On Monday evening-the cloudy sky

I have trouble with days off. I tend to feel like the world is falling apart. My world, that is. My room is a disaster. I need to do laundry-didn't I just do it? I think I have poison oak. My roomie said, "I think you have that disease where you think you have a disease." I bought some soy chicken at the health food store. When I got home I saw it was moldy. I went to the bank to deposit some checks. And I couldn't find a pen to sign them. And the bank was closed. My friend invited me to drive to San Diego with her, but I slept in by accident so I missed her. It's just one of those days...I don't feel like doing anything. And I feel guilty for not doing anything. So then I start to pretend I'm doing stuff. I'm thinking of a million things I should be doing. And all in all, it's a day off. But I don't like days off. I don't think I'll really enjoy a day off until I am constantly working, which isn't happening yet.

Sorry this is a venting blog. Tomorrow is another day, at least.

I'll put this song on repeat for now and drink my coconut juice. And I'll think about some guy who isn't thinking about me. And I'll pretend he is. When he isn't. Because it's an actor's job to make things up. That's what we do best. Make up who we are, what we do, how we're feeling, and how someone else is feeling, and how it all makes sense, or doesn't make sense, depending on our mood.

I guess it's a curse and a blessing.

OK. I'll clean the bathroom, at least. That's a start. Right? Yes.

Some things on repeat in

WhimsiCali4nia

A song or something....

A beginning of a song or something...

I had a dream that you wanted love
But you didn't know what it was

So you saw me standing there
And you asked if you could touch my hair

I had a dream that I said OK
If you promised not to run away

And you said darling I will try
But baby all our dreams must die.

A poem by a friend

I am often inspired by the works of Edna St. Vincent Millay. She was such a fascinating poet. A woman who had many love affairs with both men and women. Known for the lines, "I burn my candles at both ends." I think she has a soul like mine.

On another note, I wanted to thank a friend for writing me a poem. I am often wishing men would write me songs. My ex boyfriend wrote me a song once which he gave me before we were together called, "Through the eyes of love we'll see this world again." And we did. Words have meaning.

This poem was written by a friend who seems to admire my work from afar. I really felt touched by this generous gift. Thank you, Corey Mesler! And he's a real poet too! Not just a "wannabe..." ;)

Love and gratitude. It's kind, thoughtful gestures like these which keep you moving forward....

Starring Erica Rhodes


I wrote a new poem.
It stars that ingénue,
Erica Rhodes.
She appears in line seventeen,
kicks things around,
and is gone by the end
of the third verse. Her beauty
threatens to throw the
whole poem off balance. Her
face the face the sky would
wear if the sky were to
wear a face. The poem limps
toward an inconclusive
conclusion. Its star is gone.
The rest of the cast
do their best. The poem re-
fuses to come alive like
Persona or anything by
Frank O’Hara or
Jacques Tati.
The poem loves Jacques Tati.
Its real death occurs near
the penultimate line.
Over its spooled shoulder,
the poem looks back at
Erica Rhodes,
a wanton, stilted enthrallment,
wanting to try again with her,
as its credits roll like a
frolic of architecture.

By Corey Mesler