I breath. I do push-ups. I drive all over the Valley running errands. I'm holding it in. Distracting myself with errands for Sunday's production. I walk the dog. I give away a burning man ticket to a good friend. I'm asked for advice and I give it. I pay attention, which allows me to help my neighbor locate her lost friend (she was talking on the cell phone when I passed her walking the dog). I try not to think. I try not to freak out. About budgets. About life. I fail.
I look at my todo list. I eat home made cobbler and talk with a good friend. We both have fucked up relationships, fucked up lives we're managing. Not that the advice we give each other makes much a difference. We live our lives. We're both somewhat successful by normal standards, but not enough for either of us. We're ambitious I guess.
I search book titles on Amazon. I read about chemicals on Wikipedia. I've taken a sudden interest in psychology. Today's research obsession was passive-aggressiveness. I'm reading about topics I never gave one thought about. I was amused for hours by this site. One person once tried to tell me I was passive aggressive. She was wrong, I'm not passive at all. I made a decision when I was about 7 that I would never be passive.
I compose blog posts in my head; that I will probably never write. At least not this year. I have blog posts in my head from 15 years ago. Someday I'll tell those stories. (Someday I'll weave the one where I wasn't fucking the startup founder into one of these posts.) All this shit is material for the writer, I remind myself. Looking for the gems I can take with me. But living has lost its luster.
I listen to Steely Dan. I vacillate about Burning Man. I sleep. That's about the only thing I look forward to these days. The morning always brings my favorite coffee. Then it's back to breathing. Inhale. Exhale.
Chopping wood, carrying water.