Cary,
Alright. I know. Call me delusional. I’m dating (god that word truly rots) a few people, and as Shaune Ferguson wished upon me last time we had a chat, I am not lacking in the good sex department…. but… I’m a chick. My romantic reality, therefore, is based on delusion. I must request, as you are a good friend, I’m sure you will grant me this, one paragraph in which I may put forth these honestly created fantasies. For indeed, I’d rather think on you alone, or silently taking advantage of some young bim, than actually with anyone. Sick, twisted, I understand. Juvenile? Yes. I am aware of that as well. But since I developed this crush on you around the same time “Sixteen Candles” bore Molly Ringwald into Hollywood, who can blame me for that? Anyway Cary. I’m glad. The bubble is burst and I can move onward. Who is this ho anyway and what’s her name? I promise in the future to be less callous with the nominclature, but I did ask for a one paragraph grace period. I can’t deny the slight twinge in the gut. Ah, well. Life goes on.
And doesn’t it, though? I have been here a year as of February 20th. It’s hard to accept. I feel alternately like it’s been a huge waste or hugely productive. I can’t decide between the two. Whatever it’s been, it’s been exhausting. I am drained. Thoroughly. I want to spend a year in nothingness. But I guess that’s just it, I can’t get time off from life. Work, thank God, is great. I’ve been promoted yet again, and will be assisting one of our “reknowned editors” quite soon. It’s an opportunity. I feel mildly detached from it. It isn’t where I wanted to be so, no matter the honor. But then, that really is shortchanging the opportunity.
And hey, I hate to nag, but if you’re going to India, why not California? There’s actually someone here I would love to watch you meet. You’d either hate him or really get along with him, but it would be amusing either way. Mark. Not a love interest, he’s far too much a pain in my ass. He’s got a healthy sarcasm, a large ego, and a whole shitload of creative motivation. (Filmmaker.) So he suits me. Another white trash kid on his way to stardom. I’m editing his latest film. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a copy.
Other than that? Hm. I wish I was healthy. I’m still pretty low as far as health is concerned. It doesn’t help that it’s february, though I’m not in New England, my body seems to think I am. Throws of depression, overwhelming hungers, and fucked if I’m not craving sex beyond all measure. February is just one long pms to me. (I’m sure this is slightly more information than you needed to know.) Oh Cary. I think the long and the short of it is, I still want to come home. I just wish there was work, I wish there wasn’t my mother, I wish I wish I wish…. I love it out here. It’s just so damned different. And sometimes I look at myself and I can’t believe the life I’m leading. Can’t believe the person I am. This, again, is more than you need to know. So before I wander away from you in this letter, I’ll attempt to close.
You’ll be hearing from me soon, though, I’ve actually been getting somewhere with the whole writing thing. By the way- I take notice- of your lack of writing mention- I don’t have any immediate response to it- but I take notice. Hm. Sketchy. So, anyway, you’ll be getting something to chew up and comment on. It’s taken on a life of it’s own. Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t see the point. It appeared however, in one of my characters. So… we shall see. Ok. That’s all. It’s late and I’m tired. I miss you, I think of you often- sometimes I wish I could hear your laugh.
*********
Cary…several months later…
sorry about that. I have absolutely no idea where the original of this letter went. I printed it out, I stamped it, I obviously never got it in the mail.
So, several months and nothing has really changed. Except that I’m not homesick anymore. I refuse to be. I have forced myself to accept the fact that I will complete my four year sentence here. I’ve downloaded Berkeley’s applications and am looking at them intently. Of course, I’ve already missed the deadline for financial aid for fall, 1998. jesus. You’d think I was planning for a wedding or something. Over a year away and already I’ve missed the deadline. At any rate, I’m applying, and if I get in….if…if…if…
education. evaluated through anthropology. (why do i always do this conceptual shit to myself?)
Went to the high sierras for the memorial day weekend. 50 feet from the snow line. I felt like I was caught in an issue of national geographic. mountain biking and hiking and getting hella stoned around the campfire. Picking wild sage on the desert floor. (I never knew before that desert and mountain could come together. Mr Feltz never told me that, did he?)
Happily enough, this is the thirtieth anniversary of the summer of love, and I have front row seats. My house looks out into Golden Gate Park, and I’m sure there will be a perfectly lovely selection of colorfully dressed vagrants and visitors. It’s wierd to be living in such a slice of history. I went to my gynecologist the other day (Cary, it’s time we knew each other more intimately) really just this little clinic, and got my aids test lying down under a memory wall. It was put up in honor of Janis J, only it was put up back in the day. scraps of fabric and birthday cards etc, from when she hung around haight street. crazy shit. and then there’s the Fillmore concert hall. Posters hung up everywhere, saying things like, “Santana, The Dead and Jefferson Airplane New Year’s Eve 1970” That had to be the absolute fucking bomb. I can’t even begin to imagine what that show was like. Scary and incredible. A photo of the large-froed Stevie Wonder, hugging the monster haired Gerry Garcia. Fabulous baby. (Did you see Swingers? I swear that’s what LA is like)
Travelling becomes such a different scene when driving for 6 1/2 hrs doesn’t even get you out of the state. And that’s east to west. I’ve done more travelling in the past six months than my entire lifetime so far. Napa valley wine country, Sonoma Wine country, (where the tourists go…green green lush life smothering everything in the eye) I’ve visited the beach, only minutes away…The water here is fucking frigid. Colder than Maine even. Truly sucks, but the beach is great, and so is the surfing, I hear. I zone out at the beach for hours at a time. Staring off into space and daydreaming…girl shit. You know.
Mark is still a staple of my diet. He’s still a royal asshole, but what can I do? I love people wtih large egos. We hung out yesterday, and got no sleep last night as his housemates cat is in heat. I don’t consider myself cruel, but we locked it in the closet somewhere around four in the morning so we could rest. Then his pit bull (Jasmine) decided she wanted to sleep with me. So once again, I’m slogging through another monday; tired, cranky and hungover. Not so very unusual for me.
So Cary…I’m fine. People are insane, but I am not. I’ll be back east for a few days July 29th- August 6th. Up in Noho for the 29th-1st then to a fam thing, back to CT after that from the 3rd-5th. Please reserve some time. I’ll be in touch though anyway. Hope things are well for you. What did NC look like? Promising? Watch it Cary. You’re already dangerously close to redneckhood. You better watch your step down there boy. Let me know how it goes. See you soon. (Are you even going to be home at the end of July-Aug? Shit that would ruin my day)
All the eternal blessings over you and yours, today and everyday to follow. Much love. Kiss Kiss.
ued