Physical mail, the type that requires patience and includes humanity in its form – finger prints and sloppy handwriting and smears of jam – fuses the solitary with the social. We are lonely and strange with our ideas and our art. In conversation we react and respond, we touch and are touched. We read the other person to gauge their understanding. We repeat if we feel misunderstood. In a written letter we are without these tools, we are introverted. We write when we are strangers with the world – from train cars and travel destinations – with news that things have changed – we have given birth, become an atheist, fallen in love, learnt to bake sourdough. We write with our new address when we move. We write when things are quiet and our ideas are new. When we can hear the ocean, when our company has left, when night has fallen or day broken. With no potential for immediate response and time sitting in the way of communion, everything is at stake. We ask important questions. We have confidence in our awkward sentences and in the recipient for we do not control and cannot see how we are received. We stand by our words. They are gifts. They are freedom. They are surprise.
today was my first day back at work in three weeks. granted the show was on hiatus for two weeks (most of which I alternated from being sick in bed to partying like it’s the final day on earth before the big ______ hits) and last week, THE WORST WEEK EVER, in bed from Friday evening until Friday again.
it felt funny strange being back on set.
people were really happy to see me/concerned and that felt nice/awkward.
but I’m back in the land of the living.
my call time this am was 5:30 and location was an hour plus drive away so I had to get up at 3 am, which is most likely why I feel so worn out right now. 12 hour days are killing me, but I’m just glad in not keeping set hours anymore. 17 hour days are worse.
Sometimes what you get isn’t really what you want.
—Detective Stephen Holder
"I now consider it a good day when I don’t step on my boobs."
"My sex life is so bad, my G-spot has been declared a historical landmark."
"My love life is like a piece of Swiss cheese; most of it’s missing, and what’s there stinks."
"I think anyone who’s perfectly happy isn’t particularly funny. "
Joan Rivers, 1933-2014