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

Blecchhh. Tell me about it, Banksy.

Dear Ether,

4 days of rain the forecast.  Yep.  Dark days ahead.  As you know, I suffer from terrible seasonal affective disorder and the dark, wet skies aren’t going to make things pleasant.  These are the days that I wonder what the point of being in “sunny California” is?  Yeah, yeah.  I know I can’t have good weather all year round, but when it rains here, I find this place to have very few endearing qualities.  

When it starts to hit heavy, I tend to put on Bach, light a candle and stay under the covers.  But, I have a serious deadline for a huge feature due on Monday.  The feature is on a subject that’s–well–let’s just say it isn’t rocket science.  Yet, it requires a ton of accurate research and pressure and when you can’t stand the subject you’re writing about, it becomes utter agony. This, coupled with the weather is gonna be a toughie to pull off.

I’ll try not to be a miserable git.  I can’t promise the happiest of posts, but hopefully you guys will act as a nice break from the monotony of writing about a certain brand of shoes that are anything but glamorous.   In fact, I’d like to give this article the “boot.”  

To all my fellow Jewish friends, Hanukkah starts tomorrow!  Awwww, how lovely.  So, for those of you who get there before I do (living in a different time zone) spin a dreidel for me and eat a tasty latke!  

Not much to this entry.  Just wanted to check in and let you know I still had a pulse.  I’m exhausted from doing research and speaking to “experts” about vacuous things.  I’m hoping my next assignment will be a nice reward–a piece with some depth to make up for this moronic topic.  Hey, you win some, you lose some.  For example, my book feature comes out this Sunday.  Can’t wait!  I wrote over 2,500 words and reviewed 14 books (hey, I got attached and couldn’t choose!). My Editor told me 3 books would be cut (sniffle).  I wait with SERIOUS angst to see which ones got sliced (again, major attachment issues).  After the bad boy is published I’ll tell you what books I recommended (really fab and unique stuff that is tick list worthy for gifts!).  

A more boisterous post tomorrow I hope.

YAWWWWN! STREEEETCH!  (I think I just felt my Quasimodo lump snap!) 

Time to hit the hay a bit early.  Guten Nacht gang.  I begin early tomorrow (and you KNOW how much I love to rise and shine).

PS: Sorry I haven’t Tweeted in a while.  Will be back on form once this fucking piece is done!  I’m also trying my best with comments.  Do be patient…please

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Taking life one step at a time? Or, like the ebb and the flow, eventually the waves have to end up crashing somewhere, right?

Dear Ether,

I have so much I want to say to you.  So much.  I feel like I’m always such a downer.  

I look at other blogs and they are so cheerful and full of hope and happiness.  I try to be like that.  Fun.  Witty.  Chic.  But some nights like tonight, my black cloud comes out.  That’s the breaks with a diary blog where I post daily.

I’m really lonely.  I’m really scared.  And no matter what advice anyone gives me I seem resilient to ever let it penetrate and work to ease my pain.

I have a feature due on Friday.  All I want to do is duvet dive.  

I dream of what I could have been had I felt better about myself when I was younger.  I wonder what my life would be like now if I had left England and English gent behind?  I was only supposed to be there a semester abroad–not 9 years.  Why did I have to be greedy?  Why couldn’t I have had my lovely moment and left it beautiful?

I’m sorry Ethers, but I feel rather light-headed and my stomach is a bit sick.  I just wanted to write something.  Be vital.  

Hey.  Ebb and flow.  Tomorrow could be a sassy post about fashion or another dreary entry about life.  I can’t make you any promises.  I write how I feel on the day or in the moment.  Right now, I don’t feel so good.  

It’s Sunday night at 8:24pm in Los Angeles.  My room is dim.  I’m wearing a hoodie with strawberries on it from Primp, no-name drawstring pajama bottoms in charcoal gray, I’m barefoot, my hair is messy but tied back and in my ears are vintage emerald and diamond studs.  Thought that’d make me seem more human.

Now it is 8:27.

I’m going to go to sleep.  My mind is too busy to concentrate on reading.  

Was this a pointless post?

Why the fuck do I feel so lightheaded?  

Now it is 8:30.

Ebb and flow, right?

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Life challenges you everyday. The hardest thing to do is to face it and stare right back because it can all change within a blink of an eye. This post is here simply as a pause for thought. I'm so grateful for your good thoughts and for a positive outcome. I'll be back to my normal rants and stories tomorrow. But today, I am of very few words.

In this short Life by Emily Dickinson

In this short Life
That only lasts an hour
How much — how little — is
Within our power

I never gently fall to sleep. I try and set my mind to conjure happy memories. I reckon this is what I might look like whilst I dream. Hair tousled, lips slightly opened. I see myself slightly grainy. I am between two universes--one where I wish I could remain and one where my body lies. Some would say it would be hell to live in a memory. But what happens if your present is far more painful? Would YOU sleep, perchance to dream?

Dear Ethers, 

Have you ever had that empty feeling in your chest?  You know it.  The one where you breathe in and there feels like a huge hole and then a slight shiver of anxiety and pain.  This is exactly what I’ve been experiencing lately.  And I’ve looked at my last posts and realized that they have been so negative and I’m scared that they’re depressing you.  This is what always happens to me.  I make friends because I seem effusive and happy.  But as time roles on and life happens, I start to reveal myself and people get turned off by the real me.  The me that is a depressive.  A glass half-empty girl.  The scared, nail-biting to cover her face for protection, sleep all day, cry at night, girl who might look good on the outside but is crumbling on the inside.  See, I’ve never written a journal—especially a public one.  So, I don’t know what’s going to happen.  Will you all go away?  Or, in some sad, miserable way, does this bring you closer to me because either misery loves company or you feel sorry for me?   

Every night before I go to bed, I close my eyes and I try to conjure happy moments to try and calm myself.  I dream about things like the first time I met English gent and bought him a giant topiary (about 5 feet tall) I schlepped home from Columbia Road Market (on the tube) to surprise him.  He still gave me butterflies then.  I visualize me buttoning up my dad’s white shirt under his tux before he went to the Emmy’s.  He swore he wouldn’t win but I bought him a “No Fear” brand shirt that said “If you can’t win don’t play” that he wore underneath his fancy button down.  And all I hear is the booming sound when they announced his name while my brother and I were sitting in the audience that evening.  He let me carry the statue all night.  I dream of when I was a ballerina and got a lead part.  We were poor but my mom saved every penny and bought me the expensive pink tulle dress that I needed to perform and I swore to myself that I would dance my heart out that night and prove to her it was worth every cent. I still have that little pink dress in my closet—I never stored it because it reminded me to be humble.  I remember not wanting to read the last pages of “Gone With The Wind” because I didn’t want to lose Scarlett.  And that I left that damned book with 3 pages in it for a year before I had the heart to finish it.  And when I did, boy did I cry.  

Life is full of memories.  We all have them don’t we?  But that’s my point.  We are all so complicated.  Everyone has a story.  And we all love to hear the good ones.  But it’s when they turn ugly—we flee.  So when I lay in bed at night, I imagine being that girl with all the good stories to tell.  I dream of being only in the good moments and cutting away all of the ugly patches in my life.   Yes, I do take anti-anxiety medication to help lull me away.  To take away the ache.  How very sad.  I’m a broken machine that needs pills to fix it.  You know, I know so many people who are so happy with their lives.  And they never wanted for much.  They are in normal jobs, making normal money married to an everyday Joe.  Why couldn’t I want that?  Why did I have to want the world?  Why did I have to be a dreamer? What comes with dreams are risks, pain and loss.  

Ethers.  I want to run.  Bolt. Hide. Fade away.  Because then nothing new could hurt me and I could just cut away the shit and close my eyes everyday and I wouldn’t have to live in my dreams.  I relate to Scarlett when she said to Rhett “Where shall I go, what shall I do?” Because I don’t have anywhere to go AND I don’t know what to do.  And we all know what he answers….the famous line, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”  And then he walks in the fog.  But do you remember what she says?  “I’ll think of it all tomorrow….after all, tomorrow is another day.”  Yes, tomorrow IS another day…………but the nightmare is a perpetual tomorrow, AND tomorrow AND tomorrow…and the the fear of nobody left TO genuinely give a damn.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365