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Dreamed I was still working for People Magazine, and I’d decided to do a conference with an up-and-coming film director, except the director misunderstood my instructions about the phone call, and showed up in person at my house.
I was living in the equivalent of the greenroom at the Museum of Natural History – dusty casements of stuffed mammals extinct since the days of Theodore Roosevelt, a machine that made stars.
I was terribly embarrassed, of course – he was an important man, and I was not, and here he was wandering around my house listening to his own voice on the DVD commentary accompanying the film. “I’m sorry, but can you do something about this?” he asked – he was covered with dog hair like just about everything in my life these days. I went to get that tape thing lint remover, and noticed that he was also covered with little shreds of marijuana, and thought, Aha! He’s on the down swing of the pendulum, and suddenly felt very, very sorry for him: he’d thought I was important, could do something for him to help him get his career back, and of course I wasn’t.
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‘Nother awful day where RTT didn’t do one thing that I asked him to do, and I am wondering how much longer I can put up with this – I mean, I am very unhappy and the only reason I am living here is to give RTT some semblance of stability. But RTT doesn’t seem to want a semblance of stability. If that’s the case, maybe he can just go live with his father and I can figure out a way to be a human being again.
I am still in mourning for my Little Store and my little lost life… I keep remembering my mother while she was dying. She looked out her window one day, sighed and said, “Look at all those people living their crummy little lives. And that’s all I want too – to live my crummy little life…” May have been the most wistful thing I’ve ever heard.
I was living in the equivalent of the greenroom at the Museum of Natural History – dusty casements of stuffed mammals extinct since the days of Theodore Roosevelt, a machine that made stars.
I was terribly embarrassed, of course – he was an important man, and I was not, and here he was wandering around my house listening to his own voice on the DVD commentary accompanying the film. “I’m sorry, but can you do something about this?” he asked – he was covered with dog hair like just about everything in my life these days. I went to get that tape thing lint remover, and noticed that he was also covered with little shreds of marijuana, and thought, Aha! He’s on the down swing of the pendulum, and suddenly felt very, very sorry for him: he’d thought I was important, could do something for him to help him get his career back, and of course I wasn’t.
‘Nother awful day where RTT didn’t do one thing that I asked him to do, and I am wondering how much longer I can put up with this – I mean, I am very unhappy and the only reason I am living here is to give RTT some semblance of stability. But RTT doesn’t seem to want a semblance of stability. If that’s the case, maybe he can just go live with his father and I can figure out a way to be a human being again.
I am still in mourning for my Little Store and my little lost life… I keep remembering my mother while she was dying. She looked out her window one day, sighed and said, “Look at all those people living their crummy little lives. And that’s all I want too – to live my crummy little life…” May have been the most wistful thing I’ve ever heard.
