Clogged Drain

Today I dragged myself out of bed and my Benadryl induced slumber to march to the store and buy some Liquid Plumber. You see, my bathtub is stopped up, and lately I've been showering in a pool of water. I pretend I'm in the tropics in an outdoor shower, rainwater gently collecting at my feet from a summer storm. But even that's worn off, and now I just feel white trash. So as I wait for the chemicals to do their magic, I can't help but think that this situation illustrates the state I've been in lately.

You see, I've had trouble writing. It's not for want of ideas. I have a ton lurking beneath the surface. It just seems that every morning I think to myself, 'tomorrow will be a great day to write.' Or I convince myself that the next trip I embark on will provide me with the space and motivation I need to write. But it doesn't, and the putrid cycle continues. It's like I'm clogged. Something inside me is preventing me from putting my ideas and characters and plots onto paper. Ok, that's passe... onto the computer screen.

Now I just have to figure out what's clogging me up, find the tools to dislodge it and then watch as my imagination gushes out. Man, this is one disgusting analogy. Truly horrific. But i think it can apply to other areas of life... love, career, health, spiritual growth. Not to sound new age, but we all need a little Liquid Plumber now and then to get us back on the right track, or as in my case, so we can take a much needed shower.

Something To Work On...

I've decided that with my birthday rapidly approaching I need to start working on my New Year's resolutions. This week's goal: patience. Why is it so hard? Why? Tell me someone! Quick!

Patience is one of the hardest things for me to master. I want what I want and I want it now. I've even begun to mark off days of the calendar. This is a true sign of not living in the moment, as if two intersecting black lines will make a future event come that much quicker. The worst part of impatience is that it's a gateway neurosis. It leads to nervousness which leads to anxiety which leads to frustration and then, often times, anger. And no one likes an angry female. Even Rosie the Riveter had a smile on her face.

So here's the plan when impatience rears its ugly head: stop, take three deep breaths and then find something to take my mind off it... preferably something pleasurable and/or relaxing. The John Adams miniseries worked particularly well this week. Thank you, HBO. There's nothing like period costumes and proper English to calm the mind.

The Wild Wild West

Back from Santa Fe with many more wild west adventures under
the belt. Wrote this on the plane:

"I dream of wild Huck Finn adventures,
Swallowed by the road.
Terminally restless,
Body young but the spirit old.
Longing to be free and follow every whim,
We swim in the desert soil
And plow the Rio Grande.
The mystery is in the adventure,
A new start everyday.

Aspens full of light and giant tents of stone,
Quiet, deserted churches and drying desert bones.
Red hot cacti blossoms catching the western wind,
Endless paths of magic becoming your truest friends.
They speak to me of lives not yet lived,
That I want to capture whole.
At times guilty for who I am,
I'm tormented and blessed by my wanderer's
soul."

Best Weekend Eva!!!

The title of this blog says it all. Nothing like an 80s party to get the creative juices flowing. I'd like to thank our muses Robert Palmer and Jem for supplying us with pure inspiration. This picture, taken by a delightful crackhead in downtown LA is priceless but not nearly as great as the pics from the roof with the neon "HOT" in the background from a skanky hotel with a few lettered lights out. I'd post them on this blog but then everyman in his right mind would want to stalk me and my friends. What can I say... Might as well face it... We're simply irresistible.

Oh, and if anyone wants or need a blowup guitar, I happen to have one sitting idle at my house.

The Pursuit of Happiness

Saw Eddie Vedder at the Wiltern in LA last night (3rd row seats thanks to dad's fanclub status!) after a 10 mile hike in the Palisades in 90 degree heat. Utterly awesome and inspiring. The reason I bring this up is because I've been trying hard lately to figure out exactly what makes me happy so that I can follow a strick diet of fun and contentment. This idea came to me after seeing the films "Into the Wild" and "Pursuit of Happyness" and an episode of Oprah with Eckhart Tolle (stifle the laughter, please.) All three had messages of following your bliss, freedom and living in the moment. And I concluded that if I'm going to live in the now, then that "now" better be an enjoyable one. After my weekend, I can now add nature, exercise, going the cinema and live music to my list. Those are obvious choices, but my weekend spent doing solely these things reinforced the idea.

Also added to my list is mochi and read bean cakes from Little Tokyo. Hell, I really don't care where they're from as long as they're fresh and in my mouth. Sipping tea also makes me happy. Coffee, as I've unfortunately come to realize, only makes me happy for a few hours, then it's acid reflux city limits. Eating out makes me happy as long as someone else is footing the bill, it's vegan or it's a bargain. Audience work for $8 an hour on "American Gladiators" does not make me happy, but cash under the table certainly does. Skydiving makes me happy, which is something I just did for the first time with the newly founded Bite the Bullet Club. Next stop for us, Mt. Whitney. That mountian (the highest in the lower 48 states) will make a woman outta me yet.

Temp work does not make me happy. Writing treatments, believe it or not, does. My family makes me happy. My friends make me happy. Large salads make me happy. Historical mini-series make me happy and my boyfriend taking the time out to research our trip to Santa Fe makes me almost giddy. These are all insights from the last week. Stay tuned for more and start to make a list of your own. The list part, really, is easy. It's adhering to it that's the hard part, but I'm doing all I can to follow in Supertramp and Mr. Gardner's footsteps... although I don't think my list includes the Alaskan wilderness without a map or sleeping in a subway bathroom.

"Freelancers' Guilt"

I'm coining a new phrase that should have self-help gurus rushing to their laptops to pen the next Oprah Book Club best seller. It's called "freelancers' guilt"...

I took a hike today up Runyon Canyon with an actress friend of mine. Here, in the middle of a work day when most of our friends and family were off slaving away in the office, we were soaking up sunshine, getting some exercise and stuffing our faces with Santa Fe Gardenburgers from Astro. You think an activity like this would make you happy. That it would relax you and simultaneously revive your spirit. But not these freaks. So we got to talking about this guilt you have as a freelancer working from job to job and often having tons of free time in between. It's as if you can't sit and enjoy yourself because you're always too busy anxiously thinking about the future.

As a writer, I feel like I have to be doing something proactive all hours of the day, and that a day spent simply enjoying myself will tip the scales of career karma and send me down a dark unemployed shaft from whence I'll never return. It's sick, isn't it? That's when it gets really bad because I start feeling guilty for feeling guilty. This is what I always wanted, right? So the fact that I'm not happy, or more appropriately, anxious and stressed out for no apparent reason, must mean I'm a bad person and deserve to never get another gig again. God, it's ugly.

So if anyone has any advice on how to relive the "freelancers' guilt" so that I can enjoy this time in my life and let the future take care of itself, please pass it on. Or, better yet, write a book about it, send it to Oprah and then have me as a special guest on one of the segments. I could really use the exposure...

Missing in Action

Haven't written in awhile because I've been holed up in Palo Alto feverishly working on one commercial treatment after another and loading up on "Law and Order: Criminal Intent" episodes and running in between bouts of rain. Tomorrow Jade and I make our way over the Grapevine and back to LA. We're starting to become deficient in vitamin D so it's definitely time for some Socal sun. And who knows, now that the strike is over, perhaps I will finally hook that agent that's going to make me a screenwriting star.

[Alert: Mom, if you're reading this stop now because you've asked not to know when this next event is going to occur... Seriously, stop reading.] One thing's for sure, in two weekends my ass will be jumping from a plane just like the old farts Nicholson and Freeman in "Bucket List," a film I washed down with bubbly at the drive-in on Valentine's Day. Watching them leap sent vomit signals to my stomach, but I sucked it up and kept my eye on the prize... a total adventure worth every ounce of anxiety and 200 hard earned dollars. Until then, I'm just going to keep reminding myself that life is about taking chances and chances are, you'll have one hell of a time.