Exodus Stage One, Part Deux

The Strand. Summer Kit.
Kiss me deeply. 

Date: 1.4.11
Location: Los Angeles

Ok, remember when I said; this is the last you will here from me? Well, that was just a litmus test. As in when, in the middle of a story, you say something like "and then a kitten laid a poached egg!" If someone says, "wait, what?", then you know people are listening.

(Not really. I really did intend to stop).

Apparently, there was some listening going on because I got a bit of "wait, what?", when I stopped and I'll be honest, I missed writing, so.... Nothing was really "over", I was just tired. There really is no stage one or stage two, there is just the exodus. However it may manifest itself.

I am a Favre-blogger.

Really sweet seagulls.

The days have slowed to a crawl. In the last two weeks, I noticed them getting a little slower but just within the last six or so, they have become laughingly slow. I'm not going to bed any later or getting up any earlier, but the time in-between has become seriously retarded. It's not something I have experienced before, and it's a bit unnerving.

Being more attentive, more present, is the only thing I can attribute to this. And add to that being in a place where I used to live, and all of those memories. It's like the Land of the Lost. In fact, that's a very good name for LA in general.

LA was a big circus for me back when I lived here from age 23 to 26. I lost 25 pounds, dyed my eyelashes, worked out for hours a day, played a hundred versions of not-me, and put my face out for any willing higher-up to spit upon, or caress, depending on the day.

The dangling carrots numbered in the thousands. Thankfully, I had the good sense to get out before it ruined me. And now, wanting nothing from it, needing nothing from it, I have a whole new perspective. A nice, slow, angst-free perspective.

I did visit my first apartment building, and it looks like a much nicer place to live, but the Burger King is still there that I remember driving to quite often drunk out of my mind. And this brings back many memories in and of itself, namely of being very fat after my trek out here. And of the guilt this town can lay on you.

My first seven nights were
spent here in 1995. 

And I also stopped at La Brea Motel, which is the motel in which I spent a very anxious week in when I first got here. It was, and is, a skanky hooker motel, and I remember feeling very alone inside of there. And of course, I remember drinking beer and eating that Burger King and feeling worse.

As I was leaving, I remembered a little bar I used to like to go too, because it was always full of people just like me and there was commiseration to be had, and it is still there. And it is still called the “Woods” except now they charge you $5 to park.

But inside it has not changed, and on my right there are three asians talking about I wonder if he will be the guy who you will say “ I knew him then” and on my left are two very hairy geeky guys with writers notepads and one of them is decribing to the other his latest thoughts on his screenplay, which he hasn’t started writing, but cant you imagine how cool of a movie that would be?

Mostly, I'm just giggling. And riding my bike.