My reward for working so hard is that I get to smell like the diabolical, aristocratic train Nazi in Snowpiercer. Coincidentally, I also smell like the decrepit, rich matron in The Grand Budapest Hotel.
Yesterday, I went to the Perfume House on Hawthorne Boulevard. I waved
perfume test strips in front of my nose until I found a winner.
I chose Like This, a perfume by Etat Libre D'orange. I was going for something mysterious and Like This
was a blend of pleasing and mysterious scents. I later learned the
fragrance was inspired by the actress Tilda Swinton. In her roles in
both Snowpiercer and The Grand Budapest Hotel Tilda
Swinton was grandly mysterious. Just like the perfume with its faint
hints of ginger and rose, I didn't recognize Swinton in those films
until I read her name in the credits. Anyway, she's one of my favorite
actresses and I'm very happy to own a fragrance inspired by her.
Rewarding myself with a bottle of
perfume may seem extravagant, but I'm working hard and I deserve it. Recently, I stood up to a bully and I won. I can jog a 5k without being
carried away in an ambulance and I'm filling my life with art. So much
to celebrate and the Perfume House helps me kick up my heels.
This morning I sat at the coffee shop by my work and wrote longhand
on loose leaf paper. I was pleased with my burst of creativity and
pleased that people from my work looked happy to see me when they came
in to get their coffee. They asked me, "Are you working today?" and I
cheerfully answered, "No." I derived strange pleasure from being so
close to my work and not working, as if I were taunting my job with my
day off. Ha ha! (Sticks thumbs in ears and wiggles fingers in a
childish, taunting gesture.)
Even with people talking to me, I
somehow managed to get lost in my own story. I'd stop my pen every few
paragraphs to think, "This is good." I liked the feeling of focusing my
attention on a scene that didn't involve me, and then every so often
coming back to reality to give myself an affirming thumbs up.
I
haven't created anything significant for a while, just excuses for not
writing and a little bit of Christmas family drama over home movies.
Christmas marked the first time I saw footage of me as a
baby sinking into a pool of colorful balls: a truly sad and pitiful
sight. The only adult supervisor was the person quietly filming and no
effort was made to rescue me. Another scene showed me, maybe a year old,
on my hands and knees being told to woof while my big brother shoved
bread crumbs into my mouth. At least I hope they were bread crumbs and
not dog treats.
But that's all over now and it's 2015. My writing helped me realize that I am a woman of infinite soul and substance. I started 2015 with my soy latte and that West Side Story feeling of "Something's Coming."This will
be a good year. I will walk across pools of colorful balls without
sinking and do all kinds of other wonderful things.
