One week into breakup bootcamp Phase 3/Back in LA, I realize that Phase 4 is already on. It's an immediate relative of 3 and its backstory would be different for others but for me it's like this:
My daily work schedule leaves little time for moping. If I do get mopey, I have my own hotel room in which to wring my hands and pen despondent journal entries. So far I'm using the room to reflect and blog and eat potato chips out of the minibar. I also have the option to conduct all business from poolside.
I have a television on which to privately watch movies that make me cry (Jerry McGuire) and I don't have to pretend like I'm not sobbing over Cuba Gooding Jr. maybe breaking his neck on the football field. I also have wheels with which to explore the city, which is PIVOTAL.
Phase 4 is about exploring LA and making it mine. Relationship follies aside and regardless of how I got here, it's now time to investigate both geography and humankind. P4 is me wondering just who inhabits Los Angeles. BESIDES the supremely boring shit that everyone who has ever stood in a grocery store line knows (actors, celebrities, Britney's hair extensions).
I know there's more.
P4 is the delicate balance between sifting through the past and bringing on the future. Oh, and liking the present. There is that: getting some friends.
I haven't gone so far as to send out a group chainmail entreaty begging others to please forward to anyone with time on their hands and space in their hearts. But I am reaching out to those who maybe I've met or know just a little but suspect that I'd like a lot. People whom I neglected way back when I was spending so much time ogling IKEA light fixtures and standing in line at Home Depot.
P4 is the email that I recently sent to Max. I had plans to meet him and Sidia for dinner in Santa Monica when suddenly I remembered that the coast seems to be totally burning up. This would have been before today's development of orange clouds blotting out the sun over the studio and raining ash inside my boss's convertible. The state of emergency was slightly easier to dismiss yesterday.
I wrote Max asking if he thought that there was any chance of my getting caught in a wildfire while driving to dinner. Max's response was that there MIGHT be, depending on where I was coming from. And he suggested the least-flammable route for me to take.
Which made me go, 'Hm. Is that good enough? Yep. See you at 7:00.'
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