The last things I have written down in my notes app are Belgium (bold) Berlin (regular). I’ve been letting people around me speculate where I should spend the rest of my life.
I can totally see you as someone from San Francisco. Did you mean that in derogative terms? I would never live in San Francisco.
I think you would do well in New York. Last time I was there, I got hospitalized. I couldn’t stop touching stimulants, and I speak of the tuna bacon deli sandwich as if it haunted my body like a hag ghost. I got two liquid IVs, one from the NYU hospital and one for first time patients at a life longevity clinic, still calling me about their deal on B12 wellness shots. And if you wonder what it tastes like in your veins, it tastes kind of like shit, like a calcium tablet. I lived in the same shirt for 5 days, and that was the last that New York has heard of me. My friend asked me if I was coming back for Halloween, and I denied while letting out a small chuckle.
Why would I ever leave Los Angeles? There is no where else I would be stuck in 50 minutes of traffic driving 8 miles, trying to reach heaven. I’ve shackled myself to the city by buying two pieces of furniture that has a combined weight of about 500 pounds. That is half the weight of an average, adult horse. If I were to leave the state or country, that would be one hell of a U-Haul/shipping crate.
I cancel one vinyasa yoga class to attend another one 30 minutes later, reaping the consequences of the late cancel fee. The guilt of not becoming the best version of myself through discipline and training is what drove me to the class. The positivity gurus are right, I do feel better. I also feel awful because I had to exercise a great deal of shame to make myself get there. I can’t help but distrust the self compassion industrial complex and the prayers that never seem to heal my rotting wounds. I wonder if this place had a repulsive force against me all along, and I’ve just tried hard enough to hold on, because I don’t know better and I am scared to let go. If only you can inhale, sip a little more air and exhale out the conundrum of existing in the most advanced, yet stupid timeline. I cannot buy myself out of a crumbling world that constantly seems to dawn upon me, but I can try scrolling.
Last week, the receptionist at the Roosevelt Hotel pool complimented my new Issey Miyake dress from Japan, and perhaps appearing chic to another woman is just enough satisfaction for a day.
Tonight, JJ and I are seeing Mysterious Skin at the Academy Museum. I’m thinking of wearing a turquoise cotton dress, or a nice satin blouse. (Final outfit: neon yellow earrings, D&G sequins shirt, upholstered Nike skirt with matching neon yellow stripes, shoes TBD). I try to wear more heels these days, so my step carries more presence. Also because I spend so much of my time at home now, so every moment outside is important. I carry on, not knowing exactly how to end this set of paragraphs, dragging on my lines, like chalk screeching on a dusty old blackboard, trekking on. I have no other choice.
CGFOTY
shari wei 