exercise more!

6:34 AM

i’m in my kitchen making tea & out of the window i see a kid

can’t be older than 20, big white headphones, shiny jacket

running like i guess people do at 6 AM except he’s screaming

I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE

IT TORTURES ME AT NIGHT

SWOLE

 

i used to exercise in the windowless basement of Fox Plaza

& before that at the lovable Koreatown YMCA

& before that at the gym in a chinatown apartment the first day I moved to Los Angeles and realized that i had made a terrible, terrible mistake

…..

writing & exercise & yoga are all kind of the same in that they demand special attention if they’re going mean anything

i’m not an athlete but

there seems to be a point in each

where the pain disappears & you can go forever

B.K.S. said eventually he was able to communicate with every cell

and I intend to

something i just remembered

I was 22 and working at a coffee shop in Phoenix, living with my parents & trying to be a writer.

The customers at the coffee shop liked me. I had a good memory for details – not just coffee orders but food allergies and dog names and stuff like that.

One of the regulars was this guy named Arturo, a psychologist in his mid-fifties who was finishing up his first novel.

“What kind of stuff do you write?” he asked me one afternoon.

I said, shy, “Nothing really. Just like about life, I guess.”

“I see,” he said. “22 year-old girl stuff?” He started to laugh a little. “Boys, clothes, dating?”

I turned red, tried to laugh too. “Yeah, I mean. Pretty much.”

“Ah well, there’s room for that stuff too.” Hearty chuckle.

I made some non-committal laughing noises.

“I’d love to read your work sometime,” he said after a minute of that back and forth fake laughter. Then he ordered an oatmeal.

In a way it was a relief. Writing had started to feel like eating crackers with a dry mouth. I mean at best, my work was empty. At worst, it was bitter and hateful.

I went on a long walk around my neighborhood and while I was walking it hit me that I didn’t have to keep trying to be a writer. It was such a pure & exquisite moment – like my fist had been clenched to white knuckles for over a year and finally I was letting it open up and relax.

Anyway, a few months later Arturo went crazy and started living out of an ice cream truck.

read a novel on a school night stay up as late as you can

i’m often stunned by the separation between the life i have at work and the life i have at home

one a space of content creation & data collection; CPMs and CTRs and CPCs; hashtags as a relevant tool for irony; girls wearing too much makeup and guys trying to prove, in rolling chairs and loafers, their alpha masculinity

the other a space of yoga, literature, delicious things to eat; house music and mantra and late night talks about eclipses, past lives, dreamscapes, parties, proust; a space so expansive and bright that the other recedes into a fuzzy immaterial past, and what is left is amber-hued and golden –