July 30th, 2005

Ginger1991

Fighting the Feeling that the Whimsy is just Being Sucked out of this Place...

Hairs creeping up on the back of my neck as I start to lay some electric ink down.

I want to tell a story about one of my greatest Mentors, Adria Nocera...
And a moment when I was at the end of my rope, embroiled in petty arguments
and bent by nothing.

But it happened 15 years ago.
How could it possibly apply?

What would be the point, of re-telling such an old story?
I should be ALIVE now, in the moment.

Not pining for the "Glory Days".

(yes, you hit me anonymously and it landed, but how was the fist guided?)

What the hell....it went something like this:

I'd run away--from my Ex-Husband, from my Family, from my God.
1990.
I met a boy on the dance floor of CLUB METRO.
Johnny.
Two weeks later, I moved in with him.

He and his mother lived together.
He didn't live with his mother...
He and his mother Lived together.

Adria had moved back to the L.A. basin when Johnny was very young.
Her husband, Johnny's Father--had died.
She was coming home to be near her Mom and Pop...

Johnny recognised the Santa Monica freeway from the plane--
from his favourite show, C.H.i.P.s
Adria was a mess of emotions, and just tried to quiet the child.
That's not the Santa Monica freeway, John...

The guy sitting next to them, was a man from L.A.
who leaned over and said:
Actually, it is.

Adria smiled, and inside she laughed at herself, and looked at her little boy.
He'd been right. He'd been paying attention.
She hugged him and they both looked out the window
as they were landing...
at the place
that was going to be their new home.

She hadn't been paying attention.
She had been wrapped up in her pain
and her past,
and her fear for their future.

SHE told me this story.
She told me many stories...

while I lived in that little house in Calimesa,
with a lemon tree in the back yard.

I went to Adria's graduation.
She'd returned to college at the age of 50.
She'd been a ballet teacher...before.

Now she is a Social Worker.

Adria handed me books, constantly.
I never felt that she was trying to FIX me.
She made her gestures feel like sharing.

I read biographies of women who had touched her,
Gelsie Kirkland, Gilda Radner...

Countless novels, and volumes of ancient cook books.

She never handed me a self-help book.
She gave me Her stories.

I was coming from a nasty session of couch surfing,
and wild confusion, as the thing I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO
had failed.

I moped about the house...
Trying to find something.

Bickering began.
The tiniest thing become a contention.
Johnny and I fought, Adria and I fought...
Johnny and Adria fought.

Adria did the most amazing thing.

She didn't scream at me to get a job.
(I know! @_@)
She stood by me (could have sat me down,
most would...that's how things like this are done, yes?)
She literally stood beside me, standing, and told me
that all of this dissonance was coming from
my frustration...from my frustration at having
no purpose.

She gave me a position in the family.
She gave me chores.
I was now in charge of laundry.

And then she enrolled me in Community College.

Wildly enough...I found a job very soon after.

And a little after that....Johnny and I broke up.
I knew why I had been in that house for 9 months.
He did as well.

We didn't argue about it, but we did cry.
He offered to sleep on the couch
until I moved into my own place.

Adria had asked me to finally contact my Family.
It had been a year since I had spoken with my Mother
or Father. I was hiding.

My Family helped me...move into a place of my own.



Adria taught me thousands of things.

How to make pasta from scratch,
how to appreciate good wine,
how to refinish an old chest of drawers...

The one I am remembering now,
Seems wildly relevant.

Little things start to get to you...overwhelm you--when you have nothing to do.
No purpose.

I've been in that place for a while now.
Bumping about.


Unable to sleep because an anonymous voice thinks I'm shit???



I called skidpoppe, the night the voice attacked...
He said something that I blew off at the time, as
he was using his joking voice.

I was wailing about WHO it could be...
why they would bother to DO this...

And he said: You know, in the Twilight Zone,
it would be YOU!



me.


When I close this post, I will re-open my anonymous option.


My history is my wealth.
I will always return to it.
This place is where I wring out the things in my mind
to understand where I am.

Who I am.

What I have always used my journal for.
Even when it was paper.


But I need the nasty little voices.

I should not silence them.


And it's probably time
to do some laundry.