About last night (or the night before)

A few nights ago, I read from a literary anthology I am a part of. The event was at the Ugly Mug coffee shop in Orange. I had a lot of coffee beforehand because the event started at 8 pm and I had to drive myself and my friend Gina (who was also reading from the anthology, which she edited and curated) for the event after a full work day in Riverside. 

I started getting ready at work about five and muttered under my breath, "why do I do this to myself"? A nine hour work day was turning into a fourteen or fifteen hour day. But I consoled myself by thoughts of good food beforehand, poetry and more coffee of course. 

We got there quick, despite taking the 91 freeway, and after a circuitous and ultimately successful search for parking, we ate friend chicken and waffles at Bruxie in Orange. Then we ambled over to the Ugly Mug which is in a craftsman style house. 

The proprietor is notoriously grumpy and he did not disappoint. It took my friend Gina four tries to find a coffee drink from their menu that was available. I ordered my usual espresso which he replaced with an Americano. When I brought out my credit card to pay, he smirked and pointed to a sign that said CASH ONLY. I looked back at him with a raised brow and said, "Am I in a Seinfeld episode?" He said, "Yep" and directed me to the ATM down the street.

I got my steps in, got growled at by a dog (which was ironic considering I was reading a story about a dog that bit my twin sister when we were little) and made my way back to the Ugly "cash only" Mug of a coffee shop. 

Despite all that, the poetry was superb. An open mic bookended our readings and I was very impressed. The poets could perform and did and were super talented. Gina and I did our readings, which went down well, and then there was another open mic. At the end, the poet slash host read a poem about Gleek (the monkey from the justice league cartoon) he had in homage to my piece about wonder twins. 

I got home after eleven and fell into bed to sleep and perchance to dream. To dream of writing full-time one day... 

 

My way

I've always thought I had it all together. That I was put together. I had a good life, a nice house and family, and a fulfilling job. But recently, I've come to know one thing. I don't know shit, and I'm a mess. Everything I thought I knew is now being questioned because I'm shedding the light of truth and self awareness on it. I know I'm being opaque. For now, I have to be. I have to make sure that my perception is true. I am trying to honestly figure it all out. 

My goal in the next few months is to just take each day as it comes, and to work on myself, in whatever way I can. I want a peaceful and serene life. I deserve it. I know I can have it. I need to quiet my mind and find myself again. 

For years, essentially a decade now, I have been a spinning top. And I have finally stopped the spinning and am looking at myself in the mirror.

Ultimately, this self reflection is just about me. It's not about anyone else. And I need to do this because everything I've created, all my reactions, over reactions, compromises, and complications have been self imposed. I am the only one who can find myself again. I need to find the person I am meant to be. For me and only me.

I won't call this a mid life crisis, it's a mid life creation. A new me. And a new day. My way, as Sid once sang, I'm gonna do it my way. 

New podcast episode is up!!

Life of JEM talks with poet and essayist Elizabeth Galoozis about her beautiful new poetry book "Law of the Letter" published recently by the Inlandia Institute. They discuss craft, process, how to blend music and pop culture into a collection and why poetry is always personal  for Elizabeth. Winner of the regional Hillary Gravendyk prize, this intimate conversation will illuminate and inspire! Listen in!!

Just go to: 

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/life-of-jem/id1700562573?i=1000726769117

Incinerate

I am laying on a leopard couch trying to write. I play music to inspire me, some Iggy Pop, Sonic Youth, Pink Floyd, Flaming Lips, and then some Beatles. A bit eclectic. But inspiring like I said. My dogs are playing with a stick from outside. I take it away. I decide to go feed them and then take them out. 

A bird screeches in the sky above us. We all look up.

That's how the world feels. As if something is startling us. Screeching by on a daily basis. All while we are just trying to get through the day. But as Iggy sings, "all of this is yours and mine", and it's being incinerated. 

I've been trying to work on my novel about a truck stop waitress in the high desert. I like this character. She's not me, but like me she's into music, although mostly country music, and similarly, she used to be a lawyer. Yet, her world is crumbling or has crumbled. It's a realistic novel about getting through the day however you can, especially when the personal and political are both in shambles. How would you get through? 

Somehow, I don't think any of us thought this could happen. That our lives would be this upended. That we would be truly afraid. 

Afraid of the now and what is to come. 

Forever

I'm doing an event at a brewery that's music and literature where I might do harmony on a Beatles song with a friend. I'm not a great or even a good singer. But I can harmonize. Especially on a Beatles song. 

So the song we are performing is "Two of Us." I've been practicing using the Aimee Mann and Michael Penn version from the soundtrack of "I Am Sam". Recording myself. Trying to improve. Trying to sing from my gut and breathe. 

Doing this process reminds me that life is about taking risks. Chances. Doing something you have always wanted to do. 

Shoot. I'm 53. Almost 54. If I'm not going to get up on a microphone and sing now at an event, I probably never will. Plus, I'd like to go for it before I need a walker and the Botox still works relatively well. 

There is something about the line, well the chorus, that slays me. "You and I have memories/Longer than the road that stretches out ahead." 

It reminds me of my mortality and of the many years I've been with my husband, and that we may have lived and been together longer than the years ahead. It's a depressing thought at first but if you really think about it, it's also lovely to think that things do last. If you try really hard. 

They can last almost forever. 

Dry eye

It's almost six am. I'm thinking of all of the departed: about my dad John, my father in law Alberto, my brother in law Gabe, and the shih tzus, Frodo and Chewbacca. Life is fleeting. It's short. It goes by so quick.

Sometimes, and maybe everyone isn't like this, I need to distract myself with things. Television, games, substances, even writing, just to quiet the barrage in my brain. My brain never stops. I feel as if it's a constant stream of consciousness.

What works best is writing. But I can't live my life only on the page, so I manage. It's not debilitating at all some might say. I'm pretty productive. I manage a full time job which keeps the thoughts at bay. I'm fine when I'm busy. It's when I'm forced to sit with myself that I can't. 

I want to get there. I do. Really I do. I know that if I'm able to sit with myself, I can be with others more presently. 

Yesterday, my eyes were burning. I know it's partially dry eye. I have drops. But perhaps I also need to cry. For everyone I've lost, for the state the world is in, and for my inability to sit with myself. Because maybe if I can cry about it, I can eventually fix it. 

And that would be epic. 

A Carrie Girl in the IE

Anyone who knows me well, ahem my husband, knows I watch shows on repeat. Gilmore Girls, West Wing, Lost, and the original Sex and the City (SATC). SATC is one of my favorite shows of all time. There's something about the friendships. It just touches and entertains me. 

And I've always been a Carrie. C'mon, she's a writer and a free spirit and has curly hair and plus, she loves fashion and cosmos. So of course I'm a Carrie. (Yes, I know Miranda is a lawyer, but she's always been too buttoned up for me)

The reboot (And Just Like That) is wrapping up and these last episodes have slayed me a bit. The reboot series has become a bit melancholy in season three and yet (despite an uneven first season) I still love it. Carrie lost Mr. Big (he died episode 1, season 1 of the reboot) and she is a widow. 

(Spoiler to come)

Carrie's heartfelt attempted reconciliation with Adian was a bust, and then the Brit writer she liked and who liked her primarily for her brains and writing skills (which was new for her) left. Now Carrie is adrift and all alone. Wondering, and writing, what's wrong with being alone? And is she alone? She still has her friends. And her writing. 

I've been with my love for decades. Yet, I've always had a secret fear that I would end up alone, adrift without my rock. My husband Adrian is the place I moor. And the possibility of being without each other is one that both of us have to consider could happen one day. We have no kids. What would I do? What would he do? 

I don't know. But what I'm sure of is that I would be lost. And while writing is a salve, it's not everything. I guess what I'm saying is that I am truly starting to feel my mortality at almost 54. It feels scary. But it's reality. 

Tis life as they say. So I plan on appreciating life and what I have more, because, and this is more true than anything, it is beautiful.