Waking up Laughing

The other day was kind of the best day.  Mostly because I woke up laughing and then Z and I were kind of just laughing all day.  And we didn’t really do anything but go to the market and stuff, but still.  It’s just that I woke Z up by telling him about how I used to pass Bob Barker and his dog in the mornings when I went hiking and then I said, “Do you know what Bob Barker’s dog’s name is?…It’s Dog Barker!” only I was laughing hysterically halfway through the joke and could barely make it to the punchline because it was so funny and Z started laughing at me for laughing so much at my own joke and also because it was a really good joke, if you ask me.

Then I said, in defiance of all responsibility, “I’m not doing anything until I go on vacation!”  Even though there is no vacation planned any time at all.  And then we laughed some more.

Then we decided, as we sometimes do, that we were going on strike from everything, especially work.  But sometimes when Z goes on strike by himself, he ends up working anyway, since he’s his own boss and he doesn’t want to throw tomatoes at himself when he crosses the picket line the next day.  When I go on strike, it just means I have a day off.  But that day, we woke up and we were both on strike, which we also refer to as a snow day because we can do whatever we want.  Which means we sometimes just order pizza and watch movies.  Which I guess is kind of just a regular day off. If you're not always thinking about trying to do something important all the time.

But I guess, it’s just really nice to not have to do anything.  Because we’re always asking ourselves such big questions and trying to do so much and life is so heavy sometimes and we think too much and why are we here and how do we do this and what’s it all about and how can I do something that matters and when can we go on a vacation?  And then we start sounding like Woody Allen monologues with all of our existentialist problems and we can get pretty brooding and forlorn so it’s good to just laugh about things sometimes.

And then, another day, we went up to his sister’s new place on a hill.  It was a small gathering in the afternoon and when it got darker and colder I made a fire in the fire pit on the hillside and it was nice to remember how to build a fire and everyone seemed happy and then we went inside and played piano in the living room.  And it feels like there’s so much meaning in days like that.

And then I think, everything’s important. We’re all doing different things and none of us knows what we’re doing. 

And we laugh in the morning, and we play piano in living rooms.

Parrots

Went up to the Getty today.  Which is always kind of the best place.  The grounds, for one, but there’s that one room.  That’s what gets me.  And there was a new Degas. It was so peaceful looking at that, and I felt all of the things I hope to feel.  

Like about all of life and how these things happen and mean so much.  Seeing one of my very best childhood friends the other week and just getting to sit with her, and when we’re together it’s like my life is with me, and something really deeply understanding, and it makes sense, and how Bethany came over to Venice to visit me at work the other day and we went to Gjelina for lunch which is the place to go and it’s no wonder, that was just too good, like how do you make cauliflower make me melt and food nourishes the soul type of good.  Even though I always feel a little bit like I’m-in-sixth-grade-and-not-quite-cool-enough-because-there’s-something-I-don’t-know-but-I-can’t-figure-out-what whenever I go anywhere in Venice.  

And it was just good to go out and eat with Bethany again.  Explorer friend.  

Sometimes, I think, we just don’t have enough time for all of this.  Like, practically speaking, maybe eight times of ten, eighty years.  And then, so, we’re very young until ten.  That’s the first part.  Just being very young.  And that’s the best time.  Pretty much.  Well, for me, because you’re just not thinking about it all so much.  Running around in the yard and trips to Illinois on the train to my grandparents' with that funny basement with a pool table and stationary bike and some big dead fish on the wall with a really sharp pointy long nose sword thing.  Maybe a swordfish?  And the summers in Corona del Mar, beaches and relatives and mom laughing and boardwalks and dancing to jazz with dad.  And ice cream bars melting and falling in love with running around. 

And then the next ten. They go to twenty.  All of the ten to twenty years that are probably the most confusing (you think. Oh lord, but you don’t know.) and pretty beautiful and activity and trees and snow and summers and falls and winters and jumping in the rivers and dancing and birthday parties on the hillside and books and tears and parents and falling asleep by the fireplace and wondering about everything (like stars) and middle school and high school and pizza and running around still and college and stuff.  And thinking you know, somewhere toward the end of it.

And then twenty to thirty.  Thinking you know by now and not knowing anything still, really.  And love.  And everything.  Then just everything.  And questions and sadness and loss and beauty, still beauty, maybe more, because it means more, because you recognize it.  Beauty just to live.  Chomping at all of these things and work and gathering living and I don’t know.

And then it”s cloudy and the little green parrots are chirping in the trees. 

Then it’s another morning and it’s one more day behind me and it’s I get scared again at how fast it's going.