There’s the thing you’re trying to accomplish and your myriad breakneck attempts to accomplish it.
Assuming you’re not a lazy asshole, primed only to shit on this earth to then ask why it stinks.
I’ve gotten ahead of myself. You, my sweet, are not an asshole. You, my sweet, are here with me.
Let’s talk about where here is. Here, being the place in which I find myself on the 15th of January 2017, a Sunday. I find myself in my boyfriend’s apartment. He has hiccups. It’s the body having a spasm. Sometimes, you need to spaz. I find myself toiling over what to say. What is the thing we’re trying to say to each other, you little clementine?
I’ve had a really good beginning of 2017. I think we can dream big this year. But bigger than the dreams would be the thing made manifest in the hours poured over and over preserving what’s good while generating what’s better.
I’ve got a lot of plates spinning. My hands in a lot of pots. Cultivating a lot of things in a garden of my own. A lot. A lot. An ocelot of activity, just chilling on the great big tree of life. That makes no sense, but this is where I am. Remember when we discussed where we are? It’s here.
I’m co-directing a potentially beautiful show (potential because we have to make the thing, remember the thing?) about the murder of Pearl Bryan. I’m in a staged reading of Lauren Gunderson’s The Taming with a bunch of kickass ladies. I booked a commercial and have an incredible callback tomorrow. I’m like dating dating this man and that’s taking up space and time and damn does he feel good. But this isn’t the point. The point is the where. It’s here. I’m writing. Writing because if you don’t pinpoint the spot, the place, and name it, did you even arrive here at all? Did you stay? Did you stay there, in the room?
Is it good?
I’m working, because can’t quit your day job, kids.
Here, being by being preoccupied, occupied, busy and juggling, you enter a nice space of presence. You’re there when you’re there, and then you clock out and move elsewhere. The things that require your brain, the full focus of you, collect benign neglect. Later, there is later, is when you manifest the images and scenes you let gather and grow gray. The gray is not a commentary on the neglect; it is a commentary on the passage of time. Time is not bad. Time is the thing that makes us grow. At the end of each day, you walk into the space where you find your safe spot. The warm spot. The spot that grows and burns. It’s there. It’s always been there. This is your sweet thing, and you decompress.
Here, the busyness is the tool and the agent for more life. Blessing–more life. Tony Kushner knows it. We are zealous for life. As a zealot we exhaust ourselves for the thing we love. More life. Running with a fierce heart, pounding until it bursts. This is how we expand. And we rest, in the present, letting the occupation wash over and around and into our cells.
I didn’t want to say an awful lot today. I feel good. January is kind of incredible in its own way. It’s brought us here. Let’s live.
I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you soon.