Sometimes I go looking for myself wondering where I’ve been. This time? Giving in to the whim of my many distractions. Parking lot drinks, lost in thoughts, little adventures I’ll keep for myself. Another month dances on by and OUCH, the year creeps up on its halfway mark. I want to say, “hold on! slow down! i’m looking for someone and i can’t leave without her!” but the world does not stop?!? The teller at the bank has been working on his Spanish and he smiles so big, or, el sonrie tan grande. A teeny yellow bird hovers outside my window on the 101. It’s almost time to check in for my flight to Florida. How dare time march on when I haven’t yet done All of the Things™️? I MUST DO ALL OF THE THINGS™️.
One new bit I’ve learned though is that LA is home to a phenomenon called May Gray. I abandoned my Environmental Science degree track in 2007 so I won’t pretend that I understand why—something about a stagnant upper atmosphere—but it means exactly what you think it means: it’s gray outside. Not a dynamic gray where you might wonder if you’ll get a summer storm later, only a flat, thick shroud of blahhh. Some days it burns off by the afternoon and turns my mood on a dime, some days it’s relentless through nightfall. Honestly? It’s annoying and I’m easily resentful, but nonetheless, it’s a comforting reminder that there is no such thing as endless summer. If the sky gets stuck then who am I to always be moving???
And even so, projects progress even as I skim a dozen half-written poems and avert my eyes from the stacks of unread books. I CANNOT SEE YOU OVER THE SOUNDS OF MY TELEVISION SET! I HAVE A SUBWOOFER! SHHHHH! I’VE ONLY SEEN THIS EPISODE OF 30 ROCK 30 TIMES! And even so, I meet with my friends and we talk shop and write outlines and make plans. And even so, when I get sullen and wonder if there is a place for my art, they remind me, “YES, BITCH.” There is no such thing as endless summer, but there is a such thing as letting your friends talk you into yourself again.
I’m not quite ready to spill what’s coming next, but straight from the slew of half-written poems is a little bit of where I’ve been:
Where have I been? Mistaking my coatrack for a man / Cackling to the Slap Chop infomercial at 4am / Googling “how expensive face laser” / Asking myself to be honest with myself / Sitting in my parked car / Tearing up over hummingbirds / Tearing up over Pete & Pete being best friends in real life / Tearing up over the timing of it all / Looking in the rearview / Adding everything to a breakfast burrito and ordering a second mimosa / Asking if this joke is a story or a joke, or if the story is a joke / Admiring the dusk / Recharging my vibrator / Googling “longer lasting vibrator” / Side-eyeing my coatrack / Screaming “NOT POLITICAL??? IN THIS CLIMATE???” into the Hinge app / Pulling tarot cards / Cursing tarot cards / Singing along to Hey Jealousy at the airport bar / On a plane to somewhere / Crossing a bridge in more ways than one / Taking one too many hits / Listening to a friend, hand on my heart / Falling asleep / Saying goodbye / Pulling a muscle in clown class / Remembering my first boyfriend and how he died of an overdose and how I was sad but maybe not sad enough / Putting off work to go on a hike / Googling “who sing guitar man song” / Doing the dishes to Guitar Man by Bread / Wondering about it all / Romanticizing it all / Looking at my butt in the mirror / Letting go / Asking myself to come home to myself again.
And because one of my whims brought me to Waxahatchee last night, right on time for my southern return (different from my saturn return, which will not happen again until I’m almost **chokes** 60):
”And my compass is an antique, but if I’m not back soon, don’t come looking for me.”