La Tormenta
Sometimes I forget how much I love a dark and stormy day. I didn’t know I needed one until I woke up to the sound of rain hitting and then running down the old window panes of this apartment. I’m back in LA and everything feels heavy.
Yesterday, as I was walking home from the grocery store, it was as though I was wearing ankle weights that increased in pounds with every step. The air was cool. There was a nice breeze from the impending storm that came overnight, but I was sinking — spiraling internally. I was thinking about all the decisions I’ve made that have gotten me here. Not that they were particularly bad. When you set sail, you can’t predict the weather, just like you can’t predict the government or the economy or the pandemic or the contracting industry we’re in. But it all feels like pressure. You said you were going to do the thing so, do it!
I reeled myself back in. I’m fine. I have a place to live, food to eat, my manager loves the new script. Nothing to worry about…
On further evaluation, I realized I’m physically healthy, mentally anxious, externally extroverted, internally introverted, in a constant state of fight or flight, but that’s just being a Sagittarius, right? Shall we ride the what ifs rollercoaster? My knees are on the concrete. We’re already there.
What if my script gets funding? That would be everything.
What if I never find another job in the meantime? Well, if your script gets funded, that’s the best job in the world. Stay dedicated… and just keep eating rice and beans in the meantime.
What if I say f*ck it and move to Mêxico for a little while? I can do what I’m doing here there and learn Spanish faster. I’ve always wanted to do that. Sure. You’re smart and capable. You’ll figure it out. You always do.
What if I don’t? What if you do? Anything is possible.
I’m my devil. My subconscious is my angel. We argue all the time and I remain the same.
I imagine I’m up to my neck in the concrete now. The eggs in my grocery bag have rolled away from me. People walk around my head. No looks down. No one helps. I have to break myself out, but it’s hard. The mixture has settled over the years… Then, the rain comes. The storm.
Like magic, it loosens the ground so I can crawl my way out. I’m covered in clay, but the downpour is torrential. It cleans me.
That’s what it feels like watching drops of water hit and run down the old window panes of this apartment. Like everything is going to be alright. I have a renewed sense of being that won’t last, I know. The rollercoaster is only temporarily out of order. It’s too dangerous to operate in this weather, but it feels nice. If only for a little while.
I pour a cup of black tea and talk to you.