My Journal
I realized recently that have been alive for almost 48 years with little or nothing to show for it other than a shocking number of parking violations, most of which are outstanding. Although, it is comforting to know that I am “outstanding” in at least one thing, however dubious an area of achievement it may be, I admit I do hope to leave my mark somewhere else besides the “100 most wanted” list at the DMV. But how does one achieve that inner peace that brings about greatness and a sense of accomplishment? I asked myself, “what is the most important thing a person can strive to achieve?” I believed if I could apply myself to something that was truly worthwhile, then inner peace would be mine. And I wanted it, tout suite!
Now, I have few illusions as to my abilities. I have, thus far, lived a profoundly unremarkable life. To date, I have not distinguished myself in any notable way. Despite this fact, now, as I approach 50 years of age, I aspire to be a quality human being, the best human I can possibly (be despite being saddled with profound ordinariness) and I decided that my lifetime motto of “Do no harm, and when possible, do good” was no longer going to cut it. I had to get serious. I needed to become a force of good, an agent of change in society, and get out there and do something to make it happen. I was going to become a actively good person
doing good things and being good to others every day, all the time.
Now, my pursuit of “active goodness” was a noble and sincere goal. Effective? Important? Meaningful? Not so much. At first, I realized that I had very little clue as to how one achieves ”goodness”. Now, before I try to expand on this, I have to say that while good and bad are easily defined in terms of cinema, odors and raw meat, it is not so with people. So, I have to figure out how to define people as good or bad. This of course then begs the question, is a good person excluded from being bad, and vice versa? Now, although a good person, on occasion may do something bad, he may not do anything that knowingly is bad, and he must always try to right whatever bad thing he has done. That is what makes him good.
I am sad to say that deeply ingrained within me is a kernel of "badness". I cannot deny it, I am rude to people who take too long to order their takeout in the drive thru; rolling my eyes and sighing with my entire body, with my shoulders and chest, collapsing against the open window of my car door at the end of each exhale , crabby to my mom and dad, I snap at my sister on the phone, for no reason. I do self-destructive things like eat a bag of cheese popcorn and then punish myself internally for hours. How does one extract oneself from themselves? From the awfulness that exists within the very core of their “self”? Is the one tiny corrupted, incongruent seed that is nestled in the belly of the pear greater than the whole of the pear, it’s flesh, it’s stem, it’s skin, the numerous other blameless seeds?
I am not yet “good.” I am right now, just trying to be “better.“ I have resigned myself to that right now. But I never defined or located the place on the map, the point on the graph that "good" is located--so my path, if charted, would look like the wanderings of a drunken snail. I have no point. I am just drifting. My life is living me.
What makes a person a “good person?” Is it reflected in the way in which they treat others? Does a good person worship God, or acknowledge her truth that there is nothing out there? Is it the size of her charitable donation (within relation to her income) or is it Is it the graciousness with which she declines to make a donation? And how can anyone believe in something as absurd and ridiculous as “karma?” How can karma exist in a world where there are tiny, innocent babies in Africa, dying of AIDS or malnutrition or some other terrifying disease, who’s entire lives are spent in excruciating pain and perpetual misery, from beginning to merciless end? What have they done to deserve this existence? What could anyone ever do which would deserve this level of punishment. There is no crime for which this punishment would be deemed “just.”
What I wrote in my letter to Brooke today:
Brooke, I love you terribly. By that I am not referring to the shabby way I treat you even when I say I love you, I mean, I love you a great deal. Everyone has been asking about you, everywhere I go. In fact, who in the hell are all these people coming up to me when i'm in line at Jamba Juice, when I'm taking my car to the dealer's and in front of the Baptist Church in Venice asking me 'bout you? Did you like, sign up with some singles mixer on the days I was busy at home? Oh yeah, Sulli, the ice cream man is available for "anything, " when you get back...I don't know if that means a really obscure flavor of sour-power licorice or "pleasant conversation in a romantic setting."
Mike is quietly, but seriously distraught now that you've left, but he tries
to hide his pain from me...you know how stoic he is. He's a huge softie for
his sister-in-law.
I wasn't going to tell you this because i know you, and i didn't want you to worry, but...you should know, Rocky's not in good shape right now, emotionally, hasn't been the same since you left. Helen and david haven't been able to get him to eat hardly anything, with him infrequently allowing to be fed a few chocolate covered milk bones and profiteroles with a gravy glaze drizzled over them, and he won't take walks unless David picks him up and carries him many blocks away (but it won't be long I, suspect, before they drive him) and he shuffles dejectedly those long damp chilly three blocks home on his own, and then he just ambles despondently along, sniffing more out of habit then interest. Their worry, however turned to real concern when they realized that something was different...only they couldn't quite put their finger on it. FInally yesterday, while Helen was pulling some clothes out of the dryer, and admiring their clean, fresh, just out of the dryer smell of her Ralph Lauren pillowcase covers and dust ruffle--she realized that she had also smelled the coffee brewing from all the way in the bathroom this morning--and the sharp chemical smell on David's hands when he came in from the darkroom and helped her wash the dishes--Good lord!! She yelped, "DAVID!! Call the vet!! David!!! Rocky has not farted in at least two or three days!!! David, at his desk, scanning some new photos turns around and stares, his face ashen into the laundry room at Helen. "Get my wallet off the dresser, I'll get him in the Jeep, we'll call the doctors on the way. "
I am only kidding of course, but I bet he's not wagging his tail quite so vigorously this Sunday morning, since it's the first one since you've been gone!! I am going roller-skating today, it's cold and clear and crisp. I hope that you are taking a much needed party break and resting comfortably after a grueling last couple of weeks. Please write and send money. (Ha ha).
I was at Sav On yesterday buying blank vcr cassettes, low fat triscuits, light bulbs, face cream, artificial tears and votive candles (I'd walked in the pouring rain to the SavOn, my car was in the shop) and was somewhat perplexed when my card was declined (repeatedly) by the checker's computer. I assured her that the mistake was hers, to which she calmy replied, “Look, ma’am (ma‘am!!! As if I weren’t at least two or three years younger than her and lacking, unlike her, copious amounts of upper-lip hair!!!) all I know is, your card is dee-cliiined. It doan’ sey why. Ooh-Kay? Now, you got a card that works?” I decided that I need not wrestle with the feriociously intimidating, mightily powerful alligator that was her stupidity and departed, but only after issuing a high-pitched, expletive-studded ”au revoir” to the Sav On staff. Out in the cleansing and head-clearing rain, I fumbled into my purse for a cigarette, walking across the trash littered parking lot when suddenly out of my purse peeked my other credit card...my motherfucking Master Card was in my purse after all!! I stopped, suddenly nauseated by the decision which I was now faced with. Dare I slither back into that viper’s den? Well, I had no choice. I really really needed those votive candles and that 9 volt battery... Needless to say, I was none too pleased to have to pick out all the same items all over again, under the disapproving eye of the now-hostile manager, since if they'd held on to my previous basket of goodies, they weren't giving it up! Now, a normal person would probably see their card's refusal at the checkout counter as an indication that their finances are in some disarray, and call their bank. But not me!!! NO, I go blithely along with my day, nibbling my 15% interest accruing triscuits and lit all my votive candles with utter confidence that that lame brained Sav On staff had somehow infected their computers with the same brain-crippling, accent-thickening, attitude souring, butt-widening disease that afflicted them all: "Fat and Mad Cow Disease".
Well, you can probably imagine my surprise when I was informed last night, by our surly, pine-scented waiter “Julian” (who had long taped fingers like a girl’s and clucked his lips audibly when my card was declined) when I attempted to pay for my cocktail and happy hour apps. Then, he stood over me and judged me with his eyes while I fished around in my purse for that wily mastercard, (which, this time, was successful in eluding me), his eyes boring holes into the back of my head. I really could not stand him and was already planning not to leave my usual %20 tip and let him feel the burn of just %15 of this check!!
Luckily Poppy, as usual was more than gracious about paying for my meal and the glass of merlot that I hadn’t even touched!!! She’s so cool that way.
The reason I’m telling you this is, the next morning I went to the bank to deposit a measly $195.00 check from Joe and to find out what the fuck was going on with my bank account. I simply could not be overdrawn, it was only the 10th day of the month...in fact, I should have had over a thousand dollars in my account, and $1,200 with Joe’s check. So I deposited my check and glanced down at the receipt that was spat out at me upon completion of the transaction. It said;
Your current balance is: $-6.37
(!!!!)
I panicked, almost having an anxiety attack right there on Winward Avenue on the first Sunny Sunday of the new year. Oh my God!! I went back and had one of those mini-statements (which cost a whopping $1.00!, which the bank kindly advanced me) printed up and it confirmed that i'm totally flat busted. I have yet to fully understand why, but I am, as we speak, investigating the matter and should have this solved tout suite, or else, starve. Fingers crossed!
Knut the cutest polar bear pimp ever
