on
Thursday
my hair is thriving (kind of). I go for a morning walk. There is a smattering of energy and curiosity available, the god-given, non-caffeinated kind. It must be the sun and the birdsong and everything! I text back replies to some people I left on read. How to explain that you meant to reply but that the effort of negotiating life and how to survive it had you stuck unwater, quite unable to move? Also, there are too many things in the way, like podcasts and new information
like the things that we are eating are killing us / natural disasters / gofundme’s / playlists/people who were here yesterday but are lost today / loved ones in crisis /people who are being killed/victimised/displaced/cheated/
losing their jobs to A.I. / leaving social media /
predators/gurus/influencers/ billionaires.
You have to weather everything. I begin every text with, Sorry about my delay, or Wow! Sorry, I just saw this!
On Thursday, I eat good things, and I think I eat enough. I sit down with my non-thoughts, my mantra and the low, reassuring buzz of the air conditioning unit. The meditation feels cleansing and active. Result!
When I am done, I delete Uber Eats, YouTube and other unnecessaries from my phone because I’m here for my new life, and it must be intentional! It could all be so simple. If.
Just for today, I’m willing and able. Today will be the first day of my new, urgent (but also slow & considered) healthy life!
…
Oh no. By nighttime, I’m climbing the walls. I feel like a trapped cat.
I’m a cat. I’m a Cat. I say into the dark. I’m not trapped, I’m not Trapped, I say, as though trying to convince some invisible nighttime caller. But I’m alone, and the caller is me. It’s like I cannot be satisfied. I’m searching for a feeling, but I don’t know what the feeling is. There is The Terrible threat of something lurking, something lethal. My phone buzzes. Jolts me out of things. My friend wants to go for a drink, which would be a kind of escape, wouldn’t it? I do another meditation thing, and in the end, feeling into my body, I say no, force some sleep
and finally,
thankfully, Black.
Friday.
Oh, the magical properties of sleep! I wake up wondering why I’ve ever feared anything in my whole life! It’s all doable. It’s all sparkling! The weekend is stretched out in front of me; a glistening silver lake with forked paths and an assortment of trees of varying heights & shades of green running alongside. There is so much possibility that I don’t know what to do with myself (but let’s not dwell on that, ok?!) I struggle through a strength workout—low, low energy. When I think about it, I didn’t have enough to eat yesterday, not nearly.
Still, onwards and upwards! Today my friend and I will drive around the city with no plan but to eat, talk, and share art. We’ve had the day planned for a week.
I sit down with a cup of tea,
and then I see the group chat.
Hurricane Hilary is coming in a day or so, says a friend. Be safe, everyone, ok???!!!! She has uploaded a moving CNN map of this sudden hurricane (or storm?) emerging without mercy. She is talking about torches and flashlights and power cuts. After doing some Google reading, it appears there will be some kind of flood or hurricane, and the place that I am staying (think a cute little beach house) is not set up for either of the above.
Biblical end-of-days verses from when I was a kid arrive in my mind intrusively and begin to weigh heavy on the morning. I think about Noah, Revalation, the Ark, and God’s jealous anger.
My friend and I cancel our plans. He’s going out to stock his kitchen and get wood for his windows. All very safe, very sensible and measured. I book a flight to New Mexico. An extreme measure, some might say.
Well, baby, I never promised you anything else.
I fly to Albuquerque the very same day. Touch down at 11 pm. Sit in a bar around midnight, people-watching. I meet a twenty-six-year-old doorman/MMA fighter there who tells me more about the place. He was born and raised on a ranch. He says he lived in LA for a short time, but it was too large and loud.
“Ever ridden a horse?” he wants to know. I say no. He shakes his head. “Oh, girl, you gotta change that,” he says.
It’s already Saturday. The bell rings for last orders. We walk out to the parking lot. Outside the bar we just left, a fight is breaking out. He regards the scene, poised for action, but then the fight fizzles out.
I walk back with him until we reach my hotel, and we split off, but not before he does one of those soul-searching looks that pretty twenty-six-year-olds are wont to throw around. I don’t blame him. I was the same, I think.
I wake up in the morning to see that he has already found me on Instagram and has sent a DM telling me there was yet another fight later and that he’s glad I got safely back to the hotel. Also, he wants to see me again. I tell him no can do; I’m hitting the road in an hour, heading north to Taos. He tells me his people are there and to be sure to go to the Hot Springs and the Pueblo. Wishes me well.
Make sure you come back, he says.
Saturday
I have no real plan in mind. Time to get in touch with this guy J.R. who was my assigned driver for a show I was filming out here before the strike. We got on well and still message each other with pictures and updates. J.R. always says things like, if you’re ever in town…
So, I’m in town! I text. Sorry about the short notice!
No problem! says J.R. Welcome!!!
Thankfully he’s free, so we drive the two-and-a-half hours to Taos. We get coffee and drive and talk about life and drive some more. J.R. is the only person that can quote the bible or recovery speak throughout a conversation without making it strange or alienating. It is dare-I-say, soothing. We chat some more about his family and mine. I’m surprised to remember every little one of his family details from before. Makes me wonder how much I’m holding up there and how best to use it. How. Best. To. Use. It.
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