diary of a hollywood mixtress

a case of the mundaynes

I only worked one day last week. which was not conducive too the fattening of my wallet, but it bloated the conceit of my living space. my dwelling was pristine up until friday. then after having worked both this saturday and sunday night, it looks like a touring tornado singled me out and snuck into my flat for a quick fandango while I was away entertaining the thirsty. there's an agglomeration of shoes fighting to be the first foot out my front door, poised and ready to escape the riot of gimcrackery and debris in my abode. strewn about are my uniform, gym clothes, scooter paraphernalia, under garments, towels, hats, etc. various piles are scattered around where I've emptied the contents of my handbags; omnigatherum collages of gum, bagatelle, barrettes, dollar bills, books, makeup, scraps of paper. I don't know why it's such a laborious feat for me to just put things in their rightful place when I get home (at three thirty in the morning) or when I wake up (at the crack of mid-afternoon) on work days. I'm sure passing on that shift drink would help. the more days I'm scheduled consecutively the worse it gets. the mess becomes a living entity that procreates, then proceeds to consume me and everything in its path. it's a serious bout with demons to clean up at this point.

starting monday off ensconsed in this mayhem is depressing. I'm a firm believer that "your environment is an extension of yourself". if my house is a mess, my head is a mess too. each is a reflection of and also reinforces the other. you can take that theory even further and discover paralells between you and the workplace, the city, the whole country and world. for a while now I've been deciphering my daily experience like a jungian dream analyst. the difference between the waking and dream states is just a slight shift of brain wave activity, and many ideologies refer to what we sublunary loonies have come to call "life" as a dream or maya (illusion). so I figure the guidelines for understanding the symbolism of things and events would apply to both realms of consciousness similarly. ya follow? with my amateur oneirocriticism I interpret the discombobulation as much more than simple clutter. evaluating my psyche from the looks of my living quarters in summary: I'm a total fruitloop. I feel like my life has become the process of recreating the same mess and attempting to clean and/or cover it up over and over again.

familiar with the quote: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”? the only difference between me and your typical institutionalized bedlamite is that I'm aware of my derangement. I obsessively tweak the pattern of myself with the intent of an alternate outcome, but right now I feel like I'm failing miserably. after years of dissentious behavior and aggressively projecting my personal problems into the political arena (i.e.: activism, protesting, "culture jamming') I got all gandhi trying to "be the change I want to see in the world". I've gone through major shifts in thinking by honestly imploring my mind, examining my past, breaking down my inner berlin walls of rigid belief structure, incorporating a smorgasbord of exotic and metaphysical doctrine, use of psychedelics, meditative trips and holotropic breath-work. I've experimented with multiple austere practices in diet and abstinence (I ate almost nothing but raw food for five years and went celibate for nearly two).  I've chanted hare frikin krishna. I've hugged amma chi...twice! is there a designation for the psychological disorder of someone who continually does things differently over and over expecting to achieve different results, yet still keeps getting the same results?

after jumping through numerous schizoid hoops, resolving to bear the burden of complete responsibility for everything that happens, will happen, and has happened to me (figuring this would ultimately engender positive advancement), doing the best I could while expecting nothing and accepting what is: I'm back at a pre-pubesent level of living and spirituality. my room and my sanity are a clusterfuck. is this really all my fault or is this my environments fault? ok maybe it's nobody's "fault", but it's fucked up, and something needs to be done about it. maybe I've been conditioned to be in this conundrum, so fixing my solitary issue alone is futile anymore when the world at large is in such utter disarray. my problem is everyones problem (and vise versa) because it created me (as I continue to create it). nobody has the right to get away with inaction, bad habits, or apathy anymore. passivity and stolidity are unacceptable. each of us needs now more than ever to step up and start being mindful and compassionate for the sake of commonwealth. no more "get out of accountability for being lame laggards free" cards. no more incarceration of the innocent. no more capitol punishment either. no task is too small and no asshole gets left behind. maybe obama needs to get in here, do my dishes and organize my drawers. maybe the entire city of los angeles should trade shifts in helping me sort my socks and subdue the shoes that are ready to sprint for freedom from of my self imposed prison. yeah!...and when there is peace in my apartment there will be peace in my heart. when there is peace in my heart it will radiate outward from the core of my being. I can (and will) return the gesture, and in turn there will be peace and well-being for everyone! what comes around goes around right? like an inverse virus the love will vascillate healing the ills of the world.

in most cases this rule is an applicable truth: what is truly good for the individual is beneficial for the whole, and what is truly good for the whole is benificial for the individual. so what is truly good and beneficial for both the individual and the whole? socialized health-care and housecleaning for all! well, it's really about loving thy neighbor (which is also thy-self) and sharing the wealth (as opposed to stealing and hoarding it). but consequently, if there is adequate health-care for all, we'll all be fully apt to clean up after ourselves. and it logically follows that we would then stop perpetuating the havoc littering the human spectacle on a personal level, which collectively would resonate massively. we'd all be happier and better equipped to succor others in the community. I'm getting ahead of myself here: but eventually we'd all be so healthy we wouldn't even need health-care anymore...until that day though it's a good buffer to have and many of our current predicaments would be ameliorated with one little sensical adjustment.

now why don't I have health-care goddamn it?! our allopathic medical practices and health-care system suck anyway. but I have some ideas on effective restructuring in that sector too.

screw being a booze floozy, I should be the president.

monday...?

I'm still adjusting to having monday nights off. I rarely remember the actual date but  instinctively know the day of the week. the way I interpret the passing of time has become defined by my regular shifts at work. according to the complex collection of neurons caballing at the apex this fleshy phenomena that currently stores essential biological information pertinent to my survival and ego,  the past several years have simply been a blurry series of mondays, tuesdays, and fridays. each day of the week has a distinct energy and feel to it. weekend nights are highly charged with excitement and disarray. the term "weekend warrior" accurately describes the the usual character of the thursday/ friday/saturday night crowds. they get dressed up and loaded for their two day fandango with playtime and a booze infused battle with their own inner and undiagnosed discontentment with the regimen of this post industrial capitalist reality. I just recently started working sundays (instead of mondays) regularly for the first time. god had at least one thing right. sundays aren't days suited for getting suited up and going to work. sundays are lazy days meant for bike rides, sun bathing, bbq's, beer, bloody marys and mimosas. I actually prefer working on (but tend to avoid going out on) the bustling weekends. sunday is of a calm and relaxed nature; a day that I prefer to go out for some convivial cocktailia. people just haven't caught on to how awesome sundays are at bars. and they're all still too hungover from the two prior nights to really enjoy it. a hyperactive atmosphere is stimulating while working  (and you get paid to perform an exhilarating six hour aerobic workout), but overwhelming for me when participating as a patron ( people get way too crazed and out of hand for my taste). I go into this meditative state when working a busy bar nonstop. it's only when the night is dragging and people aren't drinking that I get tiresome. that being said, I bring lots of reading material to my sunday night shift to stay entertained.

so after working every monday for almost two years it's not so easy to retrain my innate association with mondays vibe and get out of work mode. I don't even know what to do with myself. I slept in until three pm. read a bit. ate. tinkered around on the inter-net. walked to the bank. then walked to the thai market and bought a case of coconuts. came home and tinkered around on the inter-net some more. took a nap. ate again. did the dishes. and here I am at roughly one in the morning, after having pissed the entire day away, and I still feel like I have four more hours to kill before it's bed time. 

one of the most peculiar things about this job is a schedule that's totally discordant with the rest of the world. I can't go right to bed after work. normal diurnal nine to fivers don't get home and hit the sack at six. so if I get off work at three or four in the morning, it takes me a few hours to wind down. and sometimes that means I'm going to bed at dawn. most others of sound mind aren't up and many errands can't be accomplished in these freakish hours between last call and the call of the rooster. there was a lengthy stretch of time when I was working a lot and was almost never seeing daylight or any of my friends outside of work. that got a little too extreme even for me, a lifetime lucubrator. I had to self impose some lifestyle modification. like making it to bed before four am several nights a week and making a point to get out mid-day every day for at least ten or twenty minutes. yeah, I know how bizarre and hellish that sounds. it was. I felt like some subhuman crepuscular creature. ugh. I get depressed just thinking about it.

so it's almost three now, I'm gonna quaff the last glass of my bio dynamic bordeaux and hopefully it'll put me out of my misery.