Thanksgiving

Things I'm grateful for in no particular order:
1. My friends, Christi, Lori, Mark, Nicole, David, Chris, the people who check in with me on a daily/ weekly basis and actually listen to the answer when they ask "How are you doing?"
2. Family that doesn't drive me absolutely bonkers. I listen to some people's tales of woe when it comes to parents/siblings/step-family and I know that I am lucky to be surrounded by regular joes.
3. My health.
4. My house that I pay mortgage on and love and when I lie in bed at night and hear its creaks as it settles and contracts from the days heat, I feel it is telling me its secrets.
5. The education I'm getting at USC and with that have come amazing, giving mentors and teachers....Holly Prado, Syd Field and Donald Freed among them, with a special nod to Diane Wakoski who does not teach at USC but was introduced to me by Holly Prado.
6. My cats, who keep me amused on a daily basis.
7. The universal "wow" which recently has been answering my questions and giving me little gifts of opportunity.
8. The job interview I had on Monday that confirmed that I am on the right path, whether or not I get the position.
9. The writers' group that I share with Nicole. It continually allows me to push the creative envelope.
10. Finally, Carl......no explanation needed.

Just so y'all don't worry

Thanks to folks who read my blog and emailed me directly the last few days. Just a short note to let you know that I'm okay, just getting old and you'll probably be seeing me on Metamucil ads in the near future! (Family: please note that although I expect no end of *&(!@ in response to my admitting that I'm aging, I would be pleasantly surprised if it didn't happen.....hint, hint....tough week...take it easy on me.)

Thanks, Mom, for passing along your "redundant colon" and here's to less red meat, no cheese, no potato chips, no fried food, more fiber, blah, blah, blah.....

Things I Know

I can tell you that the Tarot Fool lives his life moment by moment but his right foot is poised over a precipice. I can tell you that the moon was full today at 4:58 p.m. PST at 23 degrees Taurus. I can tell you that Uranus came out of its retrograde and now is ready to create sudden waves in Pisces waters. I can tell you which corner of your home needs to be feng shui'd for money and what color ribbon to hang your healing crystal from and the length of that ribbon and the corner and the outcome. I can read your palm and tell you how many lives you'll follow in this lifetime. I can tell you to keep your drains covered and your toilet seats closed or money will escape with the water. I can tell you a straight beats a set in Texas Hold'em. I can tell you which "English" to use on the cue ball in order to make that side pocket bank shot.

I can't tell you my cholesterol level. I can't tell you my white cell blood count. I can't tell you what the doctor is looking for in the CEA blood test. I can guess.

How many times do we wish on a star or an eyelash. Today I found a worn penny and picked it up. It was gritty from the sidewalk, from being lost too long. I picked it up, but not without first checking whether it was heads up or tails up -- the Irish in me ignores the tails up penny, the Scottish in me sometimes wins and picks it up anyway. Today I noted the face on the coin and picked it up, glad to have a talisman.

I can't tell you exactly why I haven't been able to move without pain for 3 days. I can guess. On Thursday, the doctor will let me know. Today Uranus, planet of sudden destruction went direct in my sixth house of health and daily living. I can't tell you what that means yet. Today the doctor asked me whether I know what my family cancer history was, I told her I wasn't sure, that, "I don't know much about -"
"Your health?" she finished for me.

Diverticulitis

Back when I was 22 I had my appendix taken out. Now the funny thing was (not funny haha) that my appendix was fine - other than the stool that was in it (I know, gross). The fact was that I had diverticulitis. I've had a couple of episodes with this nasty little chronic problem and the last two days have been fairly miserable. There are a lot of reasons why it strikes, too much red meat, too much cheese, not enough fiber and today I found out that the fact that I smoke is a strike against me as well. So today, I'm going to try to begin the process of quitting.

In the meantime, I suppose the fact that I can't move without serious pain in my left lower abdomen is probably enough reason to call a doctor. I hate going to the doctor (big news, so does everyone else I suppose). I hate being sick and I hate being put on antibiotics but there again, I suppose most people would agree with me on that issue as well. So you might find me missing in action for a while. (Not that you'll notice with my track record!) See you all again real soon.

Feng Shui

I had to do it. My office was set up so my back was to the door, I was facing an empty wall and had been thinking of putting a mirror on the wall above my desk so I could see the door behind me. Bad feng shui, never put a mirror on the wall above your desk, something about refracting the energy of your work. So today Carl and I completely rearranged the office. I am in the northwest corner facing south east (which according to my lucky star number is where I should face, by the way, I'm not just making this s#&t up). The couch is now on the wall where my desk was, oh, and the poster advertising Ilford films that features Carl's photography and his picture and quote from him on the bottom left hand corner that I had framed for one of his birthdays is now back on the wall above the couch (I had moved it because I didn't like staring at it while I worked) and I just found out that that is the "fame" wall. So, duh, it's back where it belongs. The money corner has a red bag with money from several countries, Canada, Ireland, Poland and Czech Republic. Oh, and my desk is now in the learning/self-discovery corner so it's all good.

I know this all may sound frou-frou, new agey but I swear to god sitting here typing away I feel in control and more creative, the room looks pretty (not to mention dust free - cough, wheez) and I feel like friends could actually hang out with me here and talk. So much was accomplished today even if I didn't go for my usual hike in the hills. Today the office, tomorrow the junky drawers and a mirror for above the stove in the kitchen (which supposedly everyone should do no matter where your stove is, something about reflecting abundance).

Samhain

Today, November 1, is Samhain and marks the new Celtic year. Last night was in effect "new year's eve". From sundown on All Hallow's Eve until sundown on the Day of the Dead, the veil between this world and the next is thin. Let go of the old, embrace the new. Life is reborn at dusk.

Ghosts, Forgiveness and All Hallow's Eve

Today, appropriately enough, I am thinking about ghosts. I went to a poetry reading at Beyond Baroque last night. Several poets read from a recently published anthology edited by Gloria Vando and Philip Miller called Chance of a Ghost and all of the pieces have to do with ghosts or hauntings. It was put out by Helicon Nine Editions and its proceeds go to The Writers Place, a non-profit literary community in Kansas City. This book has an incredible collection of writing and truly all of the readers last night did a great job.

The point though is that, of course, it did get me thinking about ghosts. Yesterday afternoon, I watched the movie Magnolia for the first time and so on my way to Venice, I was thinking about forgiveness. So now, the two subjects are linked in my mind. What is forgivable, have I completely forgiven myself for past transgressions and is there anyone out there from whom I should seek forgiveness? In the meantime, I think about actual ghosts who have haunted me in a home that saw the end of my first marriage.

I suppose the first ghost that comes to mind is the man in brown wing tip shoes who held me when I was sick with the flu shortly after my marriage ended. He wore wool pants and stayed with me for two weeks until one morning I woke up and felt, for the first time in several days, healthy. He left me that morning and I haven't seen him since. I wonder about him sometimes, wonder if he was always a caregiver or if, in tending to me, he was working off some karmic debt. In any event, I'm glad he was there and was not afraid of his presence.

The second ghost is, of course, Dean. A man I lived with in 2000 who died while he was here. I found him. He was too young to go and the interesting thing is that when someone dies of no "apparent" cause, the coroner takes over where the police left off in the interrogation process. Probably more information than should be shared here but I think I'm working toward something. He died of alcohol abuse. He was literally hours from his 32 birthday. Dean haunted me for five years and then I put together a chapbook of poetry, dedicated to his memory, and I haven't seen or heard from him since. Perhaps he knew in the culmination of that project that there was forgiveness and could move on. Perhaps he sensed that I had finally forgiven myself. There is a great line in one of the poems by Cathy Colman called Sex Ghost that was read, not by the poet because she was too ill to attend, but by her best friend, Elena Karina Byrne (a wonderful poet as well) that goes:

The questions://do I want time to move faster so that the pain might decrease?//Or more slowly, so that I will be closer to the instant you still took breath?

I asked those questions for a long time. Then I met Carl. All time began to move forward and it moved without pain. Now my only ghost is the muse I meet at 4 a.m. in moments of insomnia. Which brings me to Elena's poem called The Mask of Insomnia. It's about those wee hours and the spirit that takes over when we are alone in our thoughts. Brilliantly written, it begins with an epigraph that goes: There are two gates of Sleep...but deceptive are the visions the Underworld sends that way to the light. --Virgil 893. The last several stanzas are:

Look at you: you are inside--
out, all eyes, wide-awake

with the precise ticking heart
in your ankles, strung-out on words, brought in
on the one underwater wave of the refrigerator noise.
The windows look back lightless in disapproval.

You can't predict the clacking of the teacups
coming from all the clocks
or the church smell of your own skin. Prolonging
sleep, the clairvoyant stranger
you have invited to stay, cleans house.

The night is young. Yes, You can invent more
ways to be afraid than this.

And perhaps that is all these ghosts are, inventions of fear so that we can avoid thoughts of our own mortality and the tick, tick, tick of time passing and the Autumn days that now bring darkness with the dinner hour. Happy Halloween everyone and tomorrow All Soul's Day/The Day of the Dead brings a new Scorpio moon, sign of secrets and underworld marked by a new lunar cycle, a way to start fresh. Forgive yourself, forgive your ghosts and move forward in your reality, it will all be vapor soon enough.

Poetry Readings

Yesterday I went to a poetry reading by Steve Goldman at the Abbott Kinney branch of the Venice Public Library. If you've never heard of Stephen Goldman, there's a reason why. He just had his first book of poetry published at 66. Stephen has been a tireless supporter of poetry in the Los Angeles area and has set up, promoted and run poetry readings in the Venice area for years. He's originally from Brooklyn and he's one of dose rough and tumble gruff guys complete wid da accent but with a twist, he has a vocabulary like he has swallowed on OED which catches you off guard and makes you smile at your own inane assumptions. The book by Steve Goldman has been published by Sybaritic Press and is called The Canon of the Lone Ranger (A Hymn in Dysfunction; An American Life; and The Autobiography of Just About Everybody) and its pieces are humorous and poignant and well, just great. I congratulate Steve for his book and for giving an entertaining reading yesterday afternoon.

Tonight I'll be going to a Halloween Party given at Beyond Baroque and featuring some of my favorite local poets, Eloise Klein Healy, Cathy Colman and Elena Karina Byrnes among others. I love poetry readings. I love the play with words and the poet's ability to coax an emotion up to the base of my throat and with one final twist of an image pull it out of me in a gasp.

Checking In

A friend of mine called this morning because although we generally try to get together every week, we hadn't touched base for awhile. She told me that she said to herself "gee I haven't heard from Sam in awhile, I'll just check her blog to see what's up with her" Of course, not much has been added since I saw her two weeks ago so she gave me a call. Now this friend would have called anyway, but I find it interesting that she went to my blog first. Which brings up another point, one of my blogger acquaintances emailed me the other day to say (and I paraphrase), "haven't seen you post for awhile, you must have written two screenplays and a novel by now". I emailed him back and gave him a quick synopsis of what I've been up to. He didn't reply. So was he just being sarcastic with his suggestion that I've been creatively tied up? I guess so.

Anyway, for those of you who don't call or email, here's what I've been up to: (1) the first two weeks of October were occupied with workshopping my full poetry manuscript. It was well-received although I have some re-ordering of the pieces to do and am working on re-titling the sections. I'd like to be done with a close to final draft by December. It is not due until next spring so I will have the ability to work in any stuff I write between now and March or not depending on whether I write anything of import between now and then. (Import, of course, being a relative term.) (2) I had a friend from Canada come to stay with me and to show her a good time, I roped her into the 48 hour film contest that I participated in this last weekend. It was one of those contests where they email you with a line (that you must use word for word), a character, a prop and a genre. Our line was "Where on earth is your faith?", our character was Chris Wiffle, a DJ, our prop was a boat and our genre was action/adventure. I co-wrote the script with David Kopp. Chris Miller directed and, of course, Carl shot it. My Canadian friend, Sarah, was our script supervisor, keeping track of shots and which take we wanted to use (key to quick editing on Sunday). We shot it on Saturday, I was 1st AD on the set. Chris and David (who also starred in it) got it edited Sunday night and sent it off Monday. I haven't seen the final film yet but am looking forward to it. (3) I have revised and honed the first 30 pages of my screenplay and am now writing up 3X5 cards for Act 2. (4) I am in the process of writing a short that I'd like to shoot in December and have completed by the new year.

In the meantime, I've been going to my poetry workshop (Tuesdays) and screenplay class (Wednesdays) and running my writers' group (Thursdays).

Now, I know that you all have equally busy lives and somehow manage to blog on a daily basis and I applaud your tenacity. I sometimes feel sitting in my little back room that I am a bit hermit like and therefore my life is just not as interesting as one would think a writer's should be. I guess that's why there are sometimes gaps in time between posts....not apologizing, just explaining. Thanks for the calls and emails. You keep me aware there is a whole wide world out there.

Naked Man Dance

A little story about my husband that took place shortly after he moved in (before we were married)...

One Sunday morning I was in the yard inspecting the recent bougainvillea trimming done by a new yard man. Carl was in the shower.

Now, if you're not a southwestern native or have never been there, let me describe a bougainvillea bush. They start out small and pretty, medium sized green leaves, red or orange or purple or white blossoms that appear year round. Two drawbacks to the lovely bougainvillea...(1) it is essentially a well evolved weed which means it grows like a son of a buck; and (2) its lovely, forever sprouting branches have one to one and a half-inch slender thorns to protect the bush and to help it climb and entwine any structure. Back to the story...

So I'm walking around barefoot in my jammies when I step on one of the slender branches that was missed by the rake. One-inch thorn goes deep into the ball of my foot. Suffice it to say I let out a scream that would have made Hitchcock proud and proceed to hop to the cement patio/veranda and sit on the edge, still yelping, to survey the damage. Behind me I hear Carl's voice "Baby are you alright?" I continue to yell..."Baby, come in the house, are you okay? Come in the house..." I continue to whimper. "Baby, what's wrong..." Carl is now a few feet behind me. I continue to whimper "Ow, Ow, Ow!" trying to pull three inch thorn from foot (well, it felt like it had grown!) Carl is now frantically pulling at my shoulder trying to get me to get up and come into house....."Baby, I'm naked." I look up behind me at Carl, who is doing a naked man dance (moving back and forth from one foot to the other, glancing over his shoulder at the neighbor's window and alternating between covering his penis and reaching for me). I watch, completely stunned for a moment and then pop the thorn out, hop in through the back door, where I collapse in laughter on the kitchen floor.

I decided then and there that I had chosen the right man because anyone who would hear their loved one in pain, drop their towel and run to their aid is a mensch.

We were married in front of friends and family in our backyard two months later.

He takes such pretty pictures...

Look at previous post to figure out where we are:

he's an amazingly talented photographer...that goes without saying except that not enough people say it. I say it, anyone who has seen any of his black and whites says it and by the way, Runner's World and Sports Illustrated has said it in the past. Yup, this boy has Dr. J and Larry Bird in his portfolio. (did I spell either of those right? because I'm not a sports fan....) and also judging by the sports stars mentioned you know he is no 2o-something - but of course, you already know that I'm not either....anyway, great talent hard knock kind of guy...did I ever tell you the story about his starvation days when he showed up on the set as second unit? No? Okay, so the dude hasn't gotten work in a few months...so he puts his light meter around his neck, figures out where a big shoot is, shows up at lunch, gets in line....the caterer looks at him and says "I don't think we've met" and he replies, without skipping a beat, "2nd Unit"...and eats....for free...I know it's technically stealing but I can't help but smile at his ingenuity...anyway...more to come....

The Husband

I realized today that other than mentioning (probably several times in different contexts) that my husband is a cinematographer, I have never really talked about him. I have devoted a whole blog to my wonderful ex-husband and yet, somehow, I missed talking about Carl.

First of all, you should know that tonight in writers' group, we were supposed to write from our Fairy Godmother's P.O.V. describing ourselves. My last line was... "I gave her the prince too soon and now she can't figure out what to do with happily-ever-after." Which probably, unfortunately, describes me to a tee. (If I do say so myself ... and I do... as a matter of fact, I write it.)

Carl is truly a prince. In the next few entries, I have decided to introduce you to this prince of a man.

Second of all, everyone who personally knows me probably believes that I am the luckiest woman alive and that Carl puts up with A LOT. Please note, Steve Brady, that I have realized (after you pointed it out) that "a lot" are two separate words and no where in the English dictionary do they appear as a single word...I may be a wench, but I am not stubborn. More on the men in my life later but right now it is 12:59 a.m. and I should head for bed. By the way, my dear husband is on splits on his current job and I won't see him until he stumbles in at 2:00 a.m. or so, kisses me on the temple and tells me he's home, but buzzed (from work, not anything artificial) and then tomorrow late morning, we'll have a half a cup of coffee together before he has to go again.

It's a hard knock life for us and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

New Moon in Libra - Solar Eclipse

This morning (3 a.m. on the west coast) was the Libra new moon and solar eclipse. One of my personal favorites because I'm a Libra rising. For the Jewish community, Libra new moon brings in Rosh Hashana, their new year. For me, it brings my new lunar year, especially potent this year because the new moon is conjunct my rising and the solar eclipse only happens once every 19 years in any given sign and so it marks the end of a cycle. Now, this probably all seems like so much new age gobbledy gook but the truth is I've been thinking about what is ending for me today. I will say that 19 years ago this week, I moved to Los Angeles with thoughts of being an actor. That dream was put by the wayside a long time ago (about 10 years) and at that time, I began to concentrate on my writing. But the writing was all poetry.

Recently, I started to resuscitate my dreams of being involved in the film world but my new focus is writing and directing. So today, I am being brave and putting it out publicly in the world that my aspiration is to direct a film I have written and that my husband, Carl, will shoot it. Carl and I worked on a documentary together a few years ago and found that we work quite well together even under less than ideal circumstances. So there you go Universe, it's in black and white, all spelled out for you....send a little new moon magic my way!

Not just the news....

I have been reading Neil's blog the last week or so and feeling so much for him and thinking that if it were me, although I would probably also post, I can't imagine that I would be as articulate. What an amazing talent that boy is and how great that we can bring up his page and take a peek into his life. I also like the fact that I can keep emotional tabs on my friend Nicole and know instantly what's tweeking her sense of propriety today. I've never met Kris but I consider her a staunch ally and believe that if we did meet alot of wine would be imbibed. Brian has got to be one of the sweetest guys I know (and, Nicole, he's not self-proclaimed as such) and I look to him whenever I want a reassurance that "kids these days" aren't so bad. These blogs make me wish that all of my friends had blogs because there is something wonderful about checking in and finding exactly what folks are really thinking about.

I mean, most of the time, when I call friends or family and ask how they are, I get a run-down of what they've done in the last few weeks. Not that I mind that, I like to know about my niece starting school and the poems my fellow MPWers are working on and how the new job and new home is working out, but I feel like it's mainly a news report and I'm really looking for the editorial. Okay, this is what's happening, now how do you really feel about it? There is something about a blog that allows you to ruminate on the emotional impact of a situation and truly own it.

That's what brings us back to check in, we feel like we're not just getting the news, we're receiving a letter and the subject of the correspondence is relevant to our fears, our love, our hope and each strand of the web that is weaved reaches to the next, easily, cleanly and is anything but tangled.

Firefly

When you go to a restaurant called "Firefly" you do not actually expect them to light it using fireflies, especially since fireflies are few and far between here in Los Angeles. I wonder that because the back wall is open to the elements, they actually expect the little suckers to wander in and hover above the tables. I went to Firefly with friends last night and it was dark. Really dark. Too dark to read the menu, too dark to see what was on your plate. I tried to get a table in one of the cabanas but even though you have to make a reservation, the cabanas are first come, first serve. (Not first to ask for one on a reservation.) The cabanas are better lit and probably a little quieter. The restaurant is pretty noisy. Now all of this would be fine if the food knocked me out of my seat. But it didn't...it was good....but it wasn't fantastic so Firefly is a great place to go have a drink - the faux library bar lounge is a great hangout and their white cranberry cosmos are classy.

Progress Report & Musing on Mentors

I realized today that I haven't given a progress report on my screenplay for a while. The reason, of course, is that I haven't been writing the actual screenplay. Instead, because of Syd's class, I'm going back and doing the "prep" work I didn't do before I started. So I've been defining the "idea", stating the inciting incident, the key incident and the resolution. All of these things can or may change but he says it's important to have a map for your destination. Last week I had to do a 9 page analysis of my lead character tracing her life from birth to the moment before the story starts. It was actually very good for me to do and will probably help make her more active (instead of reactive) and now this week, he wants me to turn it into a first person narrative instead of the third person sort of removed piece I wrote. Not everyone has this extra assignment but I completely agree that I need to do it. The funny thing is even though I'm not moving forward on the action of the story right now, I feel like when I get back to it, it will move forward more fluidly and probably be more interesting. Syd is a great teacher and a real inspiration to the class.

I've been thinking a lot about mentors this week and wondering why I didn't seek them out earlier in my life - I really could have used them in my 20s. Whose your mentor? If you don't have one, what or who would be the ideal mentor for you and why?

My 10 Year Old Niece, the Novelist....

My 10 year old niece, Amy, has sent me the gallows for her latest book. Not that she has a publisher or even an agent. But she has a three part book with a female CIA agent as the lead character. Her agent is resourceful and smart and interestingly enough, has really sweet sense of of self-deprecating humor. I actually got this last weekend but with my own schoolwork I wasn't able to read it right away. I have to say I'm blown away by her imagination and the thought that went into the stories. Needless to say, I'm thinking my niece has a little genius wrapped up in that head of hers. Did I tell you when she was 6 she wrote a mystery short story about a mouse? She also has a monthly newsletter that you can subscribe to for $5 and get the latest gossip/news about her mom and dad and sister and brother. Since Derek and I (her dad, my brother) don't correspond regularly, it's often how I get the most up to the date goings on. Amy is definitely a pistol and I'm just lookin' over my shoulder wondering which one of us is going to get paid to write first!

You know normally, I would feel depressed about a kid genius but she's so darn sweet, I can only feel proud of her and glad that we're related.

All I have to do is dream, dream, dream...

I've been thinking alot this weekend (uh-oh) about life and the goals we set for ourselves and dreams we have in our teens and twenties and how those look some 20 odd years later. It's interesting that as I get older, I don't want to give up on that "but something fantastic could happen right out of the blue!" feeling. It has abated, that's true enough. I think my first wake up call that life wasn't going to turn out the way I planned was at the end of my first marriage. That kind of thing takes the wind right out of your sails and leaves you flapping in the breeze for a while. Then three years later, I met Carl and that spark of "gee, life is grand" became an ember and with our wedding I was feeling the heat of flaming idealism at 39.

Now, I'm in my 40s. The truth is, I'm beginning to lose that feeling that things could change on a dime for the better. To clarify, I'm talking about creative life here. I'm talking about being creative every day and not worrying that the leaky front sprinklers are going to interfere with plans to take a vacation (because you don't have money for both). I'm talking about finally making a leap from being brilliant to being brilliant and getting paid for it! I'm talking about not just getting paid for what you love to do, but getting paid well.

I guess in L.A., it's all about the connection. Meeting someone who turns you on to some big opportunity. (Tough to do when I write in my back room all day....) And here I am probably preaching to the choir by blogging about it. Anyway, how's your life turning out? Is it what you expected? Is it better?

Some Vacation

So it's been pointed out by a loyal reader (thank you for missing me, Kris!) that I'm obviously on vacation...actually, starting school has bowled me over for a week or so. I must admit that I haven't even read blogs in two days, much less, thought about getting words into the ether. After attending the first class of my advanced poetry class, I had to re-organize my schedule and opt for directed research with a mentor. I won't go into why here...then again, I doubt the dude is ever going to look me up so here goes. First of all, you have to know that this is my second year and indeed, this is my final semester before putting my thesis together which will consist of a full-length poetry book (45-50 poems). The instructor turned out to be a strict formalist who wanted us to write metered verse all semester. Now, if this were my first semester I would be all for playing around with metered verse but to mix metaphors, I'm staring down the barrel of a short leash here. The other problem was that he also seemed to be a fairly bitter poet as well, pronouncing that there have been no major poets since Robert Frost and that all anyone could ever hope to be is a minor poet, especially if all they write is free verse. I guess since he writes metered verse, he's in the running for major poet. That and his incredibly patronizing attitude toward the entire class and his arrogence in assuming none of us had ever even read metered verse was enough for me to say to myself "Self, you are paying way to g#d*&%n much money to be s&*t on for a semester by the likes of a bitter old white man." Patronizing attitudes are a big deal breaker for me and I'm sure many of you can relate.

So, I'm back and I apologize for the break for station identification and I'll try to get Bad Maria to put in her two cents as well. (Although she and I are beginning to sound more and more alike!)

Combining the Twins

I've been thinking alot about recent posts on both this site and my evil twin and comments that I've made in response to others' queries and ruminations. I find that blogging somehow brings out the worst in me at times. By worst, I mean sometimes I think I say things to be tough or to get a reaction. Case in point, Kris wrote about quirks today and I responded that I love one of my cats more than the other. Not really true. I love them both for their own individual personalities and loving qualities. Ooooh, there's a confession for you. Another case in point, I recently commented on someone's blog that my first husband wasn't really a "partner" - now it was actually wrapped up in another point I was making about the fact that marriage isn't the answer to whether or not you can follow your dreams as a single person economically but the truth is, I wasn't a "partner" in that marriage either. Not that I allowed that to enter the comment, because, hey I was writing "off the cuff" and not going into details....or was I just leaving out details that might make me look bad, probably both. Either way, I think it's okay that he and I failed at our marriage but I don't think it's okay to sum it up as one or the other's fault. We're both pretty cool people, just not together.

You know, on a related note, I like that I have an evil twin blog but I know that it doesn't divorce me from responsiblity for what I say and how I say it. I guess I'm just getting used to throwing my s*&t out there and seeing it actually stick to something. Much different from being a poet and being able to obscure the meaning - not that you really have to obscure anything as a poet, no one reads you anyway.

On a completely separate note, I started school again today and am excited about my screenplay professor. Syd Field. I'm just hoping it doesn't go south. You know how when you were a kid, like say, junior high and the first day of class you said Mr. Wilson is a great guy but Mr. Gunther is a pain in the ass and then by the end of the year, you loved the fact that Mr. Gunther made you think for yourself and started thinking Mr. Wilson was a nimrod for making the same stupid jokes all year. It's the same in Grad school. Kind of scary that you can put your house into hock with a second mortgage and still end up with a junior high experience. In the meantime, I think Mr. Field is cool and I'll keep you updated if he makes the same stupid jokes or if he delivers the way Mr. Gunther did.

I'm waiting for Carl to get home from a meeting on a movie he's prepping. He hates this part, not that he hates prepping a movie but he hates the uncertainty of whether something is actually going to shoot. You'd be surprised at how many movies "prep" without making it onto film. In the meantime, my neighbors are fighting again. I should tell you that my neighbors have knock down, screaming fights with a little physical violence thrown in for good measure about twice a month. I'd be surprised if Jr. doesn't off them when he turns 18. Film at 11:00.

At least it's finally nice enough outside to turn the fans on and pull a little cool air in. Ah, indian summers, gotta love 'em.

Enough random thoughts for you?