Where have I been? In dreams of sweet smelling lavender.......or so I one day imagine.

Dear Ether,

No. Please. Don’t be frightened.  I mean, not that you were or anything.  (Clearing throat) It was just in case there might be one or two of you who MIGHT have wondered where I’d been, that’s all.  

I’ve missed blogging.  Before I became a “blogger” I never knew how good it felt to be able to write and speak my mind and heart.  Sometimes say wild things. Write in stream of conscious.  Tell stories that no one knew but myself.  And since Friday (my last post), I have missed this form of expression dearly.  

My days have consisted of 14 hour sessions of research and writing about a subject that is so bizarre, so controversial—yet to the outside world appears foolish and cut and dry.  I have been writing about UGG boots and their phenomenon.  From my research, I have found so much history, so many lawsuits, so many opinions from so many rich and powerful people (in a multi-BILLION dollar trade) that this has turned into a full-fledged investigative reporting piece.  My piece is going to really make a huge impact when it is published.  I’m really quite scared.  You have to remember, I write about mascara and Sienna Miller, not counterfeiting and fraud.  A lot of people I’ve worked with have been so kind to me.  So generous.  There are so many players in this boot game.  I want so very much to represent everyone fairly.  But, for the first time I have not been able to write magazine cheeriness. I have had to write like a newspaper reporter.  I want to disconnect my phone and computer on Sunday.  Am I proud of this piece?  I don’t have a fucking clue.  I am numb.  I, when I agreed to write this, never expected it to be a 3,000 word expose.  If I fuck this up, I could be out of a job and blacklisted from a lot of tick-lists for a long time.  And that’s NOT what I need.

Why couldn’t I have been good at math?  Then I could have been an accountant or a broker?  Or better at standardized tests and deductive reasoning?  Maybe I would have been a swell lawyer?  Science—a doctor?  But, alas, I have none of these talents.  And a career switch for me is impossible.  I don’t even LOVE writing.  I love ideas and coming up with themes for photo shoots and working with a team and researching ideas.  But when it comes to the craft of sewing a piece of work together, nope, don’t love it.  It upsets my stomach, I never feel terribly confident and Ethers, it ain’t gonna make me rich!

I find life confusing.  I find my brain muddled and cloudy and it is often difficult for me to think and categorize my life.  I live in a world with half-drunk mugs of coffee, warm soda cans and a desk filthy with old business cars and eyebrow tweezers.  My coaster is a “Last of the Mohicans” CD soundtrack I must have bought 10 years ago (fuck knows).

I dream of lying in a field of lavender in Grasse.  The oils are released in the baking of the sun’s heat.  They calm me like a drug.  The sky is a perfect hue of crisp blue and I am wearing a full skirt made of white cotton.  I can’t visualize the top.  My hair is loose.  My dog sits beside me just a few feet away under a tree.  I no longer have a hump on my back from my days sitting at my computer desk.  No black circles under my eyes are seen on my now tan skin.  My cuticles have healed because I am no longer nervous.  I owe not a single E-mail, phone call or time-limit to anyone.  I am a stranger.  They truly address me as One of 365.  There is no English gent, no family.  I am ageless.   I am a polyglot.  I have endless credit in the bank.  I never gain weight.  I never feel pain.  I drift in and out of consciousness.  It’s like being given a second chance….maybe a re-birth.  

How sad to always escape into a hopeless dream.  Why can’t one be content?  That’s for another night.  This evening, my tired body has to rest and maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in Grasse for a short, sweet minute, smelling lavender.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

A "comedic" approach to how I feel. The modern "deer in headlights."

Dear Ether,

Have you ever been afraid to face anything so you do the absolute worst thing possible—-nothing at all?  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I’ve been researching my assignment for about 10 days and have felt disorganized, confused, unmotivated and anxious ever since I began working on it.  I’m not like this. I’m normally very organized, pushy and get things done with precision.  With this job I’ve felt like a deer in headlights.  Stuck just staring at oncoming traffic waiting to be hit by a car.  All I ever talk about is how desperate I am for a career, a future.  I’ve spent the past few months killing myself trying to make contacts, and now that I have something that I should be psyched about, I’m panicking.  Why?  What’s wrong with me?  Why can’t I ever be content?

So, this piece has to be about 2,000 words (it’ll probably be cut down…but that’s what I’m going to present).  My god, many of my past blog entries have been 1,500 words!  Should be a snap, right? I need to write this in a day and a half.  And yet, I feel like I need a lifetime.  And the joke is, this feature is about FASHION. Not Iraq or the plague. A fucking trend in the shoe world.  And yet, I’ve had to take anti-anxiety medication, had to stay in bed with a lavender candle lit and ponder the article in my famous duvet prison uniform.  

Am I this delicate?  How the hell am I going to survive in this world?  I mean, I really seem to be falling apart.  English gent, my family, my psyche.  What’s next? I thought as we got older we got wiser.  I feel just as stupid as I did a decade ago, except I need Botox and a good personal trainer.  God.  Even my blog has turned into a soap box for me to stand on and moan.  What’s happened to me? 

People are probably disgusted by me.  Insulted that I’m even complaining.  There are real problems out there.  But (and I know this seems so self-indulgent), for me, this IS my world and it is overwhelming.  No, I’m not starving or homeless—but can’t we argue that things are relative?  That in our own small circles things are painful?  What may seem stupid to you, may be like a huge phobia for me.  I miss the girl I was who posted 2 weeks ago.  I want her back.

So, tomorrow is D-day.  The start of my article.  God, my heart just started beating out of my chest when I looked at the screen and saw that I wrote that.  Me and this computer, boy.  This ol’ Mac has seen me through every state possible.  If this sucker could talk, I’d have to remove its larynx.   

Off to, fuck knows, think about the inevitable.  What a fool I am.  I’ve wasted so much of my life worrying about stupid things and yet I keep perpetuating this lost time and can’t stop myself.  Like a fucking Greek tragedy—yet not even that epic.  

Hey, if you’re sick of my rants and complaints and miss the old One of 365–check out my sidebar and catch up with some old posts you haven’t read.  That’s my best advice for now.  Again, sorry gang.  Read my “mission statement” for this blog.  I never said it was always going to be pretty.

PS: Happy 1st night of Hanukkah.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

I hope this won't be me standing on the side of a road somewhere in Beverly Hills. The 5 dots on the cardboard are like a giant question mark. What CAN I work for? I don't know. It seems my skills are in a dead industry and no one seems interested in what I've got. Any Ethers recruiting out there?

Dear Ethers, 

The recession in America is really tough.  So much tougher than I thought it would be when I left England.  I never thought that on the brink of 30 I would be freelancing (barely) and hearing the sound of crickets on the other end of the phone lines with recruiters who seemed so effusive about my CV and my prospects.  

I grew up with the mentality that if you worked hard, got good grades, went to an excellent University and hell, like me, even got a Master’s Degree, that you would have no problems making your way up the ladder.  I was SO wrong.  Unfortunately, I joined a dying industry just as it began to hit the first stages of its Cancer.  My resume and experience became meshed with something that would give me skills for something that was no longer needed.  I toiled away as an intern and worked my way up——-all to be back to where I was at 22 years old except at 22 there was hope and time.  

I’m really scared.  I don’t know what else I’m capable of doing.  I wouldn’t ever go into PR (LOL….in the magazine business we call going into PR breaking into the “dark side”) and marketing and advertising are impossible to penetrate because they usually want people with agency experience (something I don’t have).  Even though I have applicable skills, because the economy is so bad, there are people with the EXACT skills who are also unemployed, so employers have the pick of the litter.  

In London I was always able to get solid work.  I was able to get really well paying copywriting freelance work and get by.  Though I was never on that coveted ladder, at least I was able to maintain a life and be out in the world with people.  In my present circumstance, I am alone a lot at my computer writing and hoping for that E-mail or the phone to ring.  

English gent says that I have to stay put because every time the going gets bad I bolt.  But I hate L.A. and I just don’t see any opportunities here.  But I can’t keep flittering back and forth.  It just makes me start from square one again and throws everything off kilter.  And again, I don’t have the time to do that any longer.  

I know there are many of you out there who are reading this and probably feeling this same way.  That you’ve tried everything to no avail.  So what can we do to stay positive and keep on trucking?  Well, blogging helps me because it takes up time and keeps me from getting rusty with my writing.  But, it doesn’t help me get anywhere with my future.  The truth is nothing is going to land on my lap—I have to be tenacious.  But, Ethers, I HAVE been tenacious (you should hear the ballsy phone calls I make!).  It’s crazy.  I thought if I pulled out my secret weapon, “the chutzpah,” it would all come together.  But even my crazy attempts have been fruitless.  

I know what you’re going to say.  “Keep on going!”  “Something will break for you soon!”  Thanks guys.  But the truth is, it’s been months.  And my hope is waning.  I know that I’m lucky I have a roof over my head and that my folks are being supportive.  That I’m not a parent with kids and a house with a mortgage.  But the truth is I have to take care of English gent financially until he gets any kind of working papers, and that’s taking a whack out of my savings.  We can’t really afford to go anywhere and do anything because we have to be very careful with every penny.  I feel terrible guilt because I brought us here thinking it would be a better life—even though we had good jobs in England. 

So that’s my employment update for now.  I promise I’ll let you guys know if anything changes, but it’s been like molasses for months.  You’d think it would be fun living like a retiree at 29—-it actually sucks—-yep, there isn’t even a pension.  

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Ahh the yin and yang of life, people, Hollywood. But I always find the truth behind the real backwards and forwards--the stability of ones soul REALLY is the cliche. It's all in the eyes. The clearest can cloud over and cut you. It's been a long time since I've looked anyone in the eye and seen total clarity. Shame. I really miss that connection. Dark or light, what those lashes behold can't fool me anymore. Help me believe again Ethers. Please.

Dear Ethers,

Forgive me for the late post.  I was up until 5am last night covering a lovely event and it was an all day shin-dig that took all of the energy out of me.  I DID sleep, but I’ve just now stopped working.  

Last night was the first night I actually felt an affinity for anyone in Los Angeles.  I met some wonderfully talented people who were in the industry but not pretentious or stuck-up or any of the other stereo-types you might expect from shows like “Entourage” or even “Sex and the City.”  These were really hard-working people who made it happen for themselves and were intelligent and engaging.  I was shocked.  Some of them were celebrities, some of them behind the scenes folks, but it was so refreshing to see the flip-side of Hollywood and not the people who arrived through nepotism or the Paris Hilton’s of the world.  

I spoke to an Emmy award winning writer who did a documentary on Autism.  What a brilliant woman.  I spoke to the daughter of a VERY famous singer who was so down to earth and very intelligent.  And for being so young and so rich (and could have gone the way of Ms. Ritchie or Hilton) she was humble, interesting and knew the value of hard-work and earning a living.  We were talking about expensive purchases and she told me that she saves up for a whole year and only splurges on one thing and treasures it.  Trust me, this girl could live a lot larger.  Did I mention she was also extremely beautiful?  And you know what?  When I asked about her visage–she turned crimson and said she never even thought about it—–that what mattered to her was finishing her degree and acting.  I hope her career soars.  

It is so yin and yang in this city.  Last night reminded me of what I grew up with–a generation I thought had died out with men like my father.  Men who came to this city with a dog-eared script and dreams.  Men (and women) with talent and hope from humble backgrounds who loved the art of writing or performing and were grateful every day for what they had.  I wish I could go into detail about last night.  I can tell you that it was a balmy evening. That champagne flowed, a DJ played great music and it was luxury all the way.  I can also tell you that I got to take English gent with me to the after party for this event and I really enjoyed having him there and seeing him experience a Hollywood moment with good people.  And, of course, he ended up speaking to all the ex-pats there!  But, alas, I was really happy that he was with me.  I couldn’t stay with him for long–I had to schmooze–I was on the clock—but knowing he was there to experience something new and that we were actually living outside of our confined box made me feel happy.  That we could get a little dressed up and have a destination.  It reminded me of London and our days of talking to people and being able to smoke freely (I know, I know…)   For you fashionistas who like my blog, you’d be very proud.  My photo was taken for an L.A. mag as being the best dressed at the party!  Yep—now, that’s pretty cool given it was a high-end fashion event.  See, I might fuck up sometimes on “Fashion Fridays” or my “Wish Lists” but when someone snaps their fingers and says, “Get snazzy” I’m there with the best of them  

But in all seriousness, I’ve lost a lot of faith in people.  I know, it’s very sad.  You hope nights like the one I am describing will repeat themselves—but the shame is they are so rare.  You’d be proud of me Ethers.  I really tried to soak it up–because I knew this was a rare gem.  I want to believe in the world.  In people.  In the goodness of humanity.  But, I’ve had to lick my wounds so often I’m afraid to expose myself. 

Ethers, thank-you for starting to make me believe that there are decent folks in the world.  This is part of the journey of One of 365.  But, I cannot see you or touch you or hear you.  I need to look someone in the eye and see a warmness.  An intelligence.  A gentleness.  A realness.  THAT is going to take a long time because I’ve seen many eyes clear with kindness glaze over with gross ugliness in a flash before……and it is scary.  

Be good……..and I’ll be seeing you for “Fashion Fridays” tomorrow.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365