I'm having fun with this scene right now...

LOOK man, this chick at work, she’s in her twenties, and she has health problems for real. She’s always sick, for real. She has back problems, for real, you can see it. She’s in urgent care right now. Always health problems. This was NOT my issue. Luckily. No one would give a SHIT about her. Concentrate on what you have. Not what you don’t.

So, when it comes to my so-called family, looking at my AUNT wanting to claim me as her daughter, over here, with her daughter in law over here, now with Julianne Moore in the backseat, like wtf is happening? I couldn’t function… and these people think, after TEN YEARS of spending my time with a SICK person, that I was going to be able to react well? Like I was doing something maliciously, or what? I couldn’t FACE IT?

Here’s DRAMA — here’s some BLOND BITCH driving through the BLIZZARD, okay? To pick me up from fucking NYU. My professor handed me a jam jar with wine in it… and I was stuck somewhere around TISCH. The THEATER BUILDING. “Get in the car…” it was THAT desperate. Yes. I couldn’t function. It was malicious. My father STOOD at a wide open door for years and watched his daughter PUT ON HAPPY CRAZY SPECTACLES of JOY to ignore him…

Because, apparently, according to him, “you hated me and I didn’t know why,” emphasis on why. My mother BOUNCED. These people were INCAPABLE. NOW, sure, I am able to — do what I need to, I wouldn’t BE here. THEN, his family shoves papers in my face as to what they did for their own family member’s funeral… THEN, she comes into the church as if “all is forgiven…” and I’m…just trying to TAKE THIS IN. THEN, in the end, what began our rupture, or at least took it to new heights, she gives me the exact amount of money I originally took out that bothered her. I did not understand. THEN, my friend and I are emptying my father’s room, and I get invited for Christmas… and I can’t quite take this in because my father just died.

Picturing Reese Witherspoon PISSED — where is she??????? Through the snow. Only because she’s blond. So again, it’s more fun thinking about what to do with it. Just, my mother and her escort, this despicable man. They left me for dead. Why my mother was so cruel to me, I do not know, but that was a delusion — of an unparalleled degree. Like, they came, randomly, and saw me in a show… I watched her from the wings… just staring off into space with tears rolling down her cheeks. A twisted, delusional entreprise. THEN, suddenly, they want to PAY for my loans. Fuck you. And NOW, THIS WOMAN, my cousin’s wife, resents me, it’s obvious — in the SCENE. She FORGOT. CRAZY people.

And then, DEE DEE DEE, my fucking cousins in ITALY want to play PARENTS. Telling me left and right it’s not true. WHY would I want to SPEAK TO YOU?

I look back, I must admit, totally amazed. I couldn’t HANDLE any of it. THEY, those people, were my family, you see. So now, I’m like, “whoosh,” what a mess that was. So yes, I will play this piano teacher, and I will do it — to the best of my ability. And then I will put it in a REEL, and I hope to be able to DO something… I dream of the day where I’m able to — tell them to fuck off. That’s a final note from ANGELA, a true friend. “You gotta learn how to tell people to VAI FANCULO.”

Imperative.

And I go, was that TRUE DR. J???? Because I don’t GET THE HATRED. My mother was a disgrace.

This scene I'm doing is TOO good, I love this woman

I can say this for real. I can’t get through it without laughing. The PIANO teacher. You need, to a 12 year old, FEEL DESPAIR! It’s the cowardly men, like really? That’s what they were? Oh my God! You mean, they were COWARDS? And this one was a DON GIOVANNIs? No way. The slytherin (that’s what I called that guy.) Like it’s DAWNING on her, like, I’m on the freezing streets of WARSAW? A land far away (in Turkey, for me). Only to END up in a FILTHY, dark apartment.

Maybe I'll write a movie for Julianne Moore—now.

She will play my “second surrogate mother…” at the age that she’s at, receiving a BRUNETTE, you see, where’s SHE’s at. “40…” and with EYES, this woman, “YEAH,” the scary age. Totally annoyed. Maybe I can write a movie for Julianne Moore — who comes and gets me. “Psychedelics?” Just her saying that. So… annoyed.

“I’m sorry? Did you say FUTURE POINT? Download the information from a future point?”

Imagine Julianne Moore dealing with these outbursts.

“Jesus, I cannot even WRITE!” Her face, what? “Without CHANNELING…” my face of horror. “Channeling?” She might come to the couch, genuinely interested.

I’m telling you, it makes me want to throw the computer out the window, I didn’t need help…from the future, I can’t stand this sometimes, I mean truly. Like I’m downloading information from the POINT, that I have a job. It ruined my life.

Maybe she suggests seeing a Buddhist? Hilariously. A meditator, to clear my mind? With a hand, “ho,” I say, palm lifted. “No.” I’ll start writing scenes soon. That’s where I feel I can play out these internal dramas I’m having.

I do not KNOW who that was, and my second surrogate mother—COUSIN— putting a PIN in it — wouldn’t KNOW either. If my friends described who I was, she would be confused. If she saw the outfits I was wearing, she would be confused. Nothing but confusion.

My mother was severely mentally ill, you know. I don’t know what to say, about the rest, but my parents were ill, so I didn’t need the cultish LA shit. I could have, at least, but didn’t happen — because I wasn’t in the driver’s seat — simply grabbed hold of the wheel as I was fine, and GONE in the direction I am going in NOW.

Again, the JOB IS: you gotta figure out what WORKS for YOU. Julianne Moore is making a RIGHT — about to attack this guru. We’ll see. I don’t know… “is that him?” We’re in Beverly Hills in a super nice car, to blend in. She’s wearing sunglasses. I have to figure out the build. What happens.

Anyway, that’s one idea I had this morning.

Could be good.

I am a respectful person — Julianne Moore’s character saying okay? I do not want anything from you. I don’t have to be the richest person. I can’t stand agendas. I just felt a bit eaten alive. I don’t want anything from anyone, looking around, and she doesn’t know WHO… Some dramatic scene here. I’ll think. She’d say how much I hurt her. Since this would based on my relationship with MY COUSIN, “JESUS.”

“Sorry,” on that point, Julianne Moore would be able to make us laugh.

It’s more the BLANK stares — the inability to even CAPTURE, “THEY WERE SICK.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“I was a kid…” at the time. “I have literature…” like I had to come with supporting evidence. She’s not going to read that.

But maybe there’s a good story. I’ll think on it. I’m still learning scripts.

It always makes me feel better thinking in terms of DRAMA.

Julianne Moore looking at this picture of my “adopted family…”

“You got another family?”

“Yes, it happened AGAIN…”

“Unconscious gears…” she would see.

“And now,” wide eyed at her, “um?”

An old fart, cousin, drinking coffee. “Wow.”

“Right?” Jersey. New Jersey. That’s where my family is from. “But I was magical…” and I would say it in a way that would make their heads fly back. Her daughter LAUGHING. I wonder if I like that idea. Anyway, I’ll get there soon. You know, I wasn’t really married to the story, but I thought I could probably distribute it…

I don’t care… taking a deep breath. I wasn’t THAT — PEERING THROUGH THIS — SAD? Confused. I wasn’t that DESPERATE to tell this story, I just thought, wow, people really really responded to it, so it’s gotta hold some larger meaning. People RESPONDED, I mean. The guru pointed at me as if I were in a SCI FI.

I had ONE convo with him. And I do not SEE that I am not COMFORTABLE with him, you see. I do not know what’s going on. YEAH, imagine Julianne Moore? “You’re supposed to listen to that…” confused by my basic problem? And I’m on her page, it’s MY PAGE now. This wasn’t my mother, but someone who considered me “her LIKE kid,” which got weird. “Like,” looking at HER, “WHY ARE YOU BUYING MY DORM ROOM? Think about it.”

Julianne Moore, a mother, woman, person, yes, I’m aware. “WHY ARE YOU buying me PRESENTS and making sure I don’t feel like I’m different from your own daughter?” You feel me????? What’s happening???? That’s what I mean.

I was STUCK.

And then, I became someone… I never thought I’d ever become. Like, my ex, he believes he channels, as well. “I got involved,” gasp, Julianne Moore. “No.” On that one. “Channelers.” Nodding, in New Jersey. “SHUT UP.” She used to do that. “SHUT UP…” she’d say. “Yup.” “Channelers? Really?” So, she would say “shut up,” then, she would mouth it, and then, she’d swing her ponytail as if she were a girl… I studied these people. Their every move. I was like a recorder. She would mouth it, stomp her foot, then say it, then swing her ponytail.

Connecticut, homemaker, that was me. She’s affective because she doesn’t show her feelings, but she can’t help it, through her eyes. She guards those. But they shine from her. She was caring, of course, she was, but THIS got me into trouble. As if, not to get GENDER about it, MEN didn’t typically… picturing her husband, get emotionally involved. They couldn’t, because it would look weird. But, yikes, watching the GAME, a football player getting CRUSHED.

Just a mess. One HE CAN’T TOTALLY comment on. Listening to our conversation. He might crack. “LOOK.” I was LOST in a sea of women… CARING… oh my GOD. The latest mother isn’t like that… but she’s geared, to mother. She has been mothering since seven, so I got caught up in that. Caught up in ANYONE showing ANY consistent, normal care like calling me, and I can’t call her, and it’s like, HM, she was just a woman from your neighborhood…

I couldn’t quite function…

NO, be real. She was a woman who drove you to high school. She knew your parents in church. But that was brief. And, here we go, again. THE DIRECTION WAS — YOUR OWN LIFE. Forget these families. Cousin. Christmas. Phone calls. Sure. Except they never called me. I’d call them from time to time, but it didn’t matter. So months would go by… that ended up being confusing.

It just felt a bit delusional.

But had it been CONSCIOUS, that would have been a different story. If she TOOK my DREAM SERIOUSLY of being an ACTOR, for real, THIS WOMAN. She would have said— GO BE AN ACTOR, do not go to 40k a year school… but the DREAM was NYU. NO, it wasn’t. So, I’m like, uh huh, okay. I’m here now. I do not CARE if I am not the YOUNG INGENUE.

I don’t even know if I WAS that person.

Scripts are scripts, like drama gives a SHIT what I look like, actually. So we’ll see, I’m figuring it out. Just because I might have a home there, like I have somewhere to put it that makes sense. So we’ll see.

It was a young mechanism…like maybe I didn’t have to judge them, only admire them. I loved characters, I did. So maybe there’s something I could do. At least, in a sense, actors are always looking for good scripts, so. It’s very positive, it’s not FAME, as I can get queasy… like entangled, lol, picturing performing the entanglement for Julianne MOORE, going, “YEAH you see?” They thought I was entertaining. “Does,” looking at her, “that make me an ACTOR?” Hm? Looking at HER? If I am an entertaining person?

Looking at that footplay player getting CRUSHED because someone said, “you run good.” I have to laugh.

So we’ll see. It’ll take a minute. I see different people in this role… who cares? That’s not my problem. I’m just looking at good actors these days. Thinking of going in THAT direction. And what the hell do these people care? They know they EXIST and people WRITE scripts for them. This isn’t NEWS. So we’ll see. I keep thinking about it. Always makes me feel better. I just don’t know anything about dramatic structure yet, but I’ll get there — if I do. Anyway, here I am…

I would play this song in Jersey… this was the VIBE apparently I gave off— a sex scandal, FAMILY. Dancing with this Brazilian woman… in the dark… and in a rush, I could do ANYTHING, be a star… I saw my mother everywhere. I WAS SKINNY AND PRETTY. Able to communicate with Tom Cruise. Psychic. RUDY— making the GOAL. YES, Tom Hanks, in other words, eating chocolates.

“You never know what you’re going to get…”

My child psychologist? The one who wanted to take me out of my house? She contacted me like THIRTY YEARS later? “You were always a charming girl…” I have NO IDEA who I became. Truly. She saw nothing wrong with me, you see, like I was fine. Even the idea that I came from a rich family? She would… cock her head at that. “Are you joking?” Looking at my cousins. Right?

And like, luckily, I don’t want to kill myself, like I would never do that. But this relationship with the guru — if I wasn’t as resilient as I am, I could imagine how he might tip someone else over the EDGE. That relationship HURT ME. He was like a boy truly. I want to — sometimes — throw shit at him because his future shit. He was part of a mechanism of ACTION set to destroy me though he wanted to HELP ME — you see.

He wants me, to this song, SLAP a CHECK on this table as Jim Carrey did. So I will. I’ll start low. “A MILL…for a script.” That’s what I want.

One of these mornings

I was sitting with Miracle Mile, these years I lived in another family’s house because my mother paid a unsuspecting Brazilian mother of six children money to protect me from my father, who she said was abusive, which turned into four miraculous years. I don’t know what adjective to use, but with a title like Once Upon a Time on Miracle Mile, you’d expect some qualifier like that. And it never landed, given the initial sentence, which I would begin with “lie.” She lied. That was a nightmare, in reality. I mean, talking to people about it.

And I woke up this morning again feeling so normal. The degree of normalcy I feel…I look back on this Hollywood screenwriter who wanted to get involved and be a guru, frankly, that’s what he wanted to be. A manifestation guru. Was it my youth? That story, or my youth, had a shelf life. I always knew that, which is why I didn’t exactly appreciate it, or I wasn’t getting caught up in a fleeting moment. In any case, now, I find myself almost on the other side of ride I wish I hadn’t been on.

I was watching Tom Cruise. He’s saying, “I have to learn how to crawl, then walk, then run.” The guru says, “don’t think like that.” But in looking at the real world, now, as someone who was almost at risk, strangely, looking at this guy, because she happened to come from a bit of a story, with a heartfelt cinematic soundtrack? Meaning, I was Barbara Harris? And I’m looking around like, I’m not entirely sure if you’re in the right movie. I guess it would be, I’m not giving up on my love for life, or something? Since that was so remarkable to people? I don’t know what to say there. My cousin said, “you’re a touching person,” well, that got me crushed. I was crushed.

I’m looking at job descriptions, simply. Forget the meditation exercises. This guru. And I don’t know what to do because I got involved with a couple of older men who presented themselves as experts, like “you should do this…” when I don’t think they knew what they were talking about. Like, the guru was so obsessed with my family story, like, at that point, you might as well make a phone call. But of course, I was a beautiful woman TO HIM, which, is exhausting sometimes, because people who find someone attractive assume everyone does. That’s not true. “Everyone was in love with me…” and, honestly, I’m not experiencing that. And I wouldn’t even let that statement touch you… bother you… I would walk away from that and put yourself out there to find the one who really does. I wouldn’t even… sure sure sure. Water under the bridge.

I can’t help where I came from, type deal, and it’s not an emotional statement. It’s simply a statement of fact. I’m looking at job descriptions, like there’s a good job at Disney, for an anchor/reporter. But I’m not going to get that job. It’s exhausting, feeling like I got sucked into older men’s games — where all I had to do was think direction — what JOBS are out there? I might have come from AN AMAZING OTHERWORLDLY adventure which rings odd, doesn’t it? But there’s nothing wrong with moving through the real world. Like, people thought I was going to marry a Duke, or something. Which is fine, it’s bizarre to me, but now I’m going, “okay, I need reporting experience.” It was simple.

Me thinking about MY LIFE IDEA being family… which was, if ever there was a point in time I wish I could reverse, it was the guru, because he felt like he could help, when I didn’t need HELP, wanting to spread his wisdom…your life is your idea… and I’m sure there’s a number of psychologists who would shake their head, like, oh no. Your life is your idea. It’s so ethereal. It’s a theory. And I needed ACTION, I needed to get into the DANCE, speaking of this Brazilian woman—fall in love, hold on, build. DO. the operative word here would be “DO.” Not “IDEA.” So, and there’s nothing I can do, so I thrashed about, hating this man, he arrogantly intervened into the life of someone he wasn’t qualified to mess with. Just that. Your life is your idea.

And an Arendtian, to Hannah Arendt, would remark that statement… and go, “how did Maria even MEET this person?” It was amazing. Just because, “your life is your idea” would not land well with her, a true genius. “It’s a nice theory.” Honestly, Hannah Arendt wouldn’t even entertain it. NOW, I’m looking at JOB descriptions, and going, “shit.” I tried to be intuitive, I tried to listen to this guru who was more like a psycho path, to bring in his love of the Seth books, as he liked to break down the literal word: psycho path. Because, this guru, he functions… I don’t know how else to put that. But for me, he was toxic, even considering his personality. He was triggering. He’s thinking I wasn’t FED as a baby… a child? He thinks I was repressed. And now, I’m like, do you mean sexual abuse? No, he meant neglect? Where is he getting his theories? HIS FEELINGS.

Every psychologist on earth is like, “what?” It was as if he got a whiff of a drug, and when I started freaking out, in fact, he just didn’t do anything. Just awful. He doesn’t understand what a relationship is. So anyway, I’m looking at JOBS, and nodding, like, that was the LAST thing I needed. Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know HOW that note I struck, back then, if that makes sense, LANDS in reality. Cinematic heartfelt piano…

I’m trying to figure out how to turn it all around. I had a dream with Tom Cruise last night, he was busy, actually, like driving 2 hours to do this, to turn right back around. It didn’t seem THAT glamorous, other than his ability to meet me in San Francisco to discuss all this. I have to laugh. I have this running joke to demonstrate the guru’s theories. If Tom Cruise reads my story, that IMPLIES a lot. That’s a guru move. It MEANS that, probably, I have a literary agent, I have a following. Tom Cruise happened to pick up the book… and there you go. I’m not expecting a phone call. But the FUNNY thing was, even my closest friend, he seemed to have gotten stars in his eyes because this screenwriter was reading some pages? He called himself my manager, when that would imply that I can’t get AROUND? That I’m an ACTOR? Do you mean ASSISTANT? Right?

So Tom Cruise, personally, he was going to hear about this story, and clutching onto his jacket, as he could do as one of his characters, he’s going to point to me… I’m the one. You see? So the guru would say, “yeah totally, meditate on Tom Cruise..” so I laugh because he appeared in my dream to discuss it, not anything crazy. He’s a nice man. I do not understand the fame machine, always. I have to laugh. But that’s the sort of SETH logic we’re talking about… where I’m trying to succeed by meditating on an idea. Arendt would, MAYBE laugh, but that’s pretty much what this guru believed in doing…

And Tom Cruise, since I got wind of a piece of advice he gave on the red carpet, wondering if that’s a new thing. Like, actors are being asked to share wisdom, as social media, it’s so much meaning, like this is what life is, that I can’t really engage with it, anymore, because I got eaten alive by that shit… he said, crawl, walk, run. And now, I’m contending with, the reality of being in the REAL driver’s seat. What ARE my skills?

Writing a story, admittedly, I went around the world and back, like, intuiting — I do not know why I got pegged as an intuitive? I do not feel that way. I needed a psychologist, a real person, who’s going to say, “you’re too far out, already.” All of this, to me, indicated someone who was SEEN as otherworldly because, and Arendt would not hesitate to fire, as if it was actually the kindest line of action to take, I came from THAT story, which people saw as otherworldly, and I turned out to be pretty, in a way. And here we go, “pretty people,” thinking about Arendt taking this in, “can’t come from…a fucked up family?” I mean, I felt comical, as a figure, because I proved everyone right — people judge you by your skin color, yes, by how you look and dress, yes. I had a look. And this look developed over a short period of time because I met a fashionista, a man, and there was an allure around me that now, I truly do not understand.

This was not me.

I went through a structural collapse. And luckily, I did start reading Arendt, because she wrangled and wrestled this madness DOWN. I imagined her peering through the lines at this guru, how he was acting with me… like, why is acting like that? How on earth did you get here, darling? And so, I came out of these years, my entire life, feeling so normal, it’s a relief, it hurts, many things. I wasn’t expecting it. So, now I must contend with what I’d like to do… and I’m looking at well paying jobs, like at DISNEY, an anchor, reporter, and going, I can’t apply for it.

This guru said, “I would think you would POKE,” as he’s POKING at the substance called reality in his meditations. “On creativity.” I would keep his THEORIES to himself. That seriously harmed me. I did not come from his background. And I’m trying to figure out this story, sure, but it’s taking a second, which, ten years ago, I could have found the right psychologist… who could have helped me dismantle the story, simply, and no one ever thought of doing that…amazingly, right? This one so-called psychologist I worked for, and there are different kinds, was too money hungry to simply say—this is NOT in my wheelhouse. “You need a structuralist.” Someone who understands STRUCTURE.

So, I’m not going to give up on telling THIS STORY THAT AMAZED A NATION THAT NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT. I mean, I HOPE the story goes well, but it’s taking time.

Unfortunately, the FUTURE OBSESSION, the CHANNELING information FROM Tom Cruise, specifically, to GET to the literary agent, (lol), or producer, and I can’t stop laughing, that messed with my head so much… because I’ll go in one direction to then get pulled in another… so, this guru was obsessed with FEELING.

Honestly, it felt almost like a drug. Like, IMAGINE if I were as successful as Tom Cruise. That makes me feel grounded, like I could buy whatever house I wanted to right now, which evidently makes me feel better about my life… like I wish I could buy a house right now, but apparently, that’s supposed to then resonate INTO the world… and reality will begin to configure itself towards the POINT in the future in which I create that reality based on that feeling.

I’m saying, not TOM CRUISE, personally, but specifically, his monetary success. That is the reality that I am seeking. And I am PUTTING the guru’s theories in this way because it mocks it, a bit. That’s how this man suggested I live my life. Apparently, if I meditate on the feeling of groundedness, financial security, that Tom Cruise has, I’ll move through life — as you create reality from within — and MAKE DECISIONS that are going to lead me to security.

It’s funny. It’s a funny way of living.

And now, I’m LOOKING at job descriptions and going, “shit.”

“Where do I want to end up?” A physical location.

Like, his brother always spoke of me writing for the New Yorker, when, WHERE was he getting that one? It’s just the one that everyone says, it’s tired. Hannah Arendt would be the first, (and she’d appreciate my blunt honesty), Maria, at that time, did not WRITE well enough at all. Not like she couldn’t IMPROVE or something, but LOOKING at Maria’s WRITING, literally, NO ONE would say that. Okay, if I wanted to write for the New Yorker, that’s a different question. I suppose I could capitalize on my family story… I could get a degree in psychology, which I would almost need to, and write seriously about that journey. That’s one idea. As I have to make MOVES.

Fuck family, Jesus, cue the senitmental piano music that Tom Cruise and I will move through, in a moving choreography, I assure you. We will move you, dancing like Angelica Leibowitz. The story was affecting… which it might be… I’m sort of just trying to find the right tone. It’s taking a second, because, here we go, “is it heartfelt?” Well, now, I restructured it to BEGIN with the lambada. That it’s Once Upon a Time on Miracle Mile, not “my undercover investigation,” even if it will come into the play.

I’m thinking EPIC — get to EPIC — this is a destination. These people KNOW what a FAMILY pic is, or something. The world of DRAMA, luckily, doesn’t care if I’m like Bette Midler or something, singing about “the wind beneath my wings…” yes, they get that has a place in the world. If I’m singing THAT kind of song, about this family that took me in. They were the perfect family and THIS came into their life. I follow that. I THOUGHT that I had ideas that would work well on film. It’s just getting attuned to — that. And she’s teaching me to dance, the lambada, and wow, it’s a dance about sex, and it’s going to become innocent in a way. Little girls, ruby slippers.

It’s more EMOTIONAL than my PI investigator routine, which is funny, but I can’t quite make it work AS IS, so I’m striking a different chord, in the beginning, to see if that opens it up. It as 1989, the year that the lambada hit the airwaves and seized the world…don’t know how to put that. But this woman is coming for me in a state of dance… a celebration. And that might make my undercover investigation a touch more affective. So we’ll see, I’m listening to a semi-cheesy piano tune right now, not like I’m trying to make it cheesy, but — heartfelt, a different kind of drive.

But THAT’s separate. I’ve let it go… I’m not scrambling to BE A WRITER. Regardless, I have to figure out the rest of my life: like, love, really, I’m trying to go out, I have to. I need to build a group of friends. I just don’t know what to do right now, and what JOB I should try and get, also because, well, my whole life was reframed… because I feel as though MY SPECIALNESS had to do with my looks and personality… which is strange. Not my TALENT. This story, specifically, which was so weird. I was a good person? You know? Like, congratulations? I’m working that out, feeling like the most normal person in the universe who made nonsensical decisions, not knowing it, and now, I have to deal with it. Coming out of a dream, here.

I’m trying to think creatively, too, like, am I supposed to… put myself out there as someone who has been through a lot, or a specific NICHE of an experience, and resonate from there? Because that’s basically what all this TALK would imply. Meaning, my approach wasn’t wrong, I just needed to work out a basic personality problem. A basic problem: do not trust people, not with that story. Be careful, look around. I don’t know if I needed to go through “MY FEELINGS” I don’t know how to approach the guru, because he fucked me up, more so than helped me. Like, “don’t you think you were scared, suddenly living somewhere else?” Hm, I’m not sure if that was the experience.

But my genuine TAKE on it was never RECEIVED. The PUBLIC did not LIKE it. Not in real life. Tom Cruise is ready to move, I’m pretty sure, and dance in this living room and cry and laugh with me. “Can you imagine?” I became LORD of the Dance. She would FIND me in corners, right? “Hey girl,” she didn’t say “girl,” but I like it. And with all that emotion underneath, you understand, she’s bringing me to dance… and sure, we’re putting on dances for my father who’s just standing in a wide open door. But it struck many notes. AND I COULD NOT HELP IT, JESUS.

But then, the joke was, “is this true?”

I’ll figure it out. I wondered if this story could do well, because of the ingredients, as these types of stories, and here’s the THING: watch movies. I don’t know if I need to MEDITATE on Ben Affleck, like “give me the information” necessary to get to you, as a director, EVEN IF that leads me to MANGOLD, who CARES about the literal image? But I was hoping it had a quality that might resonate. That’s what I’m thinking about. But again, this is a longer conversation, and I didn’t need to meditate or get wrapped up in this guru, and unfortunately, I did.

I’m trying to solve a basic problem which is — which STEP am I taking career wise, now that I understand… so, I’m like, “I need reporting experience?” NOT to work for a start-up MAG in psychedelics. These gurus saying “you should practice writing,” imagine? It was so nonsensical to me, it’s shocking, and the POINT IS: I had a shadow. It was HELP. This damn near killed me. WHY are people HELPING ME? Didn’t help. I refuse to be grateful for this shit. That was a step I had to take personally — like fuck you, all of you. With your cue the VIOLINS routine.

Lost in SENTIMENT. I look back at my second surrogate mother like — eek, why did you do that? Oh man, look, honestly, I’ve said this, I had to mother a tough entity inside of me. But I understand that what means. I needed ASSISTANCE. Not help. I needed conscious assistance. Both my parents were ILL. Can’t HELP that. I get I was pretty and NICE. My parents blamed ME for literally all their problems. I was not able to withstand the SHOCK of hearing that he was SICK for ten years, not after what those ten years had BEEN. YOU, this family, started looking really really nightmarish.

“Do you know why I let you run around in these different families,” as if I were cheating on him, “because I pity you.” YOU, this second surrogate mother and co., in my REAL HOUSE, you guys weren’t exactly the sweetest subject. The guy was deranged. So, great, here we are. HOW? In what way was he deranged? And now, we’re entering into am AREA, SEX, where it’s like — could be, can’t be, who knows? A dance. Just a fucking nightmare. So I’m off to look at JOB descriptions, so I know where to go FIRST.

SURE, someone could FIND MY BLOG.

And go, hey, you know? YEAH, I KNOW. That would be AWESOME.

However, in the MEANTIME.

HERE, now.

I don’t have a beat, and I don’t know what it means — to “write about family” for magazines. Look at the Atlantic? I’m telling you, the sentiment around family was… like, it means a lot to YOU. I just happen to come from a SUBgenre. I could write about what it means to work out your family problems. I don’t know how to go about doing that, as I just got here, and this guru IS indeed mixed up in it. This weird help thing, how this story was received in the world. It’s not FAMILY. I had problems in the WORLD because I came from THAT story. Angelica Leibowitz dancing SEXY, regardless.

She’s getting turned on… and I can’t stop laughing.

I want people to stop helping. This is my new mission. PLEASE LISTEN TO ME. There are academic articles written about it. Is it ABOUT YOU? More than it is about ME? And for the most part—yes. The point is to be able to CONSTRUCT. Life is a constructive exercise. Who gives a SHIT about the DECOR, the sentimental DECOR? You know? The Christmas baskets with pine needles and ornaments? The sentiment. Who gives a shit about the apple CRISP? That’s what I mean, thet ALLURE of me. Fireplace crackling.

You gotta be able to — construct. I get so sad, because family always had to get so messed up. I liked all these people. And the other point is, I can’t help where I came from. I mean, my mother was INSANE. Truly insane.

And foster care kids? At a higher likelihood of being abused, so don’t give me some whitewashed sappy feeling bad for me. I was like, in an in-between world. There are all sorts of reasons why kids end up in other scenarios. I needed someone presidential, with a higher vantage point. And I’m the one who suffered. Not any of these people. My second surrogate mother — my cousin’s WIFE, OKAY? That’s a REAL psychologist. “Don’t go there.” She said, “you,” as in me, “really burned a bridge there.”

“YEAH SORRY.”

That bitch burned a bridge a long time ago. But it always FALLS on me. Because I can’t even SEE where the fuck am I.

But God’s grace is infinite, one of these lines. That would make Angelica laugh, sure. She’s coming in closer, you see, a real bitch: “BREASTS MARIA,” tell the people. “YOUR MOTHER’S BREASTS AT MY FRONT DOOR.” Like, I OPENED THE DOOR, and she did it, magically, and she saw BREASTS.

I can’t stop laughing. And my mother passed out on her guest bed. Maybe hit on Jose on the way, why not? That basically captures it.

“All Night LONG,” all night… it’s Lionel Richie, another party. That was my choice, for her, and she’d look off and laugh… “when you get started…” because her love of sex was so hilarious, it dashed all the evil in it to pieces. So of course, I was going to become a kind of clown, through that, where I’m seemlessly integrating myself into the line of children born to dance… and we’re breaking out in subsets. I’m putting on LIONEL RICHIE… bringing the cool… nothing wrong with making love.

So anyway, I have to get back to real life. I have an performance today at Columbia, and I have a taping I’m doing tomorrow, so I have to be ready for that one, so I can possibly use it in my reel. “Once you get STARTed…” and you know, music, it’s not personal, but music can really move you, the way the song builds, as I love that song, and there’s the feeling that you might actually GET somewhere in it… but it’s just a song. Sure, you can find HOPE, but in thinking about this guru — I didn’t need the delusion. A musician is like, “yeah, it’s the progression of the cords,” I don’t know if they’re getting EMOTIONALLY involved, in a sense, which is what happened with my story… it’s just, once the song is done, these people don’t give a shit. And I’m left with that.

Not fun. Not fun at all.

Though, who knows, it might be fun, on screen. “All night long,” clap clap clap, me. And it’s hilarious to THEM, I can dance. Of course I can. I’m dancing… I’m going ALL OUT. “ALL NIGHT.” Angelica knew, I was going to absorb her. So there you go. That’s the basic gist.

Anyway, turning my arrow towards entertainment…it’s probably going to take a minute, but I think that’s where I’d like to GO, and YET, people do all SORTS of things… you see. Which is my point. So I’m working out of a PICKLE. And in some ways, I wish that they fucking adopted me, just because THEY know, knew, what the fuck I was dealing with. These SPORTS STARS — like I needed THAT level of dynamism, you see, to get me through this. Lethal weapons. Mark Wahlberg, giving instructions to his 14 kids — “through the window,” fuck the drugs, “get the baby.” I needed a team.

Anyway, so I’m looking at job descriptions, and thinking, where do I want to go? What would be step one? Basically. A good step one. What even interests me? I don’t know, I’m in a new world. So it’s like, should I write Frances Ha? You see? A story about ME — coming into the world, sort of Jim Carrey, and feeling STUPID? Doing a dance, yes, it’s almost mandatory. I’m hanging out with a sex worker that I read Pretty Woman with. Dancing in some club somewhere. Learning to live life again. So, there you go.

I could try some digital products — or try to create content for my demographic. But straight writing articles, it doesn’t come to me naturally. I don’t think like a journalist. I’m trying to, but I don’t have an interest. A genuine interest. Family = nightmare. And the GURU didn’t SEE himself — a total stranger, YES, a 100% total stranger, who’s going to get a WHIFF and ACT deranged. I’m trying to be open? Trying to show people that you can be affected, yes, but okay. That was the basic premise. Didn’t read.

Vulnerability = bravery.

And in my case, stupidity.

“Do not be stupid.”

My NFL coach personage returns, throwing a crumpled DIXIE CUP towards the FIELD, getting UPSET— “NOT IN A DRESS, idiot!” Imagine? AN NFL COACH — listening to me. “I want to be vulnerable.” “Wrong.” “I wanted to show the world.” “Nope.”

Benched. Just sit down. “You’re going to get fucked up out there.”

And so, I’m off. It’s NOT that something can’t FALL from the sky, but what’s the point of living life that way? I’m going to read some of these editors pieces since they write in first person, all that, and I’m going to try and get a job. Or, think about a direction… and start writing articles on my own, something. Gotta rehearse lines.

I give up, relief

You know? I wasted a decade of my life. I give up. I’m letting this go. I, looking at this guru in my mind, this screenwriter, “wow,” as a single white female, one who didn’t need help, that person took advantage of my vulnerability. And apparently, that was the trait you weren’t supposed to take advantage of. Ruined my life, that guy, his “channeling” and “reality creation” obsessions. I became a joke, psychic.

Be careful who you get involved with. Especially if you come from what we call “a background.” There are predators and there are prey—Zootopia. I did a scene. I was the bunny. The dumb bunny. But now, I get to let this go, let go of “being famous” because of this story, or “making it” as a writer. I got entangled in all this stuff that I didn’t understand at all. I am not interested in channeling. That was not me…it is not me. If I was a good person, that didn’t bring me real love, so I’m not getting attached. She’s dead. The old Maria is dead.

I was blown to bits, I have no idea if I was abused, and now I don’t know what to do. But I’m here now. I’m going to work on peace of mind, finding purpose, getting “channeling” out of my body. I hate these brothers. I’m telling you. I need to work out my mind, man. I get to let go of this awful story. I got nowhere, and now I have to figure out what I’m doing with the rest of my life. I’m telling you David Weisberg, that guy was a weirdo. A real weirdo. I need to get this logic totally out of me. No future. No nothing. I think those two brothers would have been ogres in another century, take your pick. If I was the one who could talk to animals in the 15th century? In all seriousness.

I’d like to let go of the image that I’m in a limo, playing the field, over this story? I couldn’t believe this person. Over being a writer? “YOU CAN MAKE IT,” yeah, I knew that, theoretically. I hadn’t done anything yet. I wasn’t battling with whether or not I could? I just didn’t understand. I would have rather fallen in love, simply. Who wants to get a card, “be amazing if you chose to be…” I would have rather an engagement ring.

I’m going to take some time. My time with the guru makes me want to run as far away as possible from any kind of profession that comes with fame. No Fletchers, no BIG MEN in the ARTS. Please. I would rather pursue a path that doesn’t have anything to do with it. I wanted to make it, sure, but I didn’t have a problem with it. Nope, right? Me? No interest in making it, nope. I’m good. I’m just buying a house, over here. I’m chill.

I have too much going on internally when I write, like “future audience members,” that channeler tape in particular. I can’t deal with their obsession with FEELING driving reality, I didn’t want to live inside a movie, sorry. I don’t get manifestation, because I don’t have a problem with it. I don’t get the obsession.

I’m amazed at these people who produce books, you know? In the time I can’t figure out one story, I know a person who’s written five books. It’s nothing against me, and you’re not supposed to give up, I understand, it’s just, “cool,” good job, “so you published a book…” now what? My closest friend thought I would be seen, simply, and I would become an actor…who needed a manager? Hollywood would halt all production schedules with Academy Award winners, attached, like Academy Award winning screenwriters, story writers, for my story that he was going to be in?

I couldn’t even finish a book. I couldn’t STEP back in the USA, without these hotshot men wanting to “help me.” Think about that. Because I had curly hair. Because I was a “good person.” Because I came from “a background.” I had resources back then. But I get to this point, which is, I got that family story out of the way. I can’t deal with my last adopted family right now, because, how did I end up here? So, I don’t know, for the moment, I have to let this go.

What I thought, through this, I’m not a power person, I’m not personal, either, I only want you to succeed. It’s just, a rare type of person, and sometimes I wonder if I should go work with people. I did not need help. I did not need these men. I had to make peace with some real world shit.

All I had to do was get a job, just like anyone else, think HOUSE, read, play around with notecards, not meditate on a future point. It wasn’t that complicated. And that sort of killed it, being told that a fictional character in my, simply speaking, BAD DRAFT, was a “really good psychological device…” I’m going to need a minute. Like, now, I re-read this so-called first chapter of the book that this screenwriter read and thought, “if only the whole thing could be like that…” it’s not a good chapter. I just have to sit down with myself, “I’m so sorry honey, you really had no idea who you were involved with, you just got disturbed and confused.” Looking at this apartment I was living in, in the Chelsea Hotel. “I’m so sorry.” That was a fucking mess.

When you feel like you became a bad M Night Shyamalan film in real life, that sort of kills it. I have the rest of my life to write a book. I was not looking for advice, help, to be the ONE, NEO, type deal. I didn’t need attachments. I had to go through a lot loss to get here, but I am here, I feel that way. What people believe in, it always astounded me. I think, the job, is figuring out how life works for you. I’m a nature person, there are many beings out there, they have their way. Some feed off others, which was never my way.

That person, the guru, really triggered me, and I wasn’t able to understand that. Now, I am available. I can meet a man. I can build a stable, meaningful life. And I can just set aside the unnecessary “making it” over… I don’t know. I lost everything, you know? It was a touch too sentimental. Like, other people got weirdly struck by that story. I couldn’t be okay, not okay, I wasn’t a piece of clay. You know? Go to foster care… there are plenty of…stories there.

I’d like to find my voice, what I DO, forget KNOW, that feels like singing…I mean that, purely. I’m going to have to find the will to really live now, now that I’m on the other side, and all these unconscious gears aren’t turning, I found my mother an utter nightmare to work out, whatever that was, and my father too. They were ill, you guys, at least!

I need to keep shaking off my age, the psychic crap, the —future that wants me to get there, like it’s a terrible aspect of my experience now, and it gets better, but it wasn’t necessary to think like that. I did not need controversial logic that sounds like a joke to me. There are plenty of successful people who are not into life as sci-fi. THEY are fine.

I don’t think that I had to go through such a harsh end, I don’t know, but I have no idea WHO that was, back there, and I don’t who I am. Honestly, I go, “okay,” you know? I made those decisions… And people’s responses to me not knowing if I was abused — heartbreaking. But the thing is, if I were to end my life, which I don’t want to, that’s not a thought in my mind, but people’s responses were heartbreaking, and I don’t know if this story will MAKE THE NEWS and everyone will apologize…

I don’t get why the guru was so obsessed with me, I’m sorry. I really don’t know. Why is he looking at my Facebook page? Making comments? “Your suitors came to me during a meditation.” I mean, what the fuck was the point? I mean, I look at Barbara Harris, and I go, “did you have to deal with this type of shit because you were touching?” It’s like, Lerner, right? This journalist had a thought event… while watching her. “Um, you care about her?” It was pretty simple to him. I’m telling you, people “caring about me,” that wasn’t positive. Whatever that was.

I’d like to meet a man that I love, who loves me, who doesn’t give a shit about this stupid story.

It’s like, if the guru was in love with me, David, “you cannot disappoint me you have my love…” dramatically? That’s not love, you see, not psychoanalyzing someone who can’t simply ask on a date. I don’t know why I was there to begin with, but I was struck somewhere, and I’m embarrassed. It wasn’t even my role. I wasn’t the person who wanted to be a star, you see, that wasn’t my desire. “I believe in you as an artist,” when I didn’t DO anything. I was so confused, why is he doing that? Because he finds me attractive? I get that I was “special,” like cue the music, but HOW? What made me special exactly?

It wasn’t benign.

I could sing and dance a little? I mean, truly. I was entertaining? I really don’t know what to say, but for the moment, I need to let this go, because this isn’t working. I’m going to go figure out my life. I’m letting this go. Not until there isn’t a single thought form that’s left, and there isn’t all this stuff attached to my story… that wasn’t THERE ten years ago! If I could eternal sunshine these people, I would do it immediately. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And everyone in that movie WANTS me to be able to get that procedure done. It’s not even erasing a lover. It’s erasing a GURU. Picture me, getting NICE and COZY in this seat, “let’s do this,” clap. And I feel lifted, staring across the beach, like a million bucks. And I’m never seeing that person again… so it wouldn’t even matter.

So that’s it, I’m letting this go until there’s nothing PULLING anything out of me…

Waking up

I feel as though I need to check in with self — I need to organize my social life better. Right now, I’m not going out. I work at this restaurant three nights a week, and I’m looking for a better job, but I’m not searching as actively as I should be, because I don’t know where to go yet. I don’t know what I want to do. I wasn’t thinking in terms of direction. Like what am I steering towards?

Now, I feel like I’ve totally cycled out this crazy screenwriter I met. His influence is gone. Thank God. I do not feel these man’s ideas running the show, but I still deal with this FUTURE idea of his channeling through me… which is AWFUL. It’s just a closed loop.

He was the worst thing that ever happened to me. FAMILY was not my “life idea.” I hate people who like to “help” people, but not like Amal Clooney does, if you would. Don’t “help” people. Take a good look at them — do they LOOK like they need HELP? As a woman, and as an attractive woman, apparently, oh my God, did I feel embarrassed and degraded. Sure, I was SPECIAL to him, but HOW? He made SUCH a big deal out of me for nothing. Relax, I’m just an attractive female? Wow, that was a weird man.

I could change the world with my story? Alright, as I said, I cycled this man out. It’s just the past decade put me through a lot of loss. I did not want to travel like that, his brother getting involved just made matters WORSE. I just hope that they can self-reflect, like, “don’t do that again.” I get that I was PSYCHIC, but be real. It was just a touch too crazy.

And now, here I am, and I don’t know what to do. I need to get out there. I need to keep thinking about how to turn this around, and not drink… I find myself home these days off working on this story, and I can make myself a drink and two, which I don’t want to do. I’d rather stay sober. That’s going to be my focus. To shift the desire to get a drink with going out and doing something. Seeing a show. I need to consciously direct myself to places where I might even meet someone.

I don’t know what to say, because I needed to put some ideas in motion, if only to feel out whether or not I want to do those things because the attention that I would get around my stupid family story, the guru a kind of APEX, confused the hell out of me. Do I want to perform? I went through a period of turmoil around the fact that I didn’t give myself a chance. Am I supposed to try and use this story…? Do I want to?

I stopped going to open mics for a moment because I feel like I need to just finish this story, and I don’t know if I want to talk about my story like that, turn it into material. I needed to state it in public, as if to say “I’m here,” and to feel into whether or not MY STORY IS AS INTERESTING AND IMPORTANT AS THE GURU believed. This Hollywood screenwriter. Is this interesting? In front of an audience? And maybe yes, I think I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.

I don’t know, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to force myself to keep going to these open mics, all that. I have to figure out how to make money. I would try to strategize on social media, like is there a way for me to present myself as someone who came from a complicated family background who has wisdom to share…? Am I supposed to start a podcast type thing, where people share their family stories… their crazy family stories? YEAH, maybe, I’m just trying to take this step by step.

Let me see how that lands.

I guess people go through work intensive periods, as I’ve just been working on this story on my days off. I mean, hopefully, things will work out. It’s just, the GURU’s point of view that THIS STORY was going to change my life, and I was in the back of a LIMO with sunglasses on “playing the field…?” in a meditation of his? What sense does that make? What a strange man that was. I look back at THAT relationship. “I’m sorry?”

Imagine, me going to IOWA writer’s workshop… and telling them how this guru spoke to me about being a writer. Sure, I could be Stephen King? I don’t know… how to approach that. Like, he’s seeing me in LIMOS… and you know what? NOW? I would love to marry the richest Saudi prince on earth… I would really enjoy that, at this point, getting into a limo, and seeing the tiny flags whipping really fast in the winds…

Just because, “wow,” that was so crazy. I couldn’t even finish a book. My closest friend, who I no longer speak to, he’s ALREADY in a MOVIE… because this screenwriter, on top of it, was just reading some shitty pages. He’s casting himself, already, when I haven’t finished a book yet. He’s calling himself my MANAGER… when I am NOT an actor… he’s telling me “write the movie about what happened,” meaning me going into the hospital? Meanwhile, GURU is telling me to GET on social media.

I mean, I want to find success in life now, for real. I went through the ringer. So I woke up feeling a touch lost, because I went through turmoil over the question of abuse, and no one had the heart really to really hold me a moment, like come on, I came from that story. That confused me. I don’t know what to say about some of these friendships that shifted, that I had to let go of, but I have to GET out there. I have to figure this out.

I hope I’m right that I shouldn’t settle because I’m afraid my life is over at 40. I just ended up having experiences that shattered me…because I “could be famous?” Ugh. Wow.

I can’t help that I went through what I did, that I don’t know if I was subjected to abuse when I was very young, and so, I feel better because I voiced what I needed to because my body was reacting. I was getting hurt. I felt insane. Like, is anyone hearing me? I couldn’t interact with supposedly close friends as if I hadn’t said what I did. I don’t know what to say now because I feel better, but I went through a large loss.

The friend I was conversing with most recently said, “I didn’t know that you were grappling with abuse, I thought you were grappling with the lie…” when I straight up told her years ago. What is she saying? I had to let that go, simply. I can’t tell if she’s being dishonest or honest.

The thing is, no one in my life responded like Amy Griffin’s friends did in her book The Tell… and I feel like I’m in the film Legally Blond, in that, perhaps, I found the detail (the perm) that might dismantle her whole story. I’m joking, I doubt she lied, but even that NYtimes article that questioned the validity of her statements speaks to the general doubt that these types of stories inspire. Why her? Well, there weren’t any consequences for him, so who cares? Nothing happened to him. It doesn’t matter.

I wish, truly, that I had prioritized getting therapy when I was young. Just because at this point, everyone has their own life, so it’s not the same, when you’re in your twenties, friends hold more meaning in one’s life. I’m finding my age to be a freight truck— just the choices I made, not meaning to, wishing I had made it a point to find a real man, not some guru wanting to train Alexander the Great, or something, like why is this my problem?

I wasn’t looking to be famous? A successful writer, sure, but again, I had ONLY JUST gotten to LA when this dick of a screenwriter came into my life like Conan the Barbarian, swinging some stick around in some STAR WARS movie, creating pictures and problems around me LUKE SKYWALKER before I even TRIED to DO anything— there was NOTHING happening that necessitated his HOLY HOLY presence. I have to laugh, because I don’t know what else to do. That guy was on his own channel.

Please, David, if by chance you’re reading this, you must not intervene into people’s lives disrespectfully. That’s his first name. He pointed at me, the first time we hung out, as if we were in the movie SPECIES. We were in some futuristic Alice in Wonderland where he played the catepillar, and all he said was “KNOOOWWWW, what do you wanna KNOWWWWW…” overexaggerated, over-enuciating, and I never met this guy before. Only once. I said, what I was writing about… which was, “my mother gave me away to a total stranger when I was four…because she lied that my father was a child molester…”

No offense, but if someone told ME that, I’m not getting involved. If I liked this person, sure, I’d get to know them, but I don’t get the MENTOR, MORPHEUS play he made. This wasn’t the Matrix. Why was I NEO? Because I came from a sex scandal? THINK. Think about that sentence. It makes NO sense, first of all. And I wasn’t a piece of MEAT because of it. A bit too far, like, I get he likes the Seth Books… it just came across as immature.

I’m 39, you see, and I’m still younger than this man, and there’s not a chance in hell I would ever emulate his behavior. His brother, the first time I met that guy? He told me I was psychic within 20 minutes of meeting me, and I wish people REFRAINED from telling me that I had “all the adopted problems” like they even understood what that meant? I was not adopted. That would have been the correct first sentence to deliver.

“You were not adopted.”

“Let’s leave the latest family aside please, for the moment.”

I was not adopted.

It sucks, it really did, to face that I had to go through some rich dude. Sorry, that’s how he comes across, like a “rich boy” who read some Seth books and went on some hans solo spectacular SHOW in his own head… like he’s a psychologist, like he understood my background at all. It was malpractice, he just doesn’t have a practice. Role playing my father, psychoanalyzing me over a lost DVD? It was one of this ROCK ballads, he lived in this music video, “nothing else MATTERS…” where the guitars are going, and there’s an orchestra. It was TOO emotional. That guy was way too emotional, and he should LOOK at his painting of a woman in distress… that’s IN his house.

That was unnecessary. And had he withheld, withstranded himself, Jesus, from pointing at me as if SETH were even channeling through him at the time… if he stayed out of my private life, and simply went, “you seem like a nice person, one I’d like to get to know…” but he wanted to meditate. You see? He wasn’t interested in a relationship? I mean, a relationship, basic, like friendship, even. That’s not what he was DOING, superiorly. HE was MEDITATING. That’s it. He just wanted to BE HERE, and the way he said “HERE,” repeatedly, you’d think he was talking to a DOG.

I have never been treated like that, as a person, forget woman, EVER.

Now, I feel better.

I had problems obviously — I couldn’t get over this basic problem — which was, get a job, stay in one place. Think basically. All this IMPORTANCE the guru wrapped me up in was the last thing I needed. I get that I was special, but HOW? Now, I get it. I have no desire to travel ever again, for the rest of my life, and I’m going to need to rebuild from here. I’m not restless. That was a challenge. My mother, in particular, my father, meaning, they were mentally ill, at least. THEY were a tough couple of people.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t desire to talk to my cousins in Italy either, because I was so confused by them, like I gotta go. Just my whole way of operating. The GURU didn’t get it. THEY aren’t my family like that. Like, if he can imagine, HIS COUSIN coming to his sister’s house…after getting out of the hospital, CONFUSED, yes, because JUST LIKE HIM, they MADE an UNREAL big deal around this stupid story which totally confused me… I did not need that. He’s telling ME, do they SEE through the SHOW? Imagine? You pointed at ME as if we were in the movie SPECIES. My cousins also MADE quite a SHOW around ME. And then, imagine his COUSIN suddenly in need at his doorstep? With talk of a book, too, around them? THINK.

He made TOO BIG of a deal around someone he didn’t really care about. Not to say that my cousins didn’t care… but “we’re family” cue the violins, when I went through hell, they were not there. It was a bit for show. I wasn’t looking for PARENTS AGAIN. For the love of Christ. It’s like, see you for holidays… that’s who those people were… not MY FAMILY. And I got so lost in writing… just a terrible ordeal.

He made my life a living hell. Every suggestion he made. It was comical. “You should get on social media,” after I got out of a hospital… maybe not the time? He was the worst career coach, not like he was one, but he would SLIP in sometimes…with these SUGGESTIONS, that were always delivered as if he were a supreme being… who couldn’t “do it for me,” when I wasn’t ASKING for any of this. He was having a relationship with someone who existed in his head. NOW I’m OUT, I’m CLEAR.

I look back at that relationship in HORROR. Get a TIKTOK account if you want to have a ONE WAY CONVO. You can make 3,000 videos a day — which is what he sounded like — where you ONLY say “you create your own reality.” And the thing is, isn’t that obvious? Isn’t that the most obvious comment to make? Like, slow clap? But the idea that EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS TO YOU IS WHAT YOU WANT…

I need to get a whoopee cushion, I’m not diffusing that. He and his brother are very sci-fi. A bit boyish. It’s a bit like, they needed the GAMEBOY taken away from them, with a pat on their heads. “Would you like a snack?”

So, I woke up feeling a bit lost, like should I throw my whole self into just trying to get this story done? Should I try entertaining people with this story? I need to make money… I sort of had to say goodbye to some people… I need to socialize… to go see shows. I need motivaton. I need to figure out how to put myself out there in a way that’s going to bring me opportunities, something.

Okay, I have a couple of Columbia rehearsals and performances this week. I need to get another job. Everything is going to be okay. I will have the group of friends I always wanted, though I didn’t know that. I’ll have a house, I’ll meet someone I love, that’s the important for me. I’ll find purpose in whatever it is that I’m doing…career wise. I don’t know exactly what that means yet, but entertainment feels good to me, so I’m going to do my best to BE who I want to be. Let me just start there.

I want to finish this story for this mag I’m trying to get into. I’ll keep figuring the rest of it out. I’m just wanting to feel smarter than I feel right now… not knowing how to put myself out there… like, why did the guru tell me to do this? Get on social media… and diffuse my story…? Because people get picked up on social media… okay, there must be some way I can pivot that to help me out, or help others, sure. Family problems…something. I just didn’t exactly want to be that person. Everything is going to be fine.

I’m going to work on my story, I need to go take care of some basics, and I have a rehearsal later, and I’m going to plan some things to do… for my next days off… see shows, go to a comedy show, just get social. That’s it.

To Snow in New York, one these piano pieces, Charles in Charge has responded: LOL

The search for the Dark Matter Yeti cup continues.

I had to inform Charles.

I gave him the update of updates. Yeti headquarters called. Dark Matter headquarters called. Now in touch with a company who might be able to reproduce it. He’s sending me LOL, as long as it’s Dark Matter and Yeti, it’s all good. “Lol.”

“Please don’t beat yourself up about this.”

“I will get the Yeti cup back.”

So, I confronted that, informed him, as I hate being underhanded, about anything.

Solutions.

I have solutions.

We’re laughing. I hope he appreciates my committment to the cause…

Let this friendship MEAN something.

I’m laughing.

The search for the Black Matter Yeti CUP—please! Common please!

PLEASE!

The ghost of Barbara Harris and I tore through the closet at my restaurant — where is the DARK MATTER Yeti cup?! I’m accusing UNIQUE of stealing it. I’m joking. I hate that I took his to-go cup, because it was the perfect mug, and I brought it to work. I forgot about it. My roommate politely mentioned it, and he even told me, a Black man, that I had the RIGHT to take it. I’ve been ripping apart my work life to find it — and my job is ON it — with a snarky message from IVAN about the messy drawer. Okay, not my problem, didn’t do that, stepping over coats, passing erotic art of Chinese people fucking — okay? WHERE’S THE DARK MATTER YETI CUP? Losing my mind. Picturing the entire company behind the restaurant — launching into action. “Where’s the cup?”

There was CHAI tea IN it, and Diego didn’t get it, like, if I found a coffee mug with liquid in it, he’s not taking it. No one would, I don’t think, it’s more that I can’t locate it, and that’s the last place I saw it. I had not yet finished my chai, so I do not remember going to a bathroom to empty it, I do not remember taking it HOME. Did I leave it on the subway or on the bench? I admittedly went through a final tense period where I had to write on my blog at all times to simply keep going. NYC Dark Matter does not have it, but they were nice enough to explain their whole system operation, like we discontinued those, we’re doing handleless Yeti mugs now. NO!

And I will mention it, because the “Black men being the unsung heroes of my life right now” idea keeps catching on, even psychically, yes, as I am the most psychic person next to Dave Chappelle that anyone had ever seen. Like, it was an immediate observation.

I was pacing the restaurant, and a couple of male friends were dining in my section. I had just gone on a whole discourse with people as to how significant it was to my roommate, and this friend whipped out a wallet as I passed their table “even this is significant to me….”

I laughed.

His best friend bought this to-go yeti cup in Chicago. Black Matter called their production warehouse to check if there was ANY anywhere, and so, I hope it turns up? I really don’t understand. I just don’t think I took it out of the closet, and I’m losing my mind, opening up all these cabinets. I’m going to spend some time online to see if I can FIND this goddamn Dark Matter yeti cup. WITH a handle. It’s a to go CUP, with a lid, with a handle. Let me see. I’m going to think, but unless I left it on the subway or beside me on a bench — it’s gotta be somewhere at work. Or somewhere here, and I’m just not seeing it, or something. I’m trying to track it down.

Okay, wish me luck, let’s hope my Mortal Kombat IV skills help me here — as I tracked down the video game in less than a day in the fourth grade as part of my undercover investigation into the sex scandal I was in — and it was available at BLOCKBUSTER. WHERE would the yeti cup equivalent be? WHERE? Thinking about how this Black man flashed his wallet, like “this is significant,” taking THE WORD out of my mouth, “to me also.” I laughed, I did.

Unfortunately, something like that is going to happen to me, so I have to not do that, not like it happens often, but I can blank, even. Don’t give my DVDs because this bitch is going to come over, spill her drink on them, just don’t do it, and I’m going to be nodding like, “JESUS CHRIST!” I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t, I will not risk it.

The guru believed that this was a psychological game related to the underlining disappointment I felt with my father…? I can’t stop laughing. I don’t think so. You know what I mean? Charles would never do that to me. He would probably be touched to what lengths I went to get it back. I hope to be at his wedding, in attendance. He’s the nicest man. I do not want to lose his goddamn DARK MATTER YETI CUP. (The flash again, the wallet, “this too.”) Psychically in tune. The Black community has responded on the psycho-spiritual plane.

Okay, so I called Black Matter NYC and Chicago. I called YETI. Now, I’m on Etsy, and I’m going to see if someone can just reproduce the mug. I’ll keep looking for it because WHERE is it? But at least, I can take care of it right away, because I am NOT waiting until FRIDAY, as he even gave me a WEEK, like no worries, to let him down if I need to.

To the guru, I’m just a nice person who cares about your shit, whether it be the I-TANYA DVD or a black matter coffee cup. Please! I need holiday magic, Common, yes the rapper, to somehow find this blog post… as he’s in Chicago. “I bought one…” and contact me through Instagram (@marmoch) saying he has the Black Matter Yeti Rambler, 14 oz, and it’s not THAT significant to him, so no worries, you can venmo me. Private. I would ensure that all Common would have to do is give it to a fed ex employee, hopefully played by Ed Norton (lol). I put up an ad on craigslist Chicago and New York and Facebook marketplace. There’s gotta be someone out there with this yeti mug! I truly wrote these ads. MUST GET THE YETI.

I wish I hadn’t taken it to work. I have no recollection of any other time I used this cup. I don’t think I took it to a Columbia rehearsal. I don’t think I took it to an open mic.

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if the Black Matter Yeti was there — in the safe hands of a comedian. “Thought this was important, just a feeling.”

“Oh yeah, here the whole time.”

I might, I might call around. I just don’t think I ever used it more than once? It’s one of these things, did I blank out?

Anyway, I’m going to let it go a minute, and I’ll see if I can get one custom-made. I just don’t like losing people’s things. It’s not that nice, a feeling. I don’t know if it happens THAT often that I need to be psycho analyzed like I have some META problem with disappointing people… and the hilarious bit, I remember my old roommate, she DESTROYED my Marc Jacobs coat, the interior, blaming the quality of the coat. I didn’t even get a fucking apology. People have swiped my shit, for sure. I hate that.

It’s happened TWICE in ten years. You see what I mean? This guru, Jesus. Psychoanalyzing me because I’m caring. Like, do you know what that is? A caring person?

Now, what needs to happen?

A Black man needs to…casually, like he sees me in a state of distress on a citibike even. He goes out of his way…simply wondering what the trouble is? “Are you okay?”

“I lost my roommates Black Matter Yeti cup…”

“The squat one? The one that looks like a mug?”

“YES…”

“I have it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I bought a couple because…”

“It’s the perfect…”

“Mug…”

“Really?”

“Sure…”

“Can I buy it?”

“I’ll be happy to give it to you…”

“Thank you,” shaking…

Waking up

I had an enjoyable time today mapping out this story, thinking about genre. We’ll see, I’m not finishing it tomorrow, one of these awful problems I ran into that this guru, since he was there, didn’t think of saying. “Like stop…” I was in a race, I was acting as if I were in a race, and this guy just sat there on the phone. That’s what I mean, me? Meeting me? At 39, like ten years later, forget thirty, as this guru was significantly older than I was.

I woke up with movie soundtracks in my head because I was listening to them all night.

I’m saying, “read, think, take your time…” and of course, I feel like there’s nothing but missing pieces in my life, not knowing how I’m going to fill them, because I didn’t need to dedicate my life to being a writer. I mean, I hope I produce something good, but I’m not sure if I wanted to go through this much over some story that STRUCK this guru more so than it should have. But let’s hope something wonderful comes out of it. That’s all I can do. But I don’t know if this was going to CHANGE my life, like, I wonder, for the guru, when he made a blockbuster, did that CHANGE his life? I mean, I’m sure it did, but he didn’t come across like his every day life changed that much? I don’t know, he rarely spoke in the real, or from a place of real actual experience.

I did this and then, this happened. I’m sure it did, but all he did for 25 years is WRITE, right? So maybe they had nicer houses, but did his LIFE change that much? I was thinking about what it means to get married, have kids, and keep growing at your career, too. I was thinking about Amal Clooney last night, because she amassed a small fortune herself. I don’t think she was acting as if she was going to marry a wealthy man, so I just am nursing my wounds because I acted like an idiot, and these so-called older men who came into my life who wanted to help to me…they were so useless, I nod at myself, and I feel like a fool, they made me feel like a fool. I could have, again, had a real sum of money right now. Like, a million, you know? It doesn’t MATTER if I can MAKE IT BACK.

I don’t know WHY these men wanted to help me, specifically, either. Because I came from a background…? I think the thing is, I was 30 at the time? In regards to the guru, who got some weird hard on over my family story, it was a long long time ago, practically twenty years, which no one seemed to understand. It happened a long time ago by then. I was four, and yes, my family ended up being a disaster, but it was a long time ago, and I can’t help that I had a LOOK. I was a vulnerable person because I didn’t know what to do with how people reacted… I suppose I had my attachments too, but in France, I avoided the HELP shadow completely, it’s interesting, the HELP shadow was specifically American. All I had to do was just keep it to myself. I would get caught up, confused, when someone asked me a simple question about my family. Easy — she’s a lawyer, he was an aerospace engineer. “Which one?” I might say, “which mother?” YEAH NO, don’t do that.

I know who my parents are. I had to work out the basics, here. Don’t invite trouble. It wasn’t necessary to talk about. It brought me nothing but complications. And honestly, very little respect. And hopefully, that might translate to work I can pitch to EPIC, I don’t know. Meaning, just the drama of it. I didn’t want to be associated with that drama, if that makes sense, and truly speaking, I think I have psychological dramas coming out of my ears… picturing some funny Lynchian soundtrack and the guru floating down a residential street in Beverly Hills… you know what I mean? It’s funny. Him lifting his arm outside of Taschen — “you do not have to manage the shift in reality…” it looks somewhat ridiculous. Him turning in the middle of the street, an expensive show store behind him.

“Dr. J was smart.”

That might make Amal Clooney spit out her coffee. Hannah Arendt? She would be blown away. The guru phrased it that she was smart, right? Which I’ll put in here. The GENIUS routine, that worked on everyone. No one went “genius my ass…” which is what I would say, now. “That’s Hannah Arendt…” that’s a genius. Come on. “Your mother?”

Take a real look at her. “Mr Ghomi? He needed his books taken care of…” he needed someone to do his taxes for him. Such a Lynch, or it could be, this man tapping his temple…behind the wheel of his Mercedes. “Very smart.” Your mother. In a Louis IV wig. Dave Chappelle and I in the backseat, as he would have been cast as my friend Derrick Williams when he was 13. He was the only person in my life who was going to confront her for me. I told him not to. I asked him, “what do you think?” Like who cares? He just hugged me. A caring, simple, gesture. He didn’t get all heady about it, he didn’t feel bad for me. A very real person. It’s funny, if you consider how other people responded in my life. He thought that was a “no way” street.

But the thing is, at least I can say, I’m in the psychological realm, not so much family, though Christmas in Naples is a Sport is more so in the family domain, or it could be, but it depends how I want to end up doing it because the event itself merits being at the FOREFRONT of the DRAMA. There are a lot of really RICH nonfiction stories IN the food, even, full of hilarity and strife. So I think Naples is a sitcom, something. With me, this hilarious American cousin, a touch Zoolander, butchering Italian. But THEY the Neapolitans will understand me, somehow, because of my artistry, my hands and physical communication is even ART to them. “Neapolitan abstractionism” like I could put on shows at parties.

Let’s hope I can get there. That would make me happy. I wanted to go into entertainment. For the rest, we’ll see. I wake up sometimes, in a tiny room, just contending with reality, you see, as I went down a road I wish I didn’t, quite frankly. I just, also, and who cares? Bigger dreams. I’m going to spend some time reading THEIR pieces, the editors at EPIC, because THEY are successful magazine writers… in first person, too. Lots of their articles have been optioned for the screen. They’ve been nominated for awards. I’m going to read their articles, stories, and acquaint myself better with their work. It helps, it does, to have a direction, because then, you can find people who are doing what you want to do…

So, from here, the FUTURE point of having a lamborghini, though the IMAGE is not the POINT, it’s the FEELING, on Santa Monica Boulevard as a lamborghini ROARS past, on the edge of Beverly Hills, again. And picture the funny lynchian soundtrack. That didn’t work at all. What helped was figuring out direction — where I wanted to end up. I’ll be reading their pieces, as two people who had a really solid idea. THEY are successful writers. They’ve written books, screenplays. They are on the entertainment end of the spectrum. That’s where I’d like to be.

OKAY, clap, progress. The psychic period begone. For now. Who cares? Let me tell you about my years in this psychedelic community… another Lynch, maybe, with a funny soundtrack…but at the same time, it’s always about angle. There were some amazing stories in there… of a woman who was shot in the desert because she was dating a politician who was assasinated. She counted the seconds. Another man was on 13 meds, and ayahausca saved his life. There are genuinely interesting stories in there…. it would be a matter of finding them. I know one of them, a former Navy SEAL. Iboga. Even me… just how I became the face of capitalism at a psychedelic conference which triggered me to pull a “clown act.” The liberals, you see, once they heard who I worked for, they treated me unkindly. But I had paid money to go to their podcast taping. I showed up in a totally different outfit because I found myself on the side of the capitalists, not knowing that.

I told everybody I could BEFORE the taping started that I was a capitalist—apparently! And now what? I was so annoyed, “and now what?” The question I asked the audience outside an acrobatics studio in Brookyln was: can you FACE your conflicts? This is why things do not change, so here I am, a capitalist? Now what? Let’s see what they will do. I predicted they might pull something, and YOU? I informed about 1/3 of the audience…you gotta FACE the conflict. When they did PULL something, I went directly outside afterwards to a group of people who were in the know, and like, if I hadn’t said anything, they wouldn’t have gotten the reference… so it was I — who put myself out there, first, predicting their next moves accurately. “No shame…” right? “This is good,” I pulled the people closer. “Right?” Ribbon dancer walking by.

I can see turning that period into something positive.

I have to apply for jobs this morning, because I need to keep moving, and I have to keep figuring out this story, now that I’m coming at it differently. I need to build a life now, I need to figure out HOW I’m going to make money, because I have none, literally! I just think, on behalf of that guy, what a dumb move… I’m telling you, you see? I didn’t meet someone who honestly read something I wrote, let’s say, and thought, “you know you’re great, let me introduce you to someone…” if you catch my drift. THAT didn’t matter, to him, or that would take care of itself. INSTEAD, because I came from a background, and I was a sensitive person, I was unguarded, pretty, curls — I’m going to get some guy… who believes that I DO NOT believe it’s possible to be a successful writer… who’s going to get involved in my personal life thinking THAT’S going to help me… and the thing is, I had hardly started. I had just gotten to LA. And he jumped on me.

So no, I wouldn’t suggest being open about a past like that, because, it turns out, remarkably, that it puts you more at RISK than reward.It’s one thing if someone wants to help you genuinely because a, you’re really good at THAT, so they support your career choices. It’s another if they feel like you’re an emergency situation? Like, you need the number of a good shrink? Or, they are so TOUCHED, (truly), by your personhood… that they think you’re a wonderful person one that they’d like to get to know. But be weary of help, this is my warning, because nothing any of these wealthy men did helped me AT ALL. OR, they are a writer, screenwriter, and they are interested in talking to you about that story because maybe there’s something we could do? That’s not what I got…

So I hope I worked out what I needed to, but it took my life thus far to get to the other side of that story. It’s actually not going to bring you real help. Not like I needed it? At that point in my life? It’s just going to bring you more complications. I can’t explain the laws of attraction, but it’s worth keeping in mind, because I lost ten years of my life… which put me through heartache and pain to just get to notecards. I’m reaching OUT for assistance, or guidance, but it’s coming from me. I’m looking at who works, who’s doing well, and responding based on what I’m learning. Like, “oh that person writes about that…” or they are in THAT genre.

It just sucked to learn that the hard way. That, the story, mine, brought me all this shit I did not need. And I hope I’m right that I worked out what I needed to, so I’ll hopefully be able to make some strides… as if I didn’t realize what world I was in, if that makes sense, and it wasn’t designed to get me to the bright lights. It was meant to lock me in. I can’t believe that guru, I really can’t, that screenwriter, that he treated me like that. Gotta go.

Up early, feeling better, fresher, no more gurus

Photo by Alejandro Contreras on Unsplash

I just finished an article for the science mag I write for early in the mornings over the weekend as I’m still figuring out what I’m doing with the rest of my life now that I’m on the other side of a deep revelation.

I stare at these notecards. I didn’t expect to come to the realizations that I did. I really don’t know if my mother lied about my father. I mean, can you imagine? I had to cut off from people in my life because they were hurting me… and they don’t get it.

An expert on the subject, not to say they are always right, is telling me that, “in your case, with a story like that, you could have been raped or molested when you were four,” and even before four. They evidently can’t tell me whether or not that’s true, only that, “that’s a crazy story.” For real.

I woke up feeling a little lost today, but I got past it. I could have been a millionaire by now. Sure, not in the multi-millions, but if I hadn’t touched my money, in 20 years? This guru didn’t see that, did he? I just didn’t understand this man. He’s fiscally conservative, he’s not spending money as if he can ideate it back into existence. That’s not how he’s acting. What he choses to DREAM about, and fantastize about, as I see, psychically, sure, lots of curly cues slithering out of this guy’s imagination, like symphonies this guy, he encouraged me to spend my IRA money? I know wealthy people who would never have treated my money as if it weren’t real. Nothing but disrespect. From day one.

I want to be the person who rises from the ashes so-to-speak, who reaches real success, who buys a house with real furniture in it, and goes on vacation and buys a fucking rug from time to time. This guru’s obsession with fame or success… and I didn’t even need to do anything! You know? All this fantasy around some girl he was attracted to? I felt so insulted.

I unfriended the guru’s brother on Facebook. I had a moment last night, just contending with the choices I made. I thought, what a couple of weirdos. I became psychic? Like I needed that. They need to chill around their genius/psychic routines. There was no reason why the screenwriter had to insert himself into my personal life. I did not do that to him. I know what a boundary is, I had to learn to exercise it for myself, as people just crossed lines — my cousins included — because they felt like they had a right to.

“We’re family?” Is that so?

I think, now, I seek to find what I’m good at, so I thinking about my adverse experiences here, the problems I ran into with my circle, and wonder if I’m supposed to reach in and offer what it is that I learned. Like, to be reductive, should I start making social graphics, like “you build your life over time.” Develop my ideas that way? As someone who came from “a wow family,” that even Jay Shetty would remark as “that’s crazy,” this is what I learned.

I don’t know what to do. I had to work out, actively, if this story was that special? As whoa, even the plant people, there were orchestras in there, the string section really really going to town. Thunder and lightning (this is where Barbara Harris appears in my mind laughing, which always makes me laugh, where she’ll suddenly pop up…) in the drums and Sacha Baron Cohen on the xylophone. Raindrops.

Do I do a show about it? Is that what I’d like to do? I didn’t care that much. Other people did. I felt that there was something in the story that would add value in the world. It’s more like, now, I’m clear…

I’m getting into acting again, as I wanted to go into that field originally because I could apply that passion in an empathetic craft, where I wouldn’t have to judge or deal with the PERSONAL, if you would, but place my experiences in a larger understanding of human behavior.

That would be a Clueless statement, one of these surprisingly smart things one of these students said. “This is a really good school,” Cher says to Tai.

There are all sorts of characters and stories out there. This is more, I would imagine, what Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting would say to me. I felt that way. But man, I really had to learn to tell people to fuck off, mind their own business, and turn on the the TV to get their fill. I think, in the end, it was the type of men I attracted that sent me into an abyss, like why would you take advantage of me? Why are people trying to HELP me? I don’t need help. I don’t need some idiot in genius clothing indirectly suggesting that I wasn’t fed as a baby? A bit too fantastical there. A bit too — cue the electric guitars in this orchestra as we’re doing a rock ballad, apparently.

“Nothing else MATTERS…” guitars.

Jesus Christ, like people got wrapped up in me — totally incorrectly. People didn’t get it. They did not get the story. Like, my second surrogate mother, who is just my cousin’s wife—progress—I didn’t actually want to get all fucking entangled with another fucking mother. She thought she was helping me, and this was all emotional, which she’s fundamentally complexed about, her stupid precious feelings, just like the other person I knew from this New Canaan Connecticut, like they regard their feelings as if they delicate pieces of glass menagerie. You know? Didn’t help me. Get over yourselves.

Ohhhh, your feelings. I met people who are so precious about their FEELINGS, it was — a clownshow. I try and avoid doing that, for real. I’m very conscientious of not — cuing the flutes, the wind instruments. I’m cuing the tuba instead. I can’t help that. I didn’t know that I didn’t know where I came from. You see, I can say, generally, I came to find that people trying to help — it doesn’t help. But I’m supposed to be grateful or responsive, when probably, the field of psychology would back me up. I would have been in a better position with a social worker or someone who understands that life is a constructive exercise. I can’t help where I came from, like, my Big Sister of America, she’s not playing mother with me. She’s watching how I change families? It was like a magic trick, she said.

And you’ll see, once I get to the book, which I’m thinking about behind the scenes, how this story keeps me hooked… and I’m going to meet people like the guru who are wanting me to stay hooked, they just don’t see themselves.

Like me? Now? My daughter? YES I want wedding photos, please, Dave Chappelle backing me up. I want dowrys. I want alliances. Not into marriage? Thinking about Dave Chappelle… against it? Here we go. Time to cue the violins again. Obama understanding me.

Maybe I’ll end up developping “Maria mother” I don’t know, dealing with my — deep breath — self. Chasing some girl in Joseph multicolored dream coats skipping around Paris — what the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck is this professor? Kick him the fuck out. Who gives a shit about that guy?

I disappeared, I really did, by the time I got to college. I have absolutely no idea who that was, and I do see degrees of my mother in there, I just don’t know how to unpack that. I’m here now. I had a heartbreaking experience, at first, sort of nodding… because what I’m doing now, I feel as though this was what I wanted, in fact, when I was seventeen. Like the move to make with me would be — GET OUT THERE. Forget school. Hold off.

Get a place, job, and begin getting acquainted with the field of life. You gotta be able to operate. I would have appreciate someone who called me once a week, you know what I mean? Basics. I’m here now, I did, you know, have two parents who were not well, they were not well. I don’t know what to say about my father, and I can’t go there, as I don’t know… and finally, I feel a general feeling that everyone has “shut up,” in my mind, as people LOVED to speak over me, tell me what “they thought,” when, why are you doing that to begin with? Do I do that to YOU about your goddamn life? No.

A life, no offense, that a psychologist even told me requires a degree. Know your place. That’s what I felt like I had to say across my life. Change the channel. This isn’t yours. And cue the guitars once again. “Nothing else MATTERS…” The guru the conductor. I’d place a precious sandwich beside him neatly packed in a ziplock bag. The edges cut off. I have to make fun of that guy, I’m sorry. That was bonkers. The man raising his arm at me, pointing, “you do not have to manage the shift in reality…”

Picturing Obama, still, in these situations with me… being spoken to like this, like what would he say? If he were having a family issue, and someone did that? He’s — making a quick getaway, I believe. Weird part of town. That’s the part of Beverly Hills I found myself in — amazing.

Anyway, letting that go, coming to find I am here. I’m here. I lost a lot, though, but I do feel lighter as a person. It’s hard to totally describe feeling as though my basic gears were not aligned — and it was basic. “My needs, my desires…” life is an active exercise, constructive. You’re building over time. SURE, sure, 500k can fall from the sky, and when it does, don’t be an idiot. It doesn’t matter — you’re after LONGEVITY. Think over time. It doesn’t matter where you come from. I found, yes, my family was a mess, but I know where I came from, so I stand on firmer ground. It doesn’t matter that the foundation was broken. Being ethereal, not my jam. I would not recommend it unless you consciously exploring an artistic point of view or making a statement. Peter Pan? About orphans. Fantasy. It comes from somewhere. I found a lot of fantasy around me, why? It’s not fun.

Pursuing an artistic path in the way that I did, though I chose not to, but when I did, writing, I just ended up running into the strangest men. I don’t get it about artists, either, like why are you acting so self-important? You’re not saving the world, exactly. “You’re mentoring me” as if I were Alexander the Great “the artist.”

Anyway, I keep looking at these notecards, hoping I can construct a good story out of it, but I didn’t want my life to revolve around a book about it. This guru’s focus was so narrow. There’s nothing I can do, I can’t change anything. Now, I just want to break through — with this Nancy Drew character of sorts, just because I’ve come this far, and in this climate, I think it might catch on. I don’t know, I have only begun, literally speaking, being able to HEAR myself, as I got FOOTBALL piled on.

The NFL coach in me is going to SCREAM in my face, what the FUCK are you doing out there??? GIRL??? PUT ON YOUR GEAR! You’re running out there without any protection! GUYS might come AT YOU you idiot! YES, strategy, it’s called DEFENSE. YOU ARE A GIRL. HELLO? This NFL coach, Jesus, so annoyed with me. Now, who the fuck is this? Right? Seeing this guy… turning to MEATY football player one, two…

Yup yup, “special relationship, sure sure,” look, he’s telling this guy to get the fuck off the field. “Find your team.” Different mentality. And one of the football players is even touched by my discourse. NEXT — go long, here, he’ll help me, looking at this guru. “LONG, like far far away…”

I’ll keep figuring it out, I’m just not happy with where I am in my life. Ten years ago, that wasn’t the case, but the road I went down really took the life out of me. Looking at this guru, is that the way you speak to a lady? No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend, wow.

I’ve decided to take a step back from the open mics and rehearsals a moment, because “is this what I want to do?” I usually get back to “I think so.” I do want to talk about this Hollywood screenwriter, I do, because wow, that guy was seriously out of touch with reality. Not to say you can’t make magic happen, it’s just, I came to find that life doesn’t work like that… I didn’t come from a world where magically everything… goes well for you? Like I’m happy for you, driving into Bel Air… considering his background. And sure, I could end up there, but… whoa! That’s not how it worked for me, and I still hope, though I feel like I had to take an unusual path, meaning I had to dismantle my life, put aside the family narrative… stand up for myself, even if that meant goodbye, I don’t know. I just hope there’s a silver lining for me. I feel the celebrities, I do, and thank you for your assistance on the psycho spiritual plane, for truly radiating — we’re rooting for you.

“We do not give a shit if you become a writer…”

So thank you.

In any case, I’m back to myself, found myself, shed this skin that didn’t really feel like me, I must be honest. That wasn’t really me, that was a lot of stuff. Wow, I was humbled by the journey, you see, I don’t feel cocky. I don’t feel like walking around like I’m better than you. I’m, truly speaking, humbled by the journey. I lost myself, way back there too! You know? Both my parents were mentally ill, at least.

And in the end, I hope that 500k will fall from the sky, of course, I’m meditating on that most certainly, when I ALREADY had it, if you catch my drift. I had resources. The guru wanting to put on Hawaiian inspired interpretative dances in hula skirts in Beverly Hills. Like, why are we doing this? I’m a wonderful warm woman, not some pupil. I put myself in situations that stripped me of my power. Did I have to reach Bill Gates or Bezos wealth? Did I need to be blown away? I can’t even make money, you see, I don’t know how to do that. I don’t want to “meditate and ask my higher self” it’s like, why? I can’t just think? You know? Why all this extra stuff? Like I’m not good enough? I mean, myself. I need to reach for a higher self? I don’t always get that. I can’t just seek an aerial view? Does that even clarify anything? Look…little houses… a stadium… it looks really small. I hope my perspective will make us laugh.

Wow, all that imagination was deeply confusing to me.

I do want to show you what’s possible, show you want I can do, and how you can lose everything and gain it all back, sure, spoken from the mouths of people who have no real experience with that means. “Of course you can.” Yes, except I don’t know anyone who’s actually done it. Be real. I know people have. I don’t like speaking outside the real. I’ll figure it out.

I have to to figure out how to make money. I feel like I have a better head on my shoulders. Life isn’t over at 40, it’s more that I don’t have anything to show for my life thus far. But we’ll see. Maybe that statement will change.

I could have bought a house, sure, maybe not the biggest house in the universe, but if you have the right mindset, you keep GROWING. Did I have to have the biggest house in the universe? I get you spend your time in mansions. I understand. But even he has a small house. That’s what I mean, he didn’t make sense. He’s living beneath his means, telling me it doesn’t matter what the rent is, when in HIS life, he’s not ACTING like that.

Holy moly, that guy.

I’m just going to work on this story, and I’m going to keep feeling into what I’d like to do… across all fronts. I’d like to realize my greatest potential. I don’t think I was in CONFLICT with it, that story, my family story, presented me with the strangest obstacles…this guru so clearly emblematic of “shit” I did not need ON TOP of it all. Thinking his god’s gift, telling me my birth was divine, because I was born to parents who were not there.

The help shadow was terrible and long… and not that benign. And it didn’t strike the right cord. Like maybe I should have gone into entertainment, or something, because people were too affected by my look and personality, I can’t totally explain that (and I say that to “the celebrities,” on the psycho spiritual plane, as we’ve had many discussions about all this psychically, yes, as I am the most gifted psychic on earth, currently. This is what people believe. And the celebrities don’t really have a problem with it? We’re just moving onto the discussion. I don’t understand WHY people responded to me so emotionally. I GET I had a personality, I guess I had a QUALITY.)

Like, my old psychologist, child psychologist, even reached out to me like — almost 30 years later to say hello. I was always “charming.” So I hope I can get some of that back. Or something. I usually move through these moods, it’s going to take a second, I know, to do anything, really. I think I’ll concentrate on making my own work. I have to research that comedian who’s really big now, the man, he popped up on a magazine cover in a pink lady jacket. He’s hitting the right note, right now. So I’ll watch him.

It’s just weird, because this guru was ALL ABOUT this story, and why? SO I was in a sex scandal, who hasn’t been in one by this point? Big whoop. So my father might have raped me, whatever. I laugh, I’m sorry, at this sheer possibility, like seriously? Or molested me? I don’t know what to say, except I feel supported by the celebrities on the psycho spiritual plane that, that story is mighty crazy. The type that would make YOU feel better, which is really what I’m aiming to do, to make Brad Pitt feel better. Much much better. I’m a healer. Right? In any case, in time, I hope I’ll reach a point of clarity, I’m just not there yet.

I’m going to keep working out this short — so I think this works, the storyboard I have. I ended up wondering if my previous approach was better — as my inteview with Fat Alan and my psychological experiment into lying don’t factor into this story, but I think, that’s too long, as there’s the lying segment, the investigation into child abuse, and then, the actual story. I’m going to keep sitting with notecards. I’m going to move this text to my book blog.

Unreal, have you been reading my Book Blog?

I spent the night tossing and turning, to use some outdated phrase — I could hardly sleep over this utter crap I have received. Forget “it” being hard, in the beginning, on some people. When I started, after years of agony, trying to vocalize that I didn’t know if it was a lie anymore, I got royally shut down. And I’m supposed to play my friend’s GAME?

I hope to God that I’m correct on this one, that I am only human, and I cannot help that I truly, physically, wrestled with this, and I still do. I expected more from that friend of mine in particular.

Here’s the thing — I get the attachments to mental health, it’s fucking crazy in my opinion, that these people believe that THEY KNOW what I went through when they were not there, for one. This “I know” everything attitude about mental health, when I’m dealing with the story I’m diffusing on my blog, is crazy to me.

Are you not reading the words?

I mean, truly speaking! I feel as though, if I had come from some cookie cutter scenario and started doubting my whole life that I would have been treated with more respect. What I said was serious. I needed a HAND. Not silence, not airy-fairy responses. I’m sorry.

So, you know, I don’t know what to say, because I keep typing on my end, looking at these Beverly Hills gurus like you destroyed my life. You had no idea what you were doing. You, too, had no real concept as to what the story was about. People do not respond well to a child abuse, even conceptually, like I couldn’t have come from a more suspicious story. You’d think? Wouldn’t you?

I’ve experienced a kind of cruelty that was not merited in my case. I get, once again, that people get superior about mental health events — which in my case, call me a warrior — it ain’t happening. I’ll fight. I can’t even believe I even had to POP a field of bubbles to get here — and the thing is, you should treat someone who comes from a story like mine, if you truly love them as a friend, seriously.

I got through whatever this stupid wrestle was, was late to work, but it’s fine, luckily, and just thought—you know what? Fuck you. I’m listening to “Fuck You,” literally, by CeeLo Green. I am. I hope I am right that this story will make an impact, like it will bring me attention, and that— with wide scared eyes — I will be welcomed tenderly, (I’m laughing), and we can all be amazed that my friends totally erased my entire story.

That THEY stopped talking to ME, too. They aren’t apologizing. Like, listen to this. My other friend she shut me down really hard. She doesn’t get it, either. Finally, I said, this is hurting me physically, please, I cannot talk to someone who doesn’t believe me… so bye, I need to hear myself think.

And she wrote me a birthday message “I know we aren’t talking right now and I want to honor your wish…” uh huh… she missed the point. My friends continue to. With some, I’m playing the “dee dee dee” game of “everything’s fine” when I wouldn’t say that, as I cannot even get involved anymore.

Look, my friend Liz, with whom I spent my 40th birthday? She actually comments on my social media posts, meaning, she looks at what I post, and she doesn’t give a shit — literally one — about what it is that I post.

She knows I’m exploring, that I’m dealing with “real shit,” as we call it, and she would never put CONCERN on me based on some girl trying to be funny online or explore what her story is.

And this friend, that I do not speak to anymore, another one! She even, sharply, it felt, brought up me sharing my story on social media which apparently gave her the RIGHT to sort of bring up my past… to a total stranger at the Carlyle Hotel.

“What was spectacular about your upbringing?” She ended up asking me.

You know, I think for a long time, that story existed in an unreal universe, and I was using the word spectacular in referencing Society of Spectacle. But when it became real, because I don’t even get what THEY THINK these years are going to look like to the outside world…and what, are they going to insist that they know the story that didn’t even happen to them?

I’ve been shocked, I really have. That story only brought me complications (A Hollywood wannabee guru) and pain. Even this guru’s brother shut me down. That’s all I experienced, and yes, it caused me personal damages.

WHY people act like they know when they don’t, I do not know.

A goddamn nightmare.

If I were crying and screaming in a video — outside of a rehearsal room — on social media — sure, I guess I might get the concern. Someone simply trying to figure out social media, why did I keep getting knocked down by my so-called friends? It was deplorable from beginning to end.

Forget the initial confusion around my state.

I’m talking about everything that happened after that.

Please note: a mental health event like mine is a real, physical ordeal. And like, did my panic attacks not communicate that? With this so-called friend of mine with fantasy plots to kill politicians having stars in his eyes — before I could complete a book — of staring in a movie?

“As your manager,” he said, with a belitting hand. I didn’t do anything that required a manager. I was not an actor. Then, I get out of the hospital—unreal— and says, slyly, “write the movie about what happened…”

Not the time.

Let Ed Norton sit in this living room, in my dreams, and tell you that.

“Who gives a shit about a movie?”

Then, I go over to my book blog, and I continue forward in utter amazement.

I should get an award. Some fake award. Let it be a PDF, even, that I can bring up on my IPhone.

I just wanted this to end. I don’t know what to say structurally, or psychologically, because my whole world concept changed, and these connections I had, a way of relating, I can’t explain it, terminated. There was a real distinct line in the sand between me and them. I don’t know, less than critiquing them, if that means I’m supposed to segway into a line of work that might serve someone who’s going through an epic ordeal.

One step at a time. But to her, this most recent friend of mine, it’s a strong goodbye from me, and I won’t miss her. I cannot help that I am dealing with what I am dealing with, and being ignored around a subject that I would think, would think would be received.

“The lie that he was a child abuser.” The very idea is already inside the story. That has never changed. NOW, because I woke up to what happened, in fact, I don’t know. And it’s driven me nuts across the spectrum that no one has heard me. I cannot help that I went through a whole event that made me physically question whether or not it was true in some capacity.

So, there we go. I woke up feeling just fine. I might have turned over that, like, are you serious? But I woke up… feeling like I must get this story done. I don’t know for the rest of my life. I don’t know what I can do on social media to get my story out there, or just me… still not knowing what to do with this GURU’s suggestion to diffuse my story on social media to begin with…

I hate the gurus. I hate these Beverly Hills gurus. The screenwriter was way off. His psychic abilities, his superior senses, need to be put in check. But literally, everyone acted that way with me. Practically everyone. And like, it made me think, look man, I might not have been a good friend to anyone, at all. You know? I just didn’t understand it.

I’ve put up boundaries where I’ve needed to.

Xena Warrior Princess. Tom Cruise, as a joke, will play Ares… and we will battle with flying boulders… having also had a relationship. Just to that soundtrack, the drums. “I do not know!” Friends throw manure in my face. Others powder me up with lipstick. “Oooo.”

Anyway, I’m off to continue working out the story step by step. My undercover investigation into this subject… and once again, Dr. J? Is it DISNEY? Is it a joke? As she was a DISNEY character. Is this rated PG? And the more I read, the more I think, “yeah sort of.”

Why are people acting like idiots? Because I went through a mental health event? Coming from that story right there? Like they will hold onto their so-called knowledge to the point of my pain, my detriment? They should be ashamed of themselves, not me.

That was a goddamn disaster, and NO, I do not know if I was abused…somewhere. Maybe I should put “I’m Xena Warrior Princess” on my email to these agents. “If you ever want to do a remake of Xena Warrior Princess,” we could do that. I could access that kind of rage, the desire to KILL, etc.

It just, I got totally ruined because people thought they KNEW what was going on… this guru, this Hollywood screenwriter, looks so bad, it’s ridiculous. This guy doing tricks with his dick, excuse me, over some pretty girl he met in a cafe. Do the world a favor, man, stay out. Couldn’t believe that guy. And so, I feel totally fine, now. I don’t give a shit about her.

Whoa, I do hope I will be, at least, understood. And, I do not know why, as I launched lampoons, smoke signals, and hooks across the psycho-spiritual plane (as I became psychic, ridiculous) reaching for “the celebrities” for assistance. I can, according to the gurus, establish contact on the psycho spiritual plane even with “the idea of.” Help!

I was laughing at Dave Chappelle, as his comedy helped me through this, specifically, yes. He made fun of people’s obsessions with celebrities, like “help me Jah Rule.” In my case, I had no choice. “Help! Please!” This is what is happening to me currently. I had to joke to break up the sheer loss I went through, the total mental confusion, like, why are they acting like this?

I had one friend slip in at the end with a simple, thoughtful birthday message that stated she hoped I was with people who truly appreciate me, and the magic I bring into the world. Simple. I think Amal Clooney… would shine in this moment. To me? I wonder what she would say to all this… coming down the runway (in my dreams) dressed fabulously, like, what would she say…? I think she would just hold my hand, like, “what a crazy story.”

I can’t piece together these shards I have, like these pieces of my father, as I don’t have memories of any abuse, and I can’t comment on what I saw during this experience. There’s no support on that end, as to whether or not I saw something real or imagined. However, being up against the bedroom door, at four, with my mother dying in the single bed that was supposed to be mine, that I had to fight for, and my father slipping into the master bed…

Don’t know what to say there. No one was talking to me. No one was saying “let’s go to sleep.” Right? Sure, it might have not happened, but I have a couple of these strange moments… that I have no idea what to do with, considering the rest of the story. I don’t know what to say about these types of couples… or how abuse… within the family… even begins.

I can’t really stomach it.

I just think I should have been treated a little differently here. And even if… I do not know… I didn’t come from one of these horrific stories… I wouldn’t have treated someone like that! I don’t even know what to say.

Like, this one friend, I’m no longer friends with — imagine? Jay Shetty, imagine? I got out of the hospital, and this guru tells me, “this is the time to get on social media and diffuse your story,” as if I went through nothing. And I start to, because he told me to, and I was still under his spell, so to speak, when I never ASKED for any of it. Then, I get wind from this friend, that my friends talked about how weird my social media use was? In a world that uses it? Like I needed that.

I really really really do not understand why MY use of social media is a problem for my old friends. I really do not understand. Wouldn’t the world go, “let’s go to her profile…?” What’s that crazy about it? Except my rehearsal footage, of me punching through the goddamn screen at the GURU, sure. I think that’s understandable. If I even sent a RIPPLE, GOOD, in my opinion. Fuck that guy.

“Your birth was divine because you were born to parents who were not there.” On behalf of foster care, a system I was not inside, “fuck you.” CeeLo Green clapping along on The Voice, when someone did a applaudable version of his song. “Fuck you.” I think, he’s going to get why I’m directing that song across this situation. I thought it was funny, actually, my video…

Like I’m coming for YOU, guru.

I have backed off, because I’m scared, and I’ll keep figuring out how to use social media, though I don’t feel it’s the easiest platform for me to understand. I don’t know if it was necessary, either. This guru, he even thought that I should send an Instagram account to a literary agent, which I found puzzling. Like, some account with no followers… about abuse? Or a complicated family story? Luckily, I didn’t do that. Maybe to one person? I felt utterly weird about it. Aren’t they interested in…writing? Or, at least, followers? Like, I have x amount of followers about Christmas in Naples, what about a cookbook?

I think that would have made me look quite bad. It even reminds me of my mother, a little bit, as if she were using abuse as a means of becoming famous? You see, when it comes to this guru, he looks so bad. He never said, YOU as a person, because he has no guts, are amazing, touching, something, I don’t know. “Your strength and positive attitude…” no, he shat on me.

And the thing is, I don’t know WHY he even suggested that. Again, it was as if, regardless if he knew it, he wanted to destroy me…he didn’t see my story as real, at all. He really didn’t get it, at all. And I had just gotten out of the hospital… like it’s not the time…? And telling a story around my cousins didn’t turn out that well. Not yet anyway, and I practically want to tell them — see you next life. I’m not there yet. And will I ever be there? I don’t know. There are plenty of books that get published.

I didn’t know what to do with that. I felt sensationalized. I’ve had to work out a fair amount of confusion based on that relationship. I don’t know why I had to go through so much stupid crap, it was just crap, to bring in my New Jersey roots. So, goodbye, I’m better off without you. Moving on.

But at least I got rid of these strange road blocks of haters that I did not need. Social media haters. I just don’t have time. Anyway, I’m going to work on this stupid story now.

I wrote a letter to my friend

I’ve had a hard time, really, in my personal life about all this. It’s like, if my friend told me she didn’t know if she was abused as a very young child, knowing her whole life had been extremely complicated because of these years that she spent living with a different family because her mother lied about her father being an abuser — I just wouldn’t have responded like most people. What I went through was indeed confusing, but still, I wouldn’t have acted like any of these people. Not at all. That’s been a difficult one to navigate. It took me years of utter agony to even vocalize that, and I felt shut down. No one really responded, like what I said was serious.

Like, my friend? I’m practically on a plane. And so I’ve had to make peace with no one really asking me anything about that even if, this friend, which I said, in particular checked in with me some years down the line. Years. Someone in my position might need a hand. I needed direct communication. So I say that because I went through a terrible ordeal, and I didn’t have anyone who was able to give me a hand.

That being said, multiple people shut me down literally, though they do not know the story, meaning, why I’m saying what I’m saying. So that was frustrating, and I got to a breaking point, because I got hit by a couple of friends, being”concerned” about some attempt to be funny on Instagram, just testing out material, on social media, but I can’t get a “how are you?” I found that to be confusing, as that guru told me to diffuse my story on social, and that caused me, once again, nothing but problems. That man didn’t understand.

And the thing is, I feel relieved though I’m sorry that my friend and I weren’t able to make it through this period. It’s like, are people not hearing what I’m saying? Why are you asking me what’s going on? And I suppose I could have just said, “you know, it’s like no one is hearing me.” I can’t deal with how people have reacted to all this. And I just feel better on my end, I dont feel worse.

I do really feel as though I just got here as a person. And I have literally no idea why I did anything I did. Like, did I need to get another family? And another family? No. So I said a lot of goodbyes, actually, which, to be honest, I’m not feeling that terrible about it. I need to charge into this new era — better. I am not a perfect person. That’s not what I am, but about this subject, about the real turmoil I’ve been in, I had to say that maybe people don’t know how to be there for someone who went through something that profound.

If I had had an inner circle, someone like me, even, just me — I would have been able to talk to someone, a close friend, and allowed the other relationships to be what they are. Except, then I go, and I’m the type of person who’s going to think it out with you, it would be hard to play pretend. That’s been a bit hard. I tried to express myself calmly and honestly in this letter…as, I’m the type of friend, who is going to reach out to you directly to address a problem.

I did this with one friend of mine and it was successful. We were able to re-establish our friendship. But with some of the others, I feel relieved, because I don’t know what to say “type wise.” We might not be the same type of person. Like, once again, I’m not telling my friend that she experienced implicit memory based on no real understanding of the story in question here.

And I said even to this friend of mine now that, the only thing I can hope for is that my story gets out there and I’ll be understood. Mel Robbin says live life as if it’s short, which I agree with. Not that it’s long. It’s short so go for it. That being said, I’m 40, I’m entering a new decade, and I’m hoping to find the life I always wanted.

Now, me, and I would have been this person at 30, even, funny enough, as I’ve been a friend to people in really tough situations. I’m going to say— it was just hard because of the whole event of it — “they will not understand.”

“Talk to me. Let’s get you the right psychologist. Let’s keep talking.” Also because as a lover of psychology, I’m sincerely interested in people’s experiences. “They will not understand. They will not contact you.” No one contacted me for a while. I mean with “how the hell are you?” I mean, now? If someone just got out of the hospital, I’m coming over with a bag, a weekender bag, and we’re going to work on safety.

I’m going to cook you food. We don’t have to talk at first. You’re NOT going abroad, don’t be stupid. It’s as if, even the mental health component in all this, wasn’t seen as real. “Don’t be ridiculous.” This guru telling me “it’s time to get on social media…” “is he deranged?”

These couple of gurus, right? The brothers who came into my life. That was a bad idea. So, the specialist is able to HOLD the complexity of the entire experience, not that one negates the other. He said that first, like I clearly got involved with problematic people, for me. Giving me channeler tapes. People with ideas that TRIGGERED me.

No more weirdos. No more crazy ideas. Whether it’s true or not, manifestation was not my problem. I had just gotten to LA, and my mindset was positive, and I went down an unnecessary road.

And the truth is — I really don’t know if that lie ends up being not a lie, and I do feel as though I am correct in my reading comprehension. The story doesn’t look good. I have every right to question what really happened there, and I have to navigate a friend circle that’s asking as if it’s not worthy of asking any direct questions about… or that I didn’t say what I did. Meaning, me? I’m responding partially because I know people do this. That people can’t handle it.

That’s why I intervened with the refugee who had been abused by two members of her family. I intervened directly. To give her a hand. I did not want her to feel ashamed. So I told her to take a minute. We didn’t need to discuss it. She didn’t need to say anything. She might want to give herself a moment to just get comfortable with someone knowing. And there, you know, I felt like my story actually meant something. Because, what a shameful disaster that was. And it tended to make someone feel more comfortable because they were talking to someone else out basically understood.

I could tell. I took my time, a bit, but I began watching her from afar, and she noticed. Just to tread lightly. We opened up that discussion from afar first. And when our mutual friend came up to me, and thought the same thing, we, as friends, talked about what we should do.

It was only us. He had a girlfriend who had come out of a situation like that.

But me, because I came out of a totally bonkers situation where “she lied,” although my family life had forever been complicated and messy and strange…it can’t be true, and I don’t need REAL people. I mean, people who can be real. But, I would have told myself, that it’s best to not fight — but I didn’t have me.

And I don’t know if I would have done. These were supposedly my close friends. With some, I’m trying to be let it be, and trying to just put this away, as I’ve mostly let it go, I mean, in terms of expecting any kind of follow through or anyone to be able to show up in the way that I am personally able to. I look forward to making a real go at it — meeting new people, wanting to host a thanksgiving even, you know what I mean? Where there’s a core group that revolves around me. I’m always going elsewhere.

I’m on the highway right now, having finished a letter to my friend, and we’ll see how or if she will respond. I have let it go, like, I said, I’m going to need to work out why my friends reacted the way they did to the question of abuse. Except, people can’t handle it. And I didn’t have a support system. I did not build that. Meaning, an immediate family. Family friends. A close group.

And if I had had that, I probably wouldn’t have gone through what I did… as I would not have ever been in a relationship with the gurus, because why? Why would I be there? And I would have already dealt with what I needed to as that past prevented me from really being able to live my life. I’m not the same person. I feel as though I just got here.

I look back, and I’m like, I’m sorry, who is that? Why am I getting involved with these people? Why am I going to NYU? Why am I dressing like that? I had no clue who that was. Literally. I don’t know what that means exactly, again, my actually family, meaning my parents, were real obstacles as they were both ill.

Again, I’ve said this, but I did not feel like “working out my intergenerational stuff” left me feeling elated. That was chaos. There seemed to be allure around me for some men, but also people. But, you see in reality, I mostly worked in restaurants though I’ve had other jobs.

I didn’t have direction, other than “living in France” for strange reasons. I felt “time bend,” I had an experience I couldn’t explain when I was young, and I decided what I was going to do with my life based on these weird possibly neurological events I had around the time my father was diagnosed with a disease.

But, it’s like anything else, who KNOWS if the diagnosis was even accurate? He ended up having Alzheimer’s, not Parkinson’s which was the original diagnosis that he kept a secret. On top of it. Like, THANKS. I was in a little sex scandal and now I gotta deal with this.

Like I get I was pretty…? Looking back on these men, and that I wanted to write but the guru went off on some impulsive tangent, thinking about his father’s impulsivity problems, as he slept with any woman who walked into an elevator — and look, Dr. J slept with every man, so I’m not exactly judging here, but he painted all over me before it was mérited.

Now I’m contending with my real life, the real decisions I’ve made, and it’s all fine, in that, I wasn’t interested in ambition, money, worldly pursuits — which I dismiss now as silly. But that’s what that was, and then I chose to write, and it took me down very dark roads, with men who were triggered “to help” someone who didn’t need help. I was perfectly capable of doing what it is I’m doing now…. With a small middle class inheritance that would have been worth double today if I just hadn’t touched it.

But of course these men are painting professor x pictures, lots of fantastical ideas such as “I’m psychic…” and “money doesn’t really matter,” because you can meditate it into existence, when it’s like, yeah, I could have not spent the money — and if I had met someone older and wiser I would have appreciated it actually, but instead I got someone who didn’t really see how much I HAD. He only saw my lack. As if I just got caught up in enabling directions.

I had money AKA power. Not the time to get obsessed with some book. Read books, like I’m doing now. I didn’t need to “download the complete book” from a future point. Anyway, I don’t have to work tonight, which means no money, but I have the night off so I’m going to enjoy it, work on my story and do some social planning. I want to meet someone.

Finally.

It’s very different when you feel like you are actually in the driver’s seat. And so, I hope that I can break into entertainment as that, for the moment, is the arena I want to enter. And I hope I am correct that my story might inspire screenplays. I might get there myself, but I gotta get there first. I love characters. I always have. I always felt better in taking in the whole beast, loving it, since I came from people I didn’t know what to do with.

I don’t know, sometimes I think I should pursue psychology, specialize in -— I don’t know how to articulate it — but scandals, extreme situations. I’d have to study, all that, but life is long in that regard. For the moment, I’d like to see if I can break into entertainment.

I thought miracle mile would make a really compelling motion picture. That it could spawn a TV show, even. It doesn’t have to adhere to the exact story. It can have a life of its own. “7th Heaven,” but this time it’s 9. It’s nine now. And it begins, hilariously, with a family getting wrapped up in a small child who…may be getting abused….a family of sports stars. Like what? And the mother goes insane, almost, but it’s understandable.

We’ll see, that’s what I’m aiming for, and I’m trying to connect with what might work as live entertainment too. There’s comedy in it, that I know, I just don’t know what that means yet. But I do feel like there’s a place for me. And hilariously — watching Ellen — and her “going through the steps of her life to get to this present stage…” as comedians tend to go through ups and downs. And just to get THERE, it’s like Forrest Gump. Like now, I’m sitting and eating a BOX of chocolates.

I went through all that, and now I’m here.

So I’m going to really go for it. I need to make a reel and fast. So I’ll call an acting coach, I think, to help me with picking scenes. I think that’s a good idea, just consulting someone who might be able to help me do what I need to. I need to get into an acting class so I can exercise. And I want to write my first short series that I can easily produce. And I’ll finish this short for EPIC, hoping that it will get in.

That’s it. Life. Feeling positive, even if the start of the decade required letting go…

Joy, my mother's name...

That was her name. Right now, it feels more like a joke as the entire story, at least the one on Miracle Mile, felt like one big cosmic joke, and I hope I am right, that this magazine I’m working so hard to get into will agree. Just the idea that this totally insane thing happened to me, and a Brazilian-Jewish family was wrapped up in all this. I don’t know where this short story is going yet, as I’m still figuring it out structurally — so it could end on “sex became good.” She was dancing the lambada on a plush white carpet in her holy white bedroom. I was four, coming to sit on the edge of her bed to watch her dance. I had no idea what the words meant. She translated it for me in her angel voice, this woman with the name “little angel” who walked into my life one day and changed it forever. “Now he’s gone away, the only one who ever made me cry.” I snapped. “But this is sad.”

I turned around the living room, as there was always a party, and I didn’t understand it. Everyone was so happy! Laughing, clapping, celebrating, I was so moved so young by the JOY in it. Maybe it began as a sad song, but it ended in an uproarious celebration. It’s southern American, in that, many of these songs are about heartbreak, but there’s rhythm and soul in it. If not, joy. As they were also Jewish, and the Jews attended these parties, of course they did, we honored Jewish holidays in adjacent rooms, ones full of sorrow, and being spared supernaturally. How did we even get out of that one?

But, Nicole, her youngest daughter in ruby slippers, she taught me the steps to the lambada at seven. “You have to learn…” her sweet voice. So sex became innocent in a way. And when I think about the investigation I conducted, there’s much to unpack there, so maybe some of my analysis of my mother can come later. As a final note. I don’t know yet. It doesn’t really matter what happened to me, “very very likely,” we’re all getting molested.

I was moved to discover that sex had a deeper meaning— it was the force that brought all these people into this room. It became good. And, in this room, I commune with the totality of the human experience in this room, where this mother becomes Shiva, even, the dance of fire: creation/destruction, a couplet, a mystery to me. I thought, all that has happened to a person. Unbelievable. What people have gone through. I didn’t see myself as different, special, or separate but rather a part of a whole, but as I went through my life, in the personal domain, I would be seen as this strange “other” person who happened to come from unusual circumstances. People even told me it didn’t happen, which, it did.

I hope, I do, just because I went through such an ordeal, and it hasn’t really let up yet, that the Gods will smile down upon me in my favor and that I’ll get this story out there, as I’ve come this far, even went through a near death experience, and the personal will reflect upon the political at the right angle. “How could my own do such a thing to me?” But if you think about it, project that idea into the political arena, we’re all human beings. That’s what I’m thinking about on my 40th birthday, though it’s technically the next day, and yes, I got through this so-called milestone. This story only caused me more problems. I’m telling you, it was a total nightmare.

I made new friends, said goodbye to old ones, as I went through heartache and confusion around how some people responded to the subject of abuse when I already came from this story.

I suppose that’s one of the areas in this story that I hope to work out and communicate around as I was shocked by people’s reactions and I had to make peace with it. So, some people didn’t contact me on my birthday, and you know what? It was a relief.

Finally, one friend I hardly talk to, she sent me a straightforward message of how I bring magic into the world, happy 40th. I got that in the end, she slipped it in.

My heart was so hurt, I was so hurt by how people reacted that it felt better to let them go. I can’t play patty cake baker’s man right now, that’s my joke. I can’t play “patty cake baker’s man.” Not when I can’t even look at a photo of my parents. I’m also mourning. I don’t know right now if that was a lie, as this woman just decided that it was based on nothing, and no, I’m not in the mood. I do not want to be ignored. If my friend told me that, I would not have responded like any of these people… more or less.

And I hope, I pray I do, that I’ll be understood on this level. But, I’m playing the “everything’s okay” game as much as I can. I’m moving on. I’m not expecting to get any support from anyone in my life. I’m trying not to attach to some future either, the day where “this story” comes out and…? Shocks the world? Interests the world? I say that because this Hollywood screenwriter behaved like that. As if THIS STORY could reach the big lights. It’s just, in that case, why not just make a phone call? You know what I mean? If HE was so desperately interested in it to the point that he’s going to meet me once a week, which was unnecessary… why not make a call?

I wasn’t asking for that, at all, but his approach in “helping me” was 100% about him. Anyway, I suppose I hope this story makes an impact. That’s basically where I’ve come to. I thought it would make a good motion picture, and I hope I’m right.

My friend Liz, the one that I’m spending this holiday with, she held my hand, she was tender with me. I don’t need to talk about it with her, but she treated me like what I said was REAL, and so, I appreciate her.

The thing is, I woke up and went — um, I’m in another family? Why? Why exactly? Looking at Liz’s partner— they, together, though mostly him, because he’s the cook prepared a sumptuous feast for her family, mostly. She went over to his parent’s house to pick up a smoker. This was the relationship I couldn’t figure out. I couldn’t do this. And now, now that I worked out so much, that’s the relationship I want, because that’s family, the one you make, the one who meets you.

Anyway, I’ve come out of 40th birthday feeling very positive. My whole world ended. It truly did. I needed someone like me, and I was nowhere to be found.

I thought I had worked out my past, but that turned out to not be true, even thinking about this relationship I got into with the guru, the plant people, my entire life approach. It was nonsensical. Sure, 500k could fall from the sky, sure, I could have bumped into Sam Mendes, I don’t know, some big time director who said, “you must be in my film,” I do not know how to approach myself as some people, the guru included, men, I should be specific, played a bit of a “star” act on me, that I was a star…in that way. I stood to benefit from THEIR wisdom, when I think my old psychologist would almost want me to wipe them off the face of the earth. Like, do not insult me.

Truly speaking.

Whatever, the point is, I didn’t walk into a hotel room, meet Lenny Kravitz, and launch a career. That did not happen. You know? Not to say that it couldn’t, meaning, a bit of magic couldn’t come into my life and direct me along, it’s just, that’s not what happened. It was the opposite. Just a cast of enablers.

I’m starting over… I worked out my life… my heart is broken, healing, feeling… for others. Probably, if I was supporting someone through this, “like, I believe you,” let’s just start there. If I had that, just that, it would have made my social fabric easier to deal with. But some of my friends made my life harder.

I haven’t told the refugee, of course not, the one I supported through her having been abused by two members of her family, and I most certainly didn’t forget what she said, loosen my grip, like I was there for her, for real. “It’s time to go therapy.” That one was a real fight. One I hope we will see in all its beauty, too, through the Jura countryside. “Bumblefuck,” in her opinion, as I taught her that word. She needed a funny, perfect word to describe where she’s from. “Bumblefuck.”

So I don’t know if I should go into some line of work related to all this, or what. But people’s responses were so crazy to me, generally, that I reached breaking points, for sure.

I’m going to try and reconnect with my joy, you know, this thing I had, and I’m swiping through Instagram wanting to kill everybody in my life…for giving me crap for living my life in a state of wonder, even, for acting as if something wondrous existed in like, every moment. Instagram says: live with wonder. Instagram says: beginners mindset. I chose joy. I tried to. I lost it. And now, I’m going to try and get it back. Except, I have to be careful, apparently, as it attracted “the dark side.”

I’m going to try and see how far I can go, I guess. I don’t know in which direction, as this lunatic guru confused me profoundly. Can’t meet someone at 40? Why not? Can’t meet your best friend at 40? Why not? Can’t reach success? Why not? Why not? Why not? So I’m taking a deep breath, and I’m going to have to hustle, a bit, to find a better job…and I’m still trying to figure out how to fulfill my greatest purpose, as Oprah suggested thinking about it like that, which should relate to fulfillment, and I lost all sense of purpose. And right now, I like entertainment as an arena. So I’m directing my arrow, and hoping, that all this feeling like I kept getting knocked down, like I wasn’t understood, will just be some line I give in a story… that you tend to hear in success stories. Like the story itself put me at a disadvantage, because, because, because.

Life is a series of choices.

I made choices based on where I came from.

And some of those were disrespected — like, my relationship to power as I hated it brought me power players. People do not respect vulnerability, not typically. I had to come to admit some things that are true about the real world, obviously, like, people in disadvantageous situations might be at risk…I was vulnerable, in a way I didn’t expect, and look, I think I am not a channeler, I don’t know why I ended up in this realm of thought… where people channel shit from outside sources when we might try connecting.

Anyway, I do feel good, today, about being 40. I feel good about having the license to let go as I came to wake up to my whole life. Time to work.

So I just turned 40

I’m curled up in my friend’s bed in her mountain house outside Scranton.

The trees along the bus looked foreboding, dark and bare, as if we were heading into the Blair Witch Project.

She and her partner have a cabin in a private village attached to a ski mountain.

I wish I had a house. I don’t know if I needed to change the world.

She could, calmly, become a writer now if she so wishes.

-

I took the train with one of her friends who became a lawyer in his 50s. He pursued so many occupations in his life. I think what struck me about him is, he’s really had a blast in life. He’s had a great great time thus far.

I can’t say the same thing. I can’t say that I’ve had a blast.

I’m weeping a little, on my 40th birthday, looking at a house with appliances, with a fireplace I spent the evening laying beside, wondering if I’ll ever own a house, grieving the entire decade. Wishing I never became a writer. That was the worst decade of my life, my thirties.

I failed—basically. Who cares if I’m psychic? Who cares if you can be THE BIGGEST THING IN THE WORLD by meditating all day? I met this Hollywood screenwriter who ruined me. This relationship, his ideas, ruined me. I don’t have a house, I don’t have any money. I don’t have love.

He’s a like an acid flashback. His pompous airs. His unethical behavior. He was a boy playing a video game. And, I have to get over wanting to reach these two and slap them — they shouldn’t go diffusing their New Age Seth beliefs to just anyone. I get “it’s true,” but so is “Jesus,” so is every religion’s story. To some, these ideas might be toxic, which they were to me. It might sound obvious to some, as to WHY.

This guru, he doesn’t care about anything, and that, that triggered me so deeply, he reminded me of my mother. I did not need someone with mental health issues, he could have been honest with himself about that. Pointing at me across a room, the second he met me, and shaking his finger in my face… as if we were in a sci-fi… that’s not a “well” move.

I’ve been blown away by George and Amal Clooney’s relationship—I just happen to get tidbits about them on my phone, and I couldn’t help but read about it and be amazed. He wrote her a letter, exposing himself, the whole of himself, because he was falling in love with her… and he was scared. They promised to protect one another’s vulnerabilities. And I felt my vulnerability was taken advantage of. I didn’t meet a guy — I met weirdos.

On the bus, this criminal lawyer told me about the case he just worked on— they had to send a shoplifter to prison, basically. Why? Because he wouldn’t stop. He works for the state. This man cannot stop going into Macy’s and shoplifting. He’s gotten so many chances…sometimes he doesn’t even steal anything. He just takes samples. Now, however, he’s convicted a felony, when, all he had to do was stop. He’s not addicted to drugs, so they can’t send him to that separate court. Macy’s know who he is, “he’s here again…” so he’s facing two to seven years. He’s asking for two, and if they accept, they won’t go to trial, where he might get a harsher sentence. He’s giving this guy the least severe sentence. I mean, this guy has had so many chances, he said.

I forgot that there’s this other criminal world. He said, “a lot of crime is perpetuated by drugs,” there are people spending their lives like that. Just doing drugs. He mentioned it, because I wondered if his legal team could make a case about his mental health? He said no. He obviously has a condition. Unless he can prove that he thought stabbing some guy would, do something crazy, release him to heaven, win “the video game,” he said, “insane,” no. I think the guru would sound crazy in a court of law… maybe not the most insane, but pretty insane.

But he’s not reading this, you know what I mean? Not like I want this guy anywhere near me, like he repulses me, but he was the worst thing that ever happened to me. He’s not a psychologist and he shouldn’t act like one. Why I stayed, I don’t know, he struck me, but then, I met these plant people just before him, and I place him in the same realm of thought… he and his brother read “channeled material” and “bending reality” and this was not my problem. You’d think the guru would be, simply speaking, just self-aware. Just that, and he’s not. WHAT about him told him, you know what? THIS is what THIS woman I don’t even know — needs. I didn’t need him. And I can’t take him back. I died, I really did.

I never thought, in my entire life, that my family story could make me vulnerable, and I understand the Epstein girls, in a sense, in that, they had come from abused households, and that’s where they ended up. That, they were vulnerable… do you know how much it sucks to come realize that YOU were vulnerable. You were prey.

I woke up this morning, after having a restful sleep, enjoying where I was, actually. I had coffee downstairs with my friend’s partner. He’s smoking a turkey, he wished me a happy birthday. I came up upstairs and saw that her left me a gift bag for my birthday that read Joy, and she bought me a couple of birthday presents, one of which is a guided journal, which I might just do, so I can peel myself away from this blog… I did not need “you can be a star…” when it’s unclear what it is that I am good at.

This Hollywood screenwriter, he even sounded like a computer, or a boy playing dungeons and dragons… sometimes. He can be a bit abusive, which he should know. That was abuse of power. And he did that to some random woman. I’m not Amal Clooney, and he would never dare to speak to her in such a fashion, and she got a real man. “Thanks for never asking me to be smaller,” that’s what they had engraved in their wedding rings, or something? I was so touched by their relationship, really, if it’s true. You never know.

Anyway, I have to let go of the past decade… but it’s my whole life up until this point. I made my decisions. Now, it feels as though a bit of a spell as been broken, where I’m contending with what my real life is, has been, as I’ve mostly worked in restaurants, actually. Nothing wrong with it, I’ve had other “cooler” jobs, I guess, but I am in the position at 40 where I appreciate being with normal people, people with nice lives, they aren’t looking for fame…. and why I had to get sucked up into that, I don’t know, it made me feel so ugly, not pretty. I didn’t understand what I attracted.

I’d like a house. I’d like a life. I’d like good friends. I’d like to find whatever it is in life that’s going to bring me success. I like entertainment, at least as an idea, so I’m going to keep trying, and at the same time, I’m listening to people’s stories, their journies, I heard about another woman who became a lawyer at 48. But, at least, I’ll be surrounded by a pleasant group of people, and I’ll ring in the new decade that way… hoping one day, I might be able to organize a Thanksgiving at my house.

That someone won’t try to change me…that I’ll meet someone who genuinely likes me… for who I am… so I’m enjoying the quiet of the mountains… I’m going to just learn to be again…I am not that interested in the MEANING craze, or how to live your life CRAZE. How to get what you want CRAZE. It’s all crazy to me. But now, since I went through hell and back — because I wanted to be a writer, simply, and I came from that story — I would like to envision the best decade of my life. I’d like to say, you know what, I had a blast, I made a break, and I crushed, sorry, just crushed this guru out of existence. He was the worst thing that ever happened to me…next to my parents.

So here’s 40. I’m here.

Was the Hollywood screenwriter/guru a narcissist? Who cares, I bought a 50 dollar pie

Luckily, the Jews are near. There’s a really good bakery near me, so I got up early as I normally do, walked over when they opened to get a fresh pie for my friend Liz and co. with whom I’ll be spending Thanksgiving and my 40th birthday — I’ll be with a crowd of people, and I might not know them, but I like the idea behind it— family, sure, community, more like it. I would like to have this — to host a Thanksgiving dinner that 13 people will actually attend. A partner. Friends. Maybe even family. The bigger the party, the better. Like I can’t even keep up, with how many pies I am taking out of the oven. Man, imagine me picking up my pants next to Julia Roberts, “don’t listen to them, fame won’t solve your problems, neither will money…” In aviators, “it’s hard being so talented… generally speaking…”

“I was destined for greatness.”

“But,” looking at her, “anyone can be you, obviously…”

“Who gives a shit?”

In the end, sure, I guess the guru achieve “great things” and he lives in Beverly Hills and dines in Bel Air… but I was trying to find this photo of my mother last night as a debut to work on her character, and I can’t even look at a photo of my father. Not really them, I can’t even look at them…and I thought about the journey to get here with this prick of a screenwriter pointing at me as if he were God, practically, but truly, and I don’t know, noticing his house…nothing special, per se, but he was able to have a life… you know? And I got caught up in weird logic that almost killed me. For real. Like, hopefully, I’ll MAKE IT — JULIA ROBERTS punching her baseball glove — I”m going to MAKE IT, setting myself up for the PITCH. In this way? Where’s Joyce Carol Oates? In the spaceship, bumpy ride, towards BOOKER PRIZES, but who gives a shit, the guru would point down, about the AWARD. You’re only giving it to YOURSELF. Instead, think HARRY POTTER.

Anyway, this pie has a lovely glaze, and I’m excited about it because I haven’t been able to even go anywhere for the holidays — someone the other night asked me questions about the traveling I did these past four years. I asked him if we might refrain ever bringing it up again. I do not go there. That was so awful, I can’t. There’s nothing I can do about how ridiculous I became… I became a joke… a true joke… and the idea that he was trying to help me — is so off, so crazy, I don’t even know what to do with that. I met people who believed I was psychic and that I could meditate money into existence… you know? Heartbreaking. That made me lose the will the live. As I just read articles, books, and stare at notecards now…

Now, dusting myself off, my desires are pretty simple — keeping the money I don’t have, anymore, and reading publications to determine what it is I LIKE to read, the hell with my “life idea,” which wasn’t family, as this guru had not a sensitive bone in his entire body, wanting to project all over a young female at the precise moment she didn’t need that. So I’m here now, I liked this article in The Cut— just not having wanted a mentor to begin with, you know what I mean? I’ll take a boyfriend. It explores a larger trend, idea, and I’m trying to dig in and steer from here… I don’t have the most relatable story, like, uh, who’s going to go, yeah I relate to what happened to you? Oppressed demographics? And will they understand me, that I’m not comparing myself to them.

It’s not family. It’s a psychological genre. Not family actually. As I ended up in a psychological genre with this Hollywood screenwriter, yikes. I’m still thinking about digital products I can get out there, something, anything, because NOW my problem is money. It wasn’t BEFORE. But sure, I’m psychic, who cares? The guru encouraged me to spend my IRA money because I could meditate the money into existence. Someone who isn’t from Bel Air. Me. Like, I know people with money, they would be like, “oh no, you got involved with weirdos…” yikes right? They are everywhere. One of these looney people. I know there are wealthy people who would not have treated me like that. That was a hard loss, maybe the hardest, and I really don’t know what to say… because I look back utterly baffled. Who was that? What were you doing? Holy shit, that’s my experience of self right now.

I lost. Again, I really lost. But I will find a way. I have to keep my hopes up now, when I was a joyful person, one who loved life, one who didn’t think anything was impossible, actually, and this guy blew me to bits. You know? I didn’t have a problem with being a success? I just am a person, now who has been sufficiently hurt, have BUTTONS. And this mother fucker pushed them. But here’s a pie, a beautiful beautiful pie, apple, as she requested. I’ll pick up some lambrusco. And I’m enjoy my 40th being on Thanksgiving in the country… somewhere new with a bunch of people in it, surrounded. They might not know me, I might not know them, but over BECOMING FAMOUS SUCCESSFUL AS A WRITER, being PSYCHIC, I prefer this direction. Il’l throw a party or something for myself next week or soon, I’ll do that, where I’ll invite people…and see who shows up.

I’m going to work a little this morning,

Black men continue to be the heroes of my life right now

Charles is lounging on the couch, he has been for several hours. He’s watching the longest documentary on American history I have ever seen. Complete with paintings of battles, people standing by as their lives are destroyed.

It began with the revolutionary war, that was the last time I walked outside with talk of soldiers coming through and SMASHING people’s property, taking their possessions. A map—France is coming.

This time, I walked out—and he hasn’t moved his body at all — and I believe we’re onto the Civil War now, as slavery was mentioned along with a black and white photograph of liberated man, I think, with a wheelbarrow of skeletons — the narrator in a flat tone spoke of raping women and hanging their husbands…

I think, people thought these four years I spent on Miracle Mile were unbelievable… and I sort of feel, sometimes, when you have a good idea, it just might develop, because it’s sort of really true. Black men have been encouraging me, specifically, to keep coming back to open mics, to forgo the comedy a sec, just keep talking… liking my singing videos… referencing things I’m listening or thinking about… randomly. Acknowleding my presence in Ubers, on the street, wishing me happy holidays… just like that, nothing more. No attachments. My Black roommate, male, is now watching this documentary… I just think it’s funny.

Hours…he’s spent hours watching American history, and every time I walk out, here’s a shocking, terrible thing someone did to someone else, though it’s not shocking, it’s like my mother putting on an outrageous performance for the priest, which is fair, but what about their "normal” act? It doesn’t have the same shock value, “how crazy,” um, yeah?

I don’t mention it in this short version of it, I won’t have to, but in the book that comes into the play, briefly, as I flipped out the older I got—just how much of my mother I saw in the world… racism, for example. A totally insane premise that becomes your fault. Homosexuality too, like, sex isn’t a crime, Catholics. I hated the Catholics. There’s nothing criminal about sex, molesting children, yes. And there’s Dr. J — rejecting sex, getting lude, flipping between the two.

Anyway that’s for later, but I appreciate Charles’ entrances and exits…

Buying a plant light for my babies

On Craigslist. Getting Christmas ornaments. Looking at plants. Wanting to grow my family of fourteen. I thought, wiping leaves, that I could begin playing Dr. J by showing her looking at puppies… thinking about Ghislane. Which one she’s going to get for her. “Dr. J picks out Ghislane’s puppy.” Just let her live and breathe. I’m going to have to work on it, because she was hard to believe. I think that might be a good place to start. I have to purchase a red wig. Or I can try to find the Louis IV grey wig she did for a moment there, pompous. It’s just, she had such a distinctive appearance, so I hope I would be able to reproduce her, her serious yet vacant stare staring at these puppies. She might be serious about it. But I could start there. Just a short clip of Dr. J buying Ghislane’s puppy, whatever that’s about. She’s posing for Hallmark photos with her. I have to get a wig. I have to get a suit. I’d have to get contacts, I think, blue contacts. My mother’s look was so alien, she had the whitest skin, and the bluest eyes, I might not totally be able to communicate the otherworldliness of her. Not unless I take it in another direction… so I’ll have to think about that real quick, it’s just the suit… only Krizia, Dr. J, only at work. I’ll have to spend some time in a rehearsal room just trying to find her. I have to get the right suit. It’s not that, that’s more me, in all this, but she’s in a skirt suit. I have to find the right suit, the Ferragamos, and the wig.

My friend and I, I don’t even think he was that big yet as a producer, we just sent this museum a proposal for a call for work within the theme. I could start trying out ideas and see if anything gets picked up. It probably would help if I could start creating work. Even if I could recreate a bit of this vibe. Dr. J. With thousands of cities. Funny ones too. ABU DHABI. Or just Abu Dhabi. But that’s basically it. 1992. I’m going to purchase this poster right now. That’s the woman who told Angelica Leibowitz my father was abusive, drinking driving and looking for sex downtown…almost nightly… that’s her. I might need to put out a call soon and see if there’s any… super light skinned blue eyed women out there… and try and recreate this lighting. Except, I see her looking UP, closer. Same text. I can probably photoshop it. Start an Instagram account for her. “The Tales of Dr. J.” Something. And then, I can explore the dimension of opera… rape, speaking of rape, beating, in a most unusual fashion — wee! What movie did I just, Bugonia, I have to watch that. It’s about the madness of today. Maybe TikTok is the better place for her to live… with all these unreal hearts around her, flapping her wrist around… BURSTING out of some department store with 15,000 bags. I need a limo. I need Michel, her lover/driver. But maybe I can get there… sunglasses, scratching her wig, she’s on her way to the Trump building. That’s where she lives. Right? She’s PLAYING the piano… she’s playing the organ…going back and forth… at the same time… a genius! Throwing papers. In the throes. Yeah, I think she’s good. I just have to find… her pathos… as she’s going to throw herself on people… men, she’s going to become monsterous, somehow.

She’s just EXPENSIVE. She has to look expensive, and she has to be hot. She’s a monster. But she IS fashion. So maybe I can play with whatever that is, I mean, she’s bursting onto the scene without a top on… I don’t have her breasts, and Angelica Leibowitz would be able to confirm, but I might have nice enough boobs, or something, or I can get kitch and do something else, since nudity always makes me slightly uncomfortable, but she’s naked… at the party… maybe she can wear a scarf. Nothing but possibilites there. I would just have to develop it, but that’s probably something I can start doing… I just need a suit, wig, and Ferragamos. Or I need to find HER. But in any case, I need to get in a rehearsal room and see if I can simply find her. But I found the Ferragamos… in my size… so I’m going to purchase them because they aren’t expensive. As long as it’s expensive.

I just spent hours looking for this ONE photo that randomly disappeared from the collection of photos I have. There’s one of Dr. J at this weird photo shoot we did at the fancy prep school I went to with Angelica’s daughter to facilitate these years… as it’s the right vibe for the character… and I don’t know what to do… okay, I’m going to breathe, and put this away….and look through it again when I have the energy to. It’s just the perfect photo of her. But that’s my plan — is to develop a character for the performance art scene… she’s a museum piece. She could be in a kind of rap video. Some video, maybe not a rap song, I don’t know, but she could be throwing bills… sex scandal… throwing bills. One, two, three, a wad into camera. She’s suddenly, shark like, rushing to save a man from the IRS with personnel. “Dr. J, Dr. J, someone needs you…” and she’s scurrying to her limo— might as well put little American flags on the limo, flapping really really fast in the breeze, crossing Beverly Hills city limits… Oh man, I hope I didn’t randomly lose this photograph. There was one of my parents together. I’ll leave you with this one… it’s from the same day… where is this photo? It’s the ONLY one that isn’t in this collection, and I’m wondering did I download it and erase it by accident? It makes no sense. And unfortunately, I did try and back up my computer, and it sort of didn’t work, like I have no space for it, so I might go over to the genius bar and have one of these hilarious convos with them as I don’t know ANYTHING about computers. Maybe they can lend me one so I can figure this out. ANYWAY, I’m letting it go.

I have to find THAT wig. It’s orange. Let’s hope I find it.

Greetings from Zootopia

I did a scene in a church that Columbia University uses from Zootopia — directed by a Chinese woman from New Jersey. I played the dumb bunny, which I really really could relate to, as I felt so dumb (but cute) this past decade to the point of almost not making it out alive… and in the scene, I’m convincing a “sly fox” as a wannabee cop to help me find this “poor missing otter.” It was hard not to laugh, at points, yelling at him about popicle sticks. The directing teacher, this time, actually worked with us though, so that distracted me (as someone who just came out of a cult, basically). He wanted us to play it as if we were on SUV or something, a serious cop show. “The popsicles are a code word for crystal meth or something.” He wanted me to resonate “pure power…” he gave me direction, real direction, so that was fun, and I naturally put up defenses, which I’ll take down, obviously, but I’m getting used to performing again. In the hallway, some flourescent drenched angular corner, Lynch, my scene partner gave me some Instagram accounts to follow to keep up with castings, because he booked a couple of shorts and features, and I wondered how — we spoke of reels, the sly fox and dumb bunny, and our overall plan of attack. I’ve genuinely enjoyed getting to know actors without a school attached. This guy, he graduated from Cornell, and he ended up wanting to be an actor. Me? Well, I’m practically 40, and he didn’t see a problem with that, necessarily, “sure,” I said, “but I don’t know.”

“What I’m going to do,” he nodded, “is create my own work.” He thought that was smart. “Because,” I shrugged, “YouTube series have been picked up for real series…” I am trying to be honest about my age. “Creating my own work, I might as well,” because who knows? I’m just turning my arrow… I told him writing is the bane of my existence, because he said, “Cool, you write…” I’m like, “Jesus Christ.”

“I mostly just stare at notecards…”

He asked “why?”

“Step by step.”

“Just trying to work out the basic beats of what the story is…” because because because, “what is it really about?” So the trouble I have is, “could this go later?” What do I need to do to tell a story that someone would nod along, “this is good,” it’s well constructed, “I keep turning…” and I’m struggling with the most effective frame — as I’m trying to have a cinematic mindset, like the soundtrack, like “here we go.”

“The game…”

I’m working on an undercover investigation that a nine year old kicks off about child abuse, trying to determine through this situation if her mother was abused, all the while keeping in mind that she might have lied about the entire thing — hard to tell with someone that fucked up? — which is why she does it too — because she sees so much truth in her, and this situation, that children get blamed for “shit” too soon, etc etc etc. She’s fascinated by the human being, the psychology of all this cruelty.

It works. As an idea it works. However, in reading these EFFING scenes, it’s not constructed. So I’ve taken a step back, working on acceptance, I am where I am, and there’s no rush. Maybe there’s a better way to tell this story, but I’m trying to keep the “genius kid,” not really, but the Nancy Drew or Sherlock of sexual violence… and it’s a good time for it, too.

I had a great time last night, though I felt challenged, I felt like I came up against blocks of mine, I was self-conscious once he told me to be an alligator, though I would suggest crocodile, as an alligator isn’t going to attack you unless you literally step on it. Alligators are maternal creatures. I did that at Lecoq, that should have been where I shone, but I was so thrown off by getting directed that I feel as though I did a semi-good job. But it doesn’t matter, I enjoyed myself, and I tried to connect to my power. Like, maybe I could play an investigator. And another offer came in last night, so I’ll be playing a scene from Ladybird next week. Again, the Columbia program is giving me a scene to prepare a week, so I’m just grateful for the chance, which was this young man’s attitude, to work in beautiful building and exercise the craft.

I’ll keep getting better, I’ll keep learning HOW to read a script, what I need to do basically, and hopefully I’ll see a way, actually. I had another bad day, yesterday, but I went to meet this pianist regardless. I sang, but I didn’t feel that great about it, and once again, I just need to keep singing with musicians and finding the one that brings out the best in me, essentially. But this pianist I met yesterday, he plays all over town, real shows, he has a trio, jazz. With him, it’s not a problem, I can go over there and practice. It’s more, what songs to pick… that are going to make HIM shine, and me. Just because I’m not JAZZ. I’ll keep figuring it out. A guitar — that will be my next try — because all I have to do is find the right accompaniment.

Anyway, these notecards… I’ve started to just break down the basic build. Like, “did this happen to her?” Stuff like that, that’s what I mean, where the reader is going to nod, “I’m following you…” Look at this crazy sexual behavior. I knew what rape was when I was four years old. I thought about it almost exclusively on Sundays in Catholic Mass, right? Hilarious. I found someone else in church with sexual problems thanks to my first field of study: “pure regards.”

My mother had “a pure regard,” I thought, in a Sunday hat, I was four. I was fascinated, just so fascinated, because she was so “impure.” I got the picture, though I didn’t understand the problem, but I gathered in church that sex was “impure,” but here’s the condundrum. “I was pure,” I thought. I am four. I am pure. But sex is impure. But I am pure. So, how am I pure, if sex is impure? I was fundamentally confused. And of course, my mother revealed an extremely frightening perspective on sex, and it did NOT look good.

That might not be the build, but that’s what I’m trying to break down… or at least:

Step one: she was sent away for the first ten years of her life… because her sister beat her. And I can’t help but notice that I was sent away in a way… as if this situation held fragments to a real past… since she was fucked up beyond imagine.

Step two.

This is what I’m working out right now, the basic beats, and it might not be so much about the situation itself, but more so an investigation… so I’m figuring it out. It’s just taking a second. I’m not just taking you through what happened… I’m taking you through my investigation. At least a slice of it. And, maybe, I don’t know yet, but something has to happen, the question is going to arise: was it true?

I’m thinking about the pitch — a Nancy Drew meets Carl Jung (though not him) gets out of a sex scandal, though she doesn’t fully know that, as she’s nine years old, launched an undercover investigation at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club to determine if her mother, who orchestrated this, had been abused as a child, and to study sexual abuse, to then wonder, “was it a lie?” So it’s a super complicated story, so I’ll work out these details. But I’m trying to think dramatically… twists and turns.

So I’m staring at notecards. It’s not so much that it’s not interesting, but it’s more — so her personality, she was DISNEY… and I’m going, is it Disney? You see? Is this a Disney movie, child abuse? And then, in reading about some of the cases that have hit the news recently — yes. It’s all very PG, sex. It’s DISNEY. Alice Munro’s response was positively DISNEY. I was reading a book about a woman who was abused by her grandfather, even when she was three, and when she finally confronted him, he said, “it happened to me,” no biggie.

And here, we see, even in Margaret Atwood’s response, saying that Alice Munro, more or less, responded like she did, because it had happened to her… one would have to assume, because it’s so common. Child abuse, sexual. And here’s Dr. J — dee dee, hee hee, her wrists like flimsy hankies — running to take a picture with Epstein. He’s a nice man, evil man, this woman is ready for anything. She’s the type of person, shrugging at Ghislane, who would make you believe like she COULD assist someone in sexually abusing a child. That’s the basic gist. But she’s OUTRAGEOUS!!!!! So it can’t be so. Thinking about Ghislane’s puppy, her new puppy in her “nice prison.” That one, I thought, “wow, Dr. J.” Dr. J would be the one… to present her the puppy… amazing.

That’s where I am this morning. I’m trying to work on A story about this investigation, specifically, and if I do my job correctly, the reader should go, “uh oh,” because it doesn’t look like my father’s innocent. If I were to just tell the story of these four years, it’s just going to sound guilty. You know? With 30 exclamation points coming from my friend in a text — LIFE IS LOOKING UP???

If I sell a story to EPIC, yes. If I got to a stupid opening of a show for SAG? No. If my show is being celebrated like this — major yes. I buy a house? Yes. I meet someone…I was thinking about this guy, because I liked him, honestly, he’s a kind, geeky lawyer. And I definitely need to — UNDO the SHIT I learned man, this past decade. I’m too reactive, now. Or? The trauma crap, this psychedelic group, this Hollywood guru who had no clue what he was doing, the psychic period…

I read a post on Instagram, like, I’ll just take full responsibility… and leave it be, reject all this. Anyway, at the same time, I wouldn’t start talking about what you’re looking for in a relationship, indirectly, the very next time you see someone you just got intimate with. AND barely. I was more vulnerable than he was, in that scenario, based on what went down. And what can I tell you? I had enough of men, to be frank, after this decade. Not being serious is one thing, being treated casually is another. I am not a toy. So, I might have confronted him about it, and I admitted that I wish I let that slide, I guess, and just have given you a chance… BUT I had a terrible decade with MEN, specifically. And THEY didn’t show me respect. And it was THAT immediate. They disrespected me — early on. And he didn’t mean to… bring up… some convo about what we wanted, unconsciously. However, did he not SEE me there? Don’t act casually with me… I want to be seen, respected, like, bring me a rose, dude, and say, “it’s nice to see you.” We’re still in the seduction phase.

So, you know, I had a moment in the middle of the night, as I had a hard day because we ended the relationship that barely began. Am I to apologize? As I tend to take on the blame for the entire situation. No, I thought, I already did. I apologized, if I had misread the situation, but he didn’t seem to be able to be honest, all the time, about his feelings. He might have brought it up, just as a topic, but he’s missing the point. I want to be seen and respected by someone I’m going to have sex with. A conversation about “what we want” in a relationship, no offense, I did not want to have a convo about this when I barely opened up, for real, meaning in bed. Don’t pull that, and don’t pull that you have no idea what you’re doing. Not the best sign.

I was disappointed by his move there, when I was showing him affection, trying to. The last time we hung out, before we got physical, I could barely reach the sidewalk he kissed me so fast, in the middle of the street. But once that threshold was crossed, right? I thought, maybe he had a tough day at work, he was a bit colder than he was before we got physical, consistently, and then…this “convo” he didn’t really mean to bring up… surfaced on top of it… I’m just saying. I’ve been in this situation before.

And this time, I thought about it, and I delivered an arrow. No. So, I reacted, yes. I could have gone out with him, given him a chance… proceeded with caution, which is what I would have done now, depending, but that really pissed me off. I barely opened up to him in bed. And I said, “I can’t trust you.”

So good, on my end, progress. I just get scared that I won’t meet anyone as I’m “old” now, and look dude, I don’t know, yeah, maybe I do want a partner, not a companion.

But I just couldn’t deal with another guy who gets all weird because we barely got physical, like you must be joking. I have a low threshold, my patience — he pressed on the wrong button. It’s been pressed a touch too many times, and the part that drives me insane? “You’re hot,” he said, even, that night. YEAH THANKS.

Jesus Christ! Can I meet a guy who treats “a girl he thinks is HOT,” with respect?

Anyway, I have to stare at notecards and keep figuring out this story, which I can, I just get frustrated, because that’s all I had to do. Get a job, get an apartment, write on my freetime like this, and MEET a fucking guy. Instead I went on this near death detour with assholes with the craziest ideas.

If you told, my old psychologist, a woman, that in the 15th century she would have been the one to speak to animals — she might have attacked you. “Are you weirdly insulting me?” This man passing this off as a compliment — I see this dick, I’m throwing shit at him. These dicks, nothing but dicks.

And when it comes to MY NICE father, you see, this lunatic, we’ll see, because that story was a real shitshow. Where I don’t know, and so, working on this story can weigh on me when my circle around me is like putting on some CAN CAN dance — I don’t have one friend, not through this.

But, hopefully, I hope, I hope that I will break some ground, because I came so far, and I will be seen appropriately. That I might spawn a movie even, as that’s my goal, right? I’m trying to break into entertainment. I see TV shows, films, I just have to get there. So I adjusted my priorities, momentarily, where I’m just trying to finish this story. And I’ll keep working on a one woman show…

And when it comes to this Hollywood screenwriter, in particular, the sheer lifethreatening emergency of coming to realize what that relationship was. Insane. So I went through true insanity… I’ll keep going to open mics, I’ll keep going. I want this guy by the balls. I really do. Maybe, to dramatic soundtrack, the idea is really funny… that I’m trying to get to a NETFLIX special where I enter in a Victoria Secret outfit… to uproarious applause. “THIS DICK.”

“He had NO IDEA…”

“Of course! I was in a sex scandal when I was four, and I’m going to become psychic,” first and foremost, “and I’m going to meet a Hollywood douchebag.” I might have scared my friends, because I put a raw and real clip from my rehearsal room, where I fucking address this guy…on my social media account.

One of the psychologists I worked with, she would have called me brave. So I’m thinking about her this morning, because on this one, she’s going to be on my side. What that guy did, using me to play his father? Insane. Even mine? I mean, holy shit, I was so shocked, and it was so true, I had to become a parent.

The type (that Cate Blanchett might back up) that’s going to get on a plane, yes, from Australia, and she’s going to drive to Beverly Hills and confront this mother fucker. She’s getting the voice note… and so is Brad Pitt. You can hear beeps from cars, and then, my voice ripping this guy to shreds. And then, I’m posting it on social media.

I have to laugh.

I got caught up in weird older men with shitty direction. But, for the sake of my own sanity, I lost. I got played. Real bad. I got creamed. So, fine, you win. But, you know, Xena Warrior Princess— that doesn’t mean I can’t come back and destroy your village. Win the war, type deal.

I’ll take full responsibility, I came from a background, and I got caught up in all the wrong places. I didn’t meet a MAN, get married, buy a house. I went down some esoteric road where men liked to jack off all over me because I was special? I could become a writer, in all its glory. Sure. I LOST. I lost the game that I did not want to play… who would? So WHY are you there to begin with? That was step one in my recovery. Most people at STEP ONE, they are like, nodding, smiling, “sure sure,” and they are high tailing it in the opposite direction. Especially the screenwriter.

So I lost. I played a ridiculous game with some bitch of a guy. One I had no clue that I was even playing. He should take his own advice, like reread Eric Berne, and consider the moves he made on someone he didn’t even KNOW. It was deranged, for real, but he thinks this was going to help me… but he’s avoiding intimacy, for sure. Me? I like intimacy. And I went to all the wrong places… but that’s for a book. It was not my job to OPEN up for the world here, where I get nothing in return. Nothing. Just theater.

So I’m counting my LOSSES. I lost. Now I can move on and continue to diffuse the story on social media. I’m trying, I’m going to give it a real go, performing. I don’t know how to crack into performance art, as I’ll tackle that arena too… especially with the character of my mother… as she was high art.

I’m really going to go for it, even if, it’s stormy. But I might be able to find a way… and I suppose that’s a good piece of advice for anyone, even if they are young. To… go out there and really carve a path… and I feel like there’s something I could do in a gallery, because my mother… she was a, truly speaking, hysterical grotesque. Hitting on your husband right in front of you at the gallery. Maybe you too. Smiling… scurrying with her wrists like flimsy hankies… to the bar… drinking… getting up on the counter… letting it all hang loose to Blossom Dearie… just her, looking at art. Something monumental. Michel, the limo driver, he appears. I’ll get there. I feel better when I imagine in these directions.

On my way to sing, can’t quite figure this out

So, okay, feeling depressed today but singing usually makes me feel better. I’m singing with Yaniv today, seems like a nice man, and I’m in the underground…running my lines for a scene class at Columbia for directors. I play a bunny. I understand why, Zootopia is so popular, as we’re all animals, or you can relate to the characters that way. I was cast as the wannabe cop bunny. A sweet animal, bunny, like don’t be mean to it.

I can’t quite figure this out, looking at notecards. I didn’t need to have the guru wrapped up in this story, so I’m trying to dismantle this person, as he wasn’t a support tool. That’s not what he was. Like I can feel his presence in these moments, not exactly a supportive.

Helps to state that.

Anyway, This is a story about how a girl who investigates a sex scandal she was in to then question everything she knew? Okay. Not so sure.

I have to break down these beats — my mother reflected so much truth, and when it came to rape but specifically child rape, since that’s what I was thinking about, like incest? What did she reflect about coming from one of “these stories?”

I have to take it step by step.

Like, my father said that all he knew about her was that she was “shipped around to different family members beginning when she was two because her sister beat her…” I couldn’t help but notice that I had been sent away, in a way, as this situation held fragments to her real past. Did the present situation reflect a real past? Why did she do this?

So that’s a scene. I was fascinated, just fascinated, I couldn’t look away, what was this game? Was that a lie, a cover up for something darker? Was there a real child molester, Dr. J once upon a time?

Because, when I was four, I knew what rape was. I had to conclude watching my mother teach me how to throw up (???) in a bathroom… like, I might have been four, but I had my wits, that she might have seriously been raped, younger than I was. I might not have been able to conceive of the details, but it didn’t look good.

She ran into church every Sunday accosting the priest with her rapes… and her theatrics discredited her, as she was almost TOO outrageous, but it was more, what she reflected about the subject that drove me to investigate it. In the words of my father, we were picking her up nightly for drinking, driving, and looking for sex downtown, which is when my father….decided to go on vacation for 5-7 weeks. Hm?

“Imagine?” Angelica Leibowitz said. “Imagine lying about that? About your own husband?” She was aghast. But wasn’t it already a lie? Wouldn’t it require lying?

Anyway, I always feel defeated, like I can’t do this. But like what’s clear to me right now is the middle - funny enough - like, once I get to the spectacles - the happy go lucky dances we put on for him - the spectacle of it becomes clear. She didn’t want to send me to foster care, and I mostly likely would have been abused there, so…? I saw so much truth in this story. It didn’t sound all that unbelievable to me.

So I might hover around that section of it.

So: I might try, my notecards:

1. “She told me rape,” that scene at the club.

2. I’m watching the game… the tennis game right now, basically saying that this situation opened up a door I could never unsee; psychology. So I launched an undercover investigation at not even nine years old.

3. The first question I asked over and over again was “did I really live with you for four years?” And I was so young that I kept repeating the same questions, because I was D. J’s daughter, so I knew that people could change their stories. People are liars, aren’t they Dr.J?

4. Can you describe what you said to her? As I had alerted her, and so she turned to my mother and offered that they would set up a playdate one day. “I did not mean this day.” And Dr. J pops like a jack in the box… and pulls a crazy move that makes her question if she’s joking…you never knew with her as she appears to crack on a particular line…

5. she couldn’t even imagine someone lying about that, Angelica said, about your own husband?

6. In my chair, I thought, eyes on the game? Isn’t it already a lie, Dr. J? Wouldn’t it require lying? Wouldn’t that fuck you up? Real bad? As she didn’t seem to posses distinctions…between lie and truth…

7. My father - all he knew was that she was shipped around to different family members for the first ten years of her life… because her sister beat her, at two years old. Was that a lie, a cover up? I couldn’t help but notice that I had just been sent away in a way, as if this situation held fragments of a real past?

   Anyway, I’m done for today. I don’t know what to do with this yet but I’ll keep on going to the drawing board.

So, let's see.

So the relationship I kicked off with this lawyer, that ended. I was struck, because we barely hooked up, and the next time I saw him, we ended up getting into an unconscious conversation it felt, about what he wanted in a relationship… like he was looking for a companion… not a partner… and I got vulnerable, which is simply my default, like, I’m looking for someone who wants me, it’s pretty simple.

But I should have just let that go, I think, and proceeded with caution. Like, he might be getting a little scared or triggered or something because we were starting to get intimate. But what about my feelings, here? I was a bit, “like come on,” why bring this up? Literally, right after we crossed a physical threshold?

I brought it up later, when he asked me out again, and it seemed as though we clarified that. I was a bit sharp, but like, “is that what you wanted to communicate to me?” That, he wasn’t interested in x, y, z? He wanted me to receive that, right? That got me thinking about the future when it felt a touch too soon, which is why I wish I didn’t mention it, because then, it triggered him… and I reached out because he didn’t, and then, “let’s hang out…” as friends, or something, and in the end, I felt like, you know, on this one, I might have fucked up too…so I was going to just let it go. I don’t know, I would think, you might… try a little romance…? Just because, was that necessary to bring up? It didn’t feel that nice, I had to admit. He wasn’t thinking… which I understand… but now he is, looking for something long-term, which I am too, but whether or not we’re on the same page, ugh, just too much too soon. Don’t I want someone who’s going to consider that I’m there, basically? And that, we just hooked up? I don’t know if I totally think that a romantic partner is “a chummy friend,” I think friendship…takes time. Not DIRECTLY after you hook up, and barely.

So there you go— I wasn’t sure what to do, let that slide, not. I regret that I hooked up with him. We hung out a few times, and I was trying to open up, but, honestly, at this point, in my forties, I sort of want a man who’s into the whole dating act — not like we’re friends, as we went to a concert after that, and we didn’t go home with one another… I want someone who wants to wine and dine meh, who wants to get dressed up, have fun in that flirtation phase, and seduce me, a bit, and think about the first time we’ve going to have sex… have fun, minimally. I mean, if he’s looking for something long-term, if that makes sense, which he said he was. I am too, what else can I say? In any case, I’m trying to forgive myself, or put some padding around myself, that I didn’t help the situation, and in the end, I had to, as the woman, understand the male… not the other way around. Men shut down.

I’ll meet someone, I will, I have to keep telling myself that. I might not have met the right person, and this is what dating is… I need to get out there, I need to stick to my guns, maybe, in that, another woman might have snapped at him right then and there — like hello? Do you know who you’re talking to? Someone you just hooked up with? Are you trying to tell ME something or talk for shits? Right? Not being serious is one thing, but being treated casually, is another. I think I’m sort of that person, actually, as, look, I feel as though I really really worked on myself to get here, like I’m available, I’m open, though I am the age that I am, so I get a little scared, as I guess… I don’t know what I’m looking for… but I might want a partner, not a companion, but who cares at this point? So I should have let that go.

My friend wrote me, after a social media post, that “I got into a short film it seems and I go to fancy premieres now… so maybe life feels looking up?!!” Right when, I didn’t need that. I don’t know if I feel that way yet, but I feel forced to say “yup!” When I don’t know what to do with, I don’t know, the fact that I told her that I don’t know if I was abused, truly speaking, and if my friend told me that, I don’t know if I would write that? I’m staying OUT of their life, a minute. “How’s it going?”

“Are you having fun? Are you able to have a good time yet?”

That’s JOSE, the comedian, who’s upfront. “Can you get out of bed?”

“It’s chill if you can’t…”

“I am.”

HE gets it’s real.

Anyway, what do I do that’s going to work? I feel like I have to swallow my feelings, that all this “trauma talk” and “creating your own reality…” ” and “being psychic…” royally confused me. I did not need any of it. None of it was empowering.

I think more so than anything else, I’m looking for something that works. I feel better now that I’ve let go… of “you create your own reality…” Like, yes, in this case, which hasn’t normally been the case, I did feel disappointed, but the guru was incorrect in projecting that this was some base feeling I had to work out… because it prevented me from creating reality… when I had never been disappointed in life… and that’s one of these statements I could make that could trigger someone, like I can’t feel that way because of where I came from. Fuck my parents. No offense, in my case, I think there’s enough feeling behind that very true statement. Fuck them. Disappointed? Just please. How about — infuriated. Disappointed is like a kindergarten response. Disappointed?

Reality happens between us. That’s a more solid idea for me. To remain conscious, on my end, and understanding of how relationships work. No, don’t go to Brooklyn yet, drag it out, let him chase. That would have solved it right there. Though, you know what they say, too, maybe we revealed who we were, and what we wanted, so we could just let it dissolve.

Personally, I’m hurt because I just got here at 39, that I want a relationship, and my age sometimes makes me nervous, that I won’t find my person, which is really what I would like to find in life… turns out. Over a book, a career, I want to meet my person. (Maybe more than one, this is not my issue.) I have to keep a positive outlook, it’s just, the relationships I had with older men this past decade really really crushed me, because I got turned into a sci-fi or a pet project or a “debutante” or something, because I was young and attractive? Like, someone called me “an elite experience,” like I could climb the social ladder… I doubt these men would ever make such a big deal out of me NOW. Like I doubt I would have gotten into these relationships NOW. So I feel like I wasted my youth… on sci-fis… not real love, friendship, stuff like that. These were not real friendships.

So that hurt. And they make me shiver in thinking about my father, in particular, I must be honest. I didn’t meet FEMALE mentors even. I’d like to now. I wish I had an older female I could just shut up and listen to — truly.

I did get the name of a matchmaker, hilariously enough, from my friend. I bumped into her. So I’m going to make a profile, very Materialists, and I’ll see who else I can meet. I’ll quell the heartache, of having made so many mistakes, in a sense, having gotten unconsciously pulled down terrible directions, when I just could have taken a step in this direction… but I wasn’t necessarily interested in meeting a guy, right? I wasn’t thinking. LIFE—build. Sure, not everyone wants a partner, but that wasn’t exactly true about me. I’m someone who wants to be surrounded by people.

I keep seeing birthday parties with big groups of people. That was the goal, for me. And someone who was in tune, really, which is me now, would have really gotten that about me. “You’re a great person who deserves to have a solid group of friends around her,” and who is in the center of her own universe, not going to these… men. So, I worked that out, whatever that mechanism is, so I’m going to take a deep deep breath, and I’m going to organize a party for my 40th, even if it makes me terribly nervous, even if no one shows up. Some people will. But it’s more opening up that door. Throw myself a party every year, make it better, I’ll throw better parties… as the years go on… and that makes me emotional, because I didn’t think about that. I’ve gone out and done things for my birthday, but that act of throwing a party and celebrating oneself, that’s not been the easiest, even now, really now, just because of the people I met, and how they treated me.

It was so simple. It wasn’t that complicated. Forget the fame, lol, which is just a joke, it truly sounds like a joke in my case. Forget the fame, forget the accolades I don’t have, but I COULD HAVE!! (The guru). How about plain old life?

I’m sad that I didn’t prioritize relationships, as I had a restless nature, as a way of living that made it a challenge to — after Paris — to STAY in one place. Again, why I moved to Paris, I do not KNOW, now, like why? GO ON VACATION there. Figure out what you wanna DO, you see, one of these Arendtian moments, where “I don’t know,” I said, whimsically, which provokes me to laugh with the “spirit,” not the imagination, of Hannah Arendt, “what I want to do, but I want to live here…”

EHHHHH— I’m hitting the ALARM button. “Nope,” get away from this Romantic professor. Figure out what you want to do first, don’t get enchanted by the allure of “another world” sort of vaguely speaking. Paris is pretty, “cool,” and “you might want to plan a vacation…” with money YOU make, money you have. NOT your savings, not your savings that… isn’t going to last… be real. I thought everything was going to work out, you see, which in MY CASE, wasn’t correct.

“HOW?”

“What do you SEE coming your way? A man?” Well, I wasn’t exactly looking for that, though I was, but I mean, “marriage?” You see? I had these problems. “HOW is it going to work out? What are you even DOING with you life?” I laugh, I have to.

Now I’m thinking —forget my psychic abilities — SAVE my money, BUY a house, forget the lamborghini, as the guru projected SUCCESS at me… and wrapped me up in confusing LOGIC that it’s NOT ABOUT THE LAMBORGHINI but the FEELING when that’s SO CONFUSING, like I’m supposed to recognize a feeling… when something comes my way… it might not LOOK like a lamborghini, but it FEELS like a lamborghini,” just picture a psychology listening to this, “that’s how you KNOW…” and I have no idea what to do with that.

So anyway, I don’t know what to do, but I hope I keep figuring it out, what works, because nothing works right now. I need to keep figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. My personhood was crushed by this guru, in particular, but like, the plant people? That was a bit of a cult, there. In a sense. I’m going to work on my book, a second, I’m going to go to my friend’s house in the mountains for my birthday, and I’m going to… reflect, on myself, I need to think about what MODE I need to click into to make life work better for me. I got knocked down, I keep feeling that way, so it’s not working exactly.

But I’m going to sit with acceptance, empowerment, and bringing care into my space, being treated with care, since I feel un-cared for, which has to do with attitude, so I’m going to think: acceptance, empowerment, care. And that I do not know, so I’m not going to jump, (that’s the guru), I’m going to take my time and space…and give someone their time and space. I just don’t want to feel disrespected, which, I don’t know, maybe I’m not seeing it correctly, but that’s what this lawyer’s…unconscious dialogue over what he wants, in a relationship, after we got intimate came across as to me…a bit disrespectful of someone you’re trying to seduce, right? We haven’t even GOTTEN into bed yet, not really.

I’m going to actively think — WHERE do I want to end up? How do I get there? WHAT kind of man would I like to meet? Personality wise. Where might he be? Go? That sort of thinking.

Okay, so I worked through that one, this morning, as I keep feeling knocked down, and no, I don’t want to get caught up in “why I’m doing this” on a meta level, which didn’t help. I’m struggling to connect because of what I am dealing with, personally, which isn’t understood, it’s not being treated as real, which is hurting me, literally, physically, right? It’s hurting me. So who cares? I’m going to adopt that. Who cares if I was abused by my parents… so maybe I was, but I’m going to just turn the page. I’m going to NOT settle, that too, even though “I’m old” now, whatever. I’m going to get the guy I want. I’m going to buy a house, one day, I’m going to figure out what’s going to make me happy. I’m not happy with where I’m at, I’m not happy with the decisions I made, or who I got involves with. I’ll keep moving through this.