Friday, October 23, 2009

Mash-Up

Michael is making me sit here. He's forced me to sit here and type. I tried to come up with some really good excuses, reasons why I'm too tired, it's too hard, I don't remember any of the stories I wanted to write, I have nothing to say, it's not like anyone is going to read this anyway. But he sat me on the couch with the laptop on my lap, just the way I like it, a cat on one side of me and a cup of tea at my elbow. Then he said: "Just START."

This sucks so much I can't even tell you. I'm just typing words here so that I don't have to look at a blank page because looking at a blank page is worse than typing a random string of words that no one gives a fuck about. Including me.

I think I might be a little depressed.

Or maybe it's just writer's block.

Or it's writer's block caused by depression. Or maybe depression caused by writer's block.

Did you hear about the 7 year-old-girl in Florida? It's terrible. And whatever happened to the woman who ate her three-week-old infant's brains? And that 23 year-old who was accused of murdering her 3 year-old daughter? What really got me about that was when the little girl first disappeared, her grandmother, the 23 year-olds mother, told the cops that her daughter's car smelled like rotting meat, as if there'd been a body in the trunk. Then, when the little girl was found dead, Grandma changed her story and said that what she'd meant to say, what the car really smelled like was rotting pizza.

Rotting pizza? Really?

My neighbor died on Tuesday morning. She was a lovely woman, very sweet and cheerful. I was planning on making her a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving and a peach pie for Christmas. She'd lived in the building since the 1940's. She raised her children here. Her husband died three years ago and she'd had several heart attacks in the last couple of years. Tuesday afternoon the neighbor across the hall, a 50-something woman who grew up on the block, noticed that Mrs. Washington hadn't picked up her paper that morning. Mrs. Washington never left the paper on her welcome mat because she always met the delivery man downstairs. The paper on the mat at 5:00 p.m. was a bad sign. So Alice called Mrs. Washington. And called her again. Then Alice called our neighbor Janine, and Janine called Mrs. Henry and Miss Lawrence, and the four of them kept calling Mrs. Washington who did not answer her phone. So they called her son who lives in New Jersey. Then they called 911.

Even when someone has had a wonderful life and lived to a ripe old age and then died peacefully in their sleep, it's still sad to know they're gone. Or maybe what is sad is seeing the people who loved them, left behind. I didn't really know Mrs. Washington. I always enjoyed chatting with her on the elevator and we always smiled and visited for a minute when we saw each other in the hall, but we didn't really know each other. And yet, I feel an ache whenever I open my door and see hers and am reminded she's gone. And then I'm knocked out by the realization that I live in a building where people notice if you don't pick up your paper. They get to know your routines and your schedule. They keep an eye out for you.

While Mike was on his hiking trip, one neighbor in particular won my heart when he realized I was walking my dogs alone after dark. "You make sure I can see you from the stoop. You make sure you're in my eyesight so if anyone messes with you I can be there." I baked him cookies for his birthday last week.

I'll never forget the Christmas right before I moved to NYC. I was doing massive amounts of holiday baking and I'd made huge batches of decorated sugar cookies and decorated gingerbread cookies. I bought 15 of these really cute little felt gift bags and stuffed each one with cookies. Then I hung one on every front doorknob of each bungalow in the courtyard. When Mike and I came home from my parents house on Christmas night, our stoop looked as if Santa had paid us an extra visit. Fresh cut flowers and homemade tamales tumbled over cakes and cookies and handmade holiday cards. It was incredible. I was so touched I cried. Three months later I moved across the country and into a building where even if a girl screamed bloody hysterical murder in the hallway at 3:00 a.m., not a single person poked their head out to see what was going on.

But now? Now I live here and maybe I'll stick it out long enough so that when I leave? I'll have the pleasure of leaving a bit of my heart behind.

P.S. Mike's trick worked, you guys! I wrote a post!

11 comments:

Hawk said...

Missed ya...

And yes, people (I think I count as people) DO read your blog.

A Serious Girl said...

Oh Hawk. I missed you too. You definitely count.

celeste den said...

horray for Mike and for you - I've missed your thoughts as well. this morning Chad reminded me that my blog is called "DAILY exercise in the creative" - "DAILY" - and I've not touched it in almost 2 months. sigh.

hey when do we get to see the rest of your new headshots?

wish you were in LA - Filament's coming out of hiatus and we miss you and your fabulous talent!

xoxo

Anonymous said...

I'm so happy youre back too. :)
Love,
Archie

Scrumpi-D said...

They are lucky to have such a loving woman there with them! xo

Anonymous said...

We miss your writing!! Come back come back come back! Good thoughts and wishes to you always!

Dori Jennings said...

Maybe Mike can do the same for me :)

Kim said...

I'm still here, reading your posts (and glad that you wrote one!). Welcome back, and hello. :)

George said...

This was one of your best posts. That is all.

A Serious Girl said...

OMYGOSHYOUGUYS!! Those were the NICEST comments EVER.

Celeste - you make me cry. And also think maybe it's time to move back home.... I want to be there with Filament. I want to come out of hiatus!

Archie, Scrumpi, Anon, Dopey, Kim - Kiss, Kiss, Kiss, Kiss and Kiss!

George - For reals? That feels kind of exciting.

Michael said...

And I will make you do it again, if I have to. I love to read your blog - it makes me feel like I have a window into your secret world.