Monday, November 27, 2006

one question, not so gently asked


It's taken a long time for the question to actually reach me. I know.

The question first flickered across my thoughts on that last, grasping day, when I saw the fence torn down by the weight of a thousand untended sweet peas and the old battleground reclaimed by a once-lost army of weeds. I had made assumptions here - assumptions about seasons yet to trade this eggplant for that pepper; for a different tomato trellis; for running beans up the walls and painting and rethinking the herbs a bit. I had made assumptions about a lot of other things, too; I had lost myself in a tangle of them. Assumptions had replaced my dreaming.

What do you want?

In trying to remember the last time I really, really knew, the years slip through my hands like flour. I was on a stage in Napa, high out of my mind on the standing ovation spread out in front of me. The love of an audience is a hell of a drug - once you've felt it wash over you, you'll do anything - crazy things - to get another fix. So I did. I went to L.A., goddamn me. But I never saw an audience again - at least, never clasped hand-to-hand, grinning madly, makeup gleaming with sweat and light and the whooping affection of hundreds of onlookers.

The first time I produced a project, I got a little bit of that back. It wasn't much, but it was enough. And I was needed. Like baby birds, they couldn't manage without me. It wasn't a thundering theater, but it was genuine and it was real and it was intense. The project itself was a silly, blood-soaked horror film shot surrepetitously on campus; our shooting hours were roughly 1 to 4 AM, and it dragged on for weeks. But I was good at it. So I did it again, and again, and again, and when I graduated it got bigger. And all the time, I got involved with too many people who were more than happy to fulfill my desire to be The Thing Holding It All Together. I wonder how many people ever got to meet the girl under all that project-moving torque. I wonder how many people even really wanted to.

And then it all blew up in my face, as these things tend to do.

And I stared at that garden of stupid assumptions, swathed in cobweb and bulletholed with bugs.

And now, there's the first person who's just in it for me. He doesn't need me to move his mountains; he enjoys the process of moving them himself, with me to cheer and bring cookies. He loves me with a generosity and thoughtfulness that aren't in any way contingent upon my usefulness. I don't have to want what he wants and bleed myself into it to make it grow. He doesn't want that from me.

So - what do you want, Annette?

I feel like I'm in gradeschool, looking at a set of cartoons in the Weekly Reader. Will I be a fireman? An astronaut? A horse trainer? A businesswoman? A feature producer? A diplomat?

Will I ever figure it out?

In the meantime, I'm going to hang herbs from the ceiling in this tall, tall place, dangling greenly in front of a big window that faces the great secret mountains to the north. The dream will settle into focus in time; until then, there will be little miracles of kitchening and the minor magicks of fresh basil leaves drifting over steaming, eggy seas.

Friday, November 17, 2006

workbook


Things I Want

- to develop to the point where I ride beautifully, with great skill and athleticism.
- to someday have a smallish house by the sea, with great big open spaces, big trees, and an eatin' garden
- to instill habits that ensure that I will age gracefully, and in vibrant health
- Definitely.
- to keep you.
- To grow a not-too-massive collection of art that satisfies me deeply, no matter what "real" collectors think of it.
- To grow my knowledge of wine into that of a full-fledged expert.
- To never, ever stop getting ahead of myself.

Things I Do Not Want

- To get trapped by stuff.
- A huge house.
- A status car.
- To ever feel beholden.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

moon in venus


This description of my wacky cusp sign takes, like, a vurrrrry long time to read, but it's quite startlingly accurate.

I've been thinking about stars, lately. My face has been tilted to the sun of late, my freedoms fully embraced and my worries tucked down into the shifting tides of perspective. It feels good to be here.

My dad came out to San Diego for a conference. Talking to him for five hours about just about every freakin' thing was exactly what I needed. I have a startlingly awesome dad.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Thursday, November 09, 2006

i'm a robot


Or, at least, Ima Robot makes me want to be. A dancebot. A wild dancebot in candy colours and no off switch.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

awesomest decision ever


So it's 6pm on October 31st, my most favouritest of holidays. The prospects are not good. Just parties - the same old parties. It's long since been decided that we aren't slogging it down to WeHo again.

So I'm sitting on the floor with my head rested on his lap, drawing in the carpet with my big toe.

"We aren't doing anything this year, huh?"

"I dunno."

Pause.

"How long does it take to get to Vegas?"

"At this time of day, with this traffic, about four hours."

"I can pack a bag in five minutes."

"I'll be ready in six and a half."

So then it was running and laughing and making faces at slot machines and sucking down a couple of gin and tonics to drum up the cajones to sport an extremely breezy beer-wench outfit watching everybody's eyes on the jaw-dropping man on my arm and discussing effective buffet-line strategy and probably waking up the entire wing of the hotel at roughly 4am.

Like, the best Halloween ever.