Sketchbook Aug 14 2008, Delayed Gratification, Writing Aug 15 2008

I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about depression.

But I am going to say that I have never felt so awful in my life.

I have been trying to distract myself with drawing, reading, biking, dancing, and long long walks. I've even been working since the temp agency called me on Thursday, at an electrical company.

I am the only female working there, kept like a princess in the office while the men wonder about me outside in the warehouse. It is actually tremendously refreshing - despite myself - the space is devoid of the chit-chat, cliques, and drama that seem to accompany women in groups. We fall to our desks and work in silence. The break room is supplied with coffee, candy, and Red Bulls, and everyday the boss buys a heavy lunch for everyone. Not a salad nor a Diet Coke in sight.



Sketchbook Aug 14 2008

I sort of hope they will decide to keep me longer than my assignment.

Last night I went out with my roommate and friends to Truck Stop in West Hollywood. I slurped down a Rusty Nail and danced when the floor was empty. A woman leaned into me at the bar and told me "My girlfriend thinks you're a cute dancer...."



Delayed Gratification
August 14 2008

For a little while I forget.

In the aftermath it doesn't matter how hard I danced.



Sketchbook Aug 14 2008

I'm going to round this out with a little bit of writing:

I was outside smoking a red on the curb when an elderly gentleman on a cane introduced himself to me as Arizona. "That's not my real name. But that's what I go by."

He asked me why I wasn't watching the Olympics and I said it was because I don't have a TV. He was aghast. "You mean you that po'?" I laughed. He said, "Lemme guess: punk rock, heavy metal" and gestured to my hair.

"No. I just like the hair."

He proceeded to complain about a woman he had just left the residence of, saying, "How long's a man got to wait?" I was tickled. "You're a woman - how long's a man got to wait?"

I looked down at the cell phone I clutched, disappointingly silent days after my last encounter. "I don't know man. I'm wondering the same thing myself."

"You want a beer? I'm gonna go get a beer." I politely declined.

"Well, I'll let you go now," he said, hobbling across the street, "Seems we're both in the same boat."

I scratched my cigarette out on the pavement and stood up. Same shipwrecked boat indeed.

Writing Aug 15 2008.