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,