Pancakes With The Girls

There was that last nerve I heard wind so tight that it went form a low C to a high A in just a few minutes. The commuters, the traffic and the lack of an actual client base that made a 12 hour day worth getting out of bed hung on the back of my head like an anvil. I hate summer. I find myself, “Busy doing nothing” to the degree that I don’t get anything productive done. The old Huey Lewis line, “all I want is a couple days off” springs wryly to mind as I wake up to another 4:55AM start.

A day off is something that I didn’t see coming anytime soon. That’s what you get for having a dream that takes it’s sweet time to materialize; day job, writing time, acting job, painting time. A full chaotic life with time left only to worry that it’s all for nothing. I stared at the calendar looking for the most convenient time to stage my own death so I can catch a break. I was then reminded with a blast of heralding trumpets that the Goils, Tracy and Katie, The Brain and The Rockette respectively, The Entourage collectively were spending the weekend in new Orleans for a bachelorette party. I would be really and totally ALONE. I almost fainted from the sheer weight of the bliss I felt at that moment. They would be up to their necks in plastic novelty penis necklaces and penis straws and other tasteful theme-correct garb while I would be doing…absolutely nothing. I would rejoice in the splendor of silence and nowhere to be, nothing to do, no hanging out till all hours, no late night or early mornings. No nothing but me, my computer and silence. And my usual work schedule which I could handle because I knew I was going to be totally pro active and productive…

I unloaded The Goils early Friday morning and planned my day; a long run, breakfast at the diner then three hours of writing followed by an hour of painting and reading some instructional materials then a nap. Repeat again over dinner and get to bed early so I can voluntarily wake up early for a run. That was the plan for each day of my weekend alone, compensating for work hours and standing on my corner for Accomplice.

There was the sound of seconds ticking by so fast that the fabric of spacetime buckled and twisted with a sucking sound and a vacuum-like pull on my nethers.

Before I knew it, I was on my way to Laguardia to return the entourage to its rightful place getting tangled under my feet wondering what happened to the last 72 hours. I know I went to work and to the Accomplice acting job. I know I checked my email a few times and watched a crappy movie on TV. I looked at my note book and found a doodle of a butterfly and a sandwich on a bun, pickle on the side. I looked at my computer files and found I typed approximately 50 words. 50 random unassociated words like Convoluted and Magic. And I did the dishes several times. No 7000 words, no paintings, no meditative rest or instructional reading. No runs or healthy eating as evidenced by a pile of take out Chinese cartons on the counter. No productivity to report other than a great deal of practice working on my Zombie acting skills for my as-of-yet-un-penned epic, Zombies From Brooklyn.

Now I was circling the airport mimicking the motions of the planes over head with a puzzled look on my face waiting for two wired and hungry women who couldn’t wait to shatter my peace with a weekend’s worth of Tales From the Bayou. In the distance there was an object hanging in the sky with an eerie self-generated illumination. It looked haunting and creepy set against the hazy foggy black/gray sky. I took a breath of relief at the thought that we could possibly be undergoing an alien invasion which would solve all my problems. My heart sank as I realized the alien space craft ready to turn all our brains to a pulpy mush was in actuality, the Met Life blimp set out to do roughly the same thing only slower.

They got in the car alight with story. The talking and the pictures and the retelling didn’t stop until midway into the next day. They got together and made a thousand pancakes in the morning speaking as if they didn’t need to draw breath. Meals had passed, errands had been run and time ticked slowly by as I heard both versions of the same tales over and over again. While they were droning on and on about oysters, humidity and a sweat so thick you could ladle it like soup I once again looked at my calendar for the most convenient time to stage my own death.

All I want is a couple days off….