"A man who is very busy seldom changes his opinions." - Friedrich Nietzsche
The last two weeks have been my busiest here, if not, perhaps, my busiest ever. Although I'm sure the latter sentiment would be a complete and unjust exaggeration. With my organization's largest event of the year approaching this Friday, work hours have become increasingly long. With a growing list of "friends" and casual acquaintances, social hours have become steadily busier. And with all this business, the productivity, which came with leisure hours and which I was just beginning to grudgingly enjoy, is ceasing altogether.
Amongst the notable and unnotable events of the last several days:
I experienced my first casualty of the treacherous activity that is Los Angeles driving. It was only a matter of time with my luck and my driving skills that I should have an accident. But I SWEAR--totally not my fault this time! In an ironic twist of fate, I had stayed over on Friday night at a friend's in the Valley because I was not seen fit to drive home along the curvy roads, pending my level of [non]sobriety. And so, I left, sleepless, on Saturday morning to head to the office for some event work. And some man who'd been up my Jetta's ass for a mile or so already all of a sudden swerved, scraping my car and hitting two parked cars. Luckily my car got the least of it. But I got out anyway because I was so shaken. And for the sake of this poor Canadian-Israeli couple who was driving a rental for their last day in LA, called the police. Let it be noted that it took over 15 minutes for a live person to pick up on 911. Should I have had a real emergency (which, they ultimately deemed this NOT to be) I could, of course, have been dead or worse. Anyway, so my baby Jetta's not in perfect condition anymore. But so it goes.
The only exciting "celebrity" encounter of the last week was Bob Guccione at our event on Monday. A supposedly big supporter of my organization, I can only imagine this to mean that he enjoys our open bars and prays for available, indiscriminating pussy to find him when he arrives. Unable to speak coherently, or to remember anyone's names including, I might mention, his own son's, he took a picture with me which I will either frame. Or burn.
Work has otherwise consumed my days, my evenings and my dreams. Should this week ever end, and should I keep my job after the disaster which I pray that this Friday does not become, I plan to have several days of reprieve. Whether that should constitutes an indeterminable number of days sleeping or, conversely, indeterminable number of days partying and not sleeping, has yet to be decided. But regardless many days are to be taken in trying to forget everything that is, has been and will be October the 14th.
To sleep to wake again.
Kisses and sweet dreams of vendors that show up on time * Jessie