This has been my longest hiatus from writing in this blog. Sometimes I wonder why I started this blog. Now that I’m back in the U.S., I feel much more circumspect about writing in it. What if the CIA finally responds to my application 10 years later and wants to interview me? Surely they will find this, and I doubt I would pass their stringent background check anyway. I wonder if my friends would tell them I was normal and stable… Hard to say which would take me down first. Anyway, these are some of the reasons why I almost completely stayed off social media for as long as I did. I thought one day I might actually have some kind of career–maybe not CIA but some kind of career like CEO of some public company–where it would actually matter. But now I sort of realize it doesn’t matter. My new existence seems to be writing from coffee shops for four hours a day, progressively learning how to be a human in the world (i.e., cooking, doing laundry, all that mundane stuff), and vacillating between applying for jobs and starting my own business. I thought about being an Uber driver, but since I can’t actually drive, that doesn’t seem like something that’s in my skillset. Barista, maybe barista! Continue reading Not writing…no, but actually writing →

It’s 2:51pm in Los Angeles. I’m multitasking by which I mean switching vigorously between various tasks / activities, including playing the guitar, writing emails about the name for a startup I might be co-founding, reading a book on de-cluttering, and eating various pieces of carbohydrates while hovering over the kitchen counter.

It’s quiet in here as it can be when the neighbors aren’t home. The dog (ahem, dogs) aren’t scuttling around here on either side of me at the moment. This means that my startle effect has been lowered at least temporarily. I think my newly prescribed bipolar meds that are apparently not being prescribed to me for bipolarity but rather to calm down my racing thoughts (huh?) are supposed to help with that. Ah, just kidding. I think I heard echoes of high heels. It really makes me feel like this place is haunted.

I spent the morning putting together my final “chapbook” for my writing class. It’s meant to be a book of journal entries, the product of a string of assignments we’ve had over the course of this course. Mine kind of sucks, so I added a few things I had written in high school, which elevate the contents substantially. Scarily. When did America stop learning how to write for real and instead write for the web? Amirite?

Then I read some stuff I had written a while ago, and it made me start to cry at the coffee shop called “Bru” with a dash over the “u.” (Could ya BE anymore pretentious?)

So I walked home (oh, right, I sort of have a home now) to my apartment that oddly smells like cats at the moment and started the carbfest.