Aug 19, 2007

Picture This, Sharing Secret Worlds, and it is Not a Gag (I really am a Klutz)

First off, picture this…

It is hot out.
The pool beckons…
Glistening clear chlorinated water reflects the sun's rays…
One wall is heavy with green vines, hot pink flowers, and purple orchids.
Palm trees jut up into the clear blue sky. No cloud in sight.
You float. Ears underwater. No sounds but your heart beating and your breath.
The world ceases to exist in this tiny slice of paradise.
As much as I complain about my apartment, I love my pool.

I also love my secret world…
The advantage to being totally alone for several weeks is being able to create your very own secret world in your apartment.
Last night it was a spaceship.
Captain Zoe (my cat, that is her name, Firefly connections are a mere coincidence) had to steer the ship clear from the inbound Comet (another one of my cats, nearly 30 pounds of white fur and muscle, he's like a dog).
This is what I do in my secret world. Make videos of my cats doing stuff.
Captain Zoe, take us home!
That's what Jeremy would yell out right now if he were here.
We share our secret worlds and they are mostly in accord.
I love being able to share my secret world with someone.
Otherwise, I'm some kind of loner weirdo crazy cat lady and who wants that?

Oh! Are you ready for this? I know I joke a lot in my blog (and on NF's page) about being this uber klutz and I so want you to know just how real that is…

I had a meeting today, so I drove the Kia I'm renting up to NoHo and back.
Pulling into my garage, I totally scraped the damn car alongside the support beam next to my spot.
How stupid is that? Why do I do this shit? I mean, seriously, I am not retarded and am pretty darn smart and skilled in many things, but y'know, if I have to pull one cup out of the dispenser, 15 will come flying out instead. If I have to routinely park in my garage, the damn car has to get a huge ass scrape on it (not to mention paint, ugh!) and just has to be a rental. Like, of course.

Welcome to my life as a major klutz.

"The Secret" might suggest I make my own klutziness by thinking about being a klutz and then manifesting them but you know what? I can safely say I wasn't even remotely pondering the inner workings of klutziness at all, in fact I wasn't much thinking about anything when I ploughed the car into the pole, which is probably precisely why it happened in the first place.

I zone out in public a lot. I mean, like A LOT. I must appear to be the biggest space cadet ditz on the planet. In fact, I've had people read some of my work and then say stuff like, "I had no idea it'd be so good! I mean, wait, I didn't mean that, I mean, you seem like kind of flakey…" And I'll be all, "Yeah, no problem. I am flakey. Wicked flakey! Whatever."

But so what? As long as I didn't hit anyone and it's not like I was driving under the influence. I don't do that. I call a cab. Why? Because I'm not as stupid as the infamous bubble headed bleach blondes in Hollywood.

Speaking of being under the influence, I gotta go, um, see about something, I mean, wait, there's a TV show I wanna watch, and, um, look, my grandmother's on fire…

Actually, I have to finish rewriting some of my story. I can't say specifics, but I learned some interesting lessons today and I feel good!

Like, James Brown good.

Think I'm gonna dance now.
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