at a bougie secondhand store except they “had to pass today” on two dresses. Tonight, I hope my sister is having a great time at her high school dance. She said they were playing “Dynamite” by Taio Cruz and it’s funny to me how things are still the same in a lot of ways. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll have the same thoughts as today. That nothing can surprise me lately. Huh, more cynical and sad than usual, and then there is a surprising breeze that rattles my blinds. [Here in Los Angeles autumn is just an afterthought. And then suddenly its a mild winter.] But back to tomorrow. Maybe P and I will walk a mile to the farmer’s market. Maybe, if we wake up on time and everything else runs on time. Time promises us a lot. It’s hard to believe that promise: that things will change, or that they won’t, or that things will be better, or they won’t, or that time will heal everything and wipe out everything and someday mean nothing to nobody. The more I stay an adult the more I feel the cyclical pull of the generations and their patterns. The universe and its patterns. Do I sense myself joining the wheel? Will I become someone foreign to me? On the day after tomorrow temperatures are supposed to drop. Elsewhere, everything will be ending. I think I’ll feel the same, but I am frustrated at the idea. I am distrustful of time even though it is the most constant thing. Or is it change? Or is it evil? For a moment I think hard about the idea of ubiquitous evil. My florescent lightbulb flickers in the hallway next to the kitchen and I hear a maniacal dog barking outside in the warm night and feel my thighs and there are a number of bug bites and then consider opening the fridge to eat more of that melon. I think I’ll do that. The cold will chill my upper right teeth, like they did the day before.
Tag Archives: Los Angeles
(Feb. 2025) Mixing Bowl
(I) I like watching people reconnect in public. I just saw two dudes go in for an awkward hug. Now one of them is using his hands too much and the other one is toying with his rings behind his back. Behind them there is a posh dog of an unidentifiable breed. The dog has squat legs and a stubby tail. Behind them is a girl with legwarmers apologizing to her friend for being an hour late. It’s sunny outside and I’m having a cappuccino.
But what else? Eggs are so expensive now. I acquired a nice loaf of crusty bread to make toast with. I might splurge and have an egg with it. I’m eating a great salad very messily. My parking meter is probably almost out, but Silver Lake is nice on this late winter day.
It’s the big mixing bowl says E. She means to say “melting pot,” but I hold on to the idea. I don’t know about America, but the universe itself is probably a big bowl. Or like, a rock tumbler full of sludge. Or a glass of water. Did you see that the 2024 YR Asteroid is now very unlikely to hit us?
(II) Now I am at a public library in Orange County. There is lots of natural light coming through the windows, but the day still passes slowly in here. I love a table with multiple strangers. I love that libraries have their own magazine subscriptions. I sifted through the secondhand book stands and got a Debussy cd and a Natalie Imbruglia cd. I saw high schoolers with cute keychains on their bags and started to need a walk in the sun.
Now “Torn” is stuck in my head and I’m almost out of iced tea. The leaves twitch on the trees outside. I feel sleepy and alone. I think about the unanswered (but much appreciated) letters on my desk. I think about how I have thousands of photos in the “cloud” somewhere that I probably will never look at again. I think about humor, and how it’s never really the same twice. I think about how all I really want to do with my life right now is make lists of things. Now the sun is going down and the lights inside feel brighter and the ice has melted in my tea and a man picks up a magazine off the shelf, and he’s nodding and reading it cover to cover.
End of January 2023: On the Interior
So it’s another year of end-of-month posts! I am choosing to break from my pattern of titling each monthly post with a gerund, so maybe these posts will make even less sense. There are no rules this year. Who knows what will happen!?
Right now I am thinking about the future and watching the squirrels run across the power line outside my north-facing window. Usually there are two of them, chasing each other up and down the big tree. Sometimes I stare out the window until they show up. I wonder if they can see me.
January was a long month for me. I am reading Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse again. It’s one of my favorite books and feels especially appropriate this time of year. Maybe it’s something about the coldness of the prose or the way that time moves throughout the book. Woolf also knows exactly how to write about introspection and the interior lives of people. That really resonates with me. I think she is such a genius. Few books make me think as hard about the human condition as that one.
What else? Here is a list for you: I have been saying yes to doing things with friends. I have been watching a bunch of movies. I have been drinking a bunch of orange juice. I have been writing letters. I have been trying to observe the moon. I have been walking a lot. I have been sleeping strangely and logging my dreams. I have been drinking two cups of coffee a day. I have been stressed. I have been hopeful! I have been.
End-of-Month | webzine and blog 