Except for the fact that the day honors heroic soldiers, living and dead, I find that I have no patience for Memorial Day antics. If I lived in a sleepy suburb, had the day off and could roll out of bed and into a BBQ pit, sure. Mem-Day it up.
But when I have a day off, here in L.A., I prefer it not to be the same exact day that these Hummer-driving, Weekend Warriors have off. I prefer not to be running errands alongside drunk drivers at 2pm. I was driving down a residential street at 40mph and someone was BEEPING at me to hurry up. I had to pull over, and they sped off on the opposite side of the road doing at least 60mph. I wish I could say that happened only once yesterday.
Then I went to buy a couch (okay, sales. That is a major Mem Day bonus) and the sales guy chastized me three times for not being at a BBQ. He said, “If I were you, I’d be on my third beer right now.” Really? Because if you were me, seems like you’d be exactly where you and I both are, doing a couch transaction at Levitz. If you were me, you’d be in better shape and able to do some yoga. If you were me, you wouldn’t have a goatee. What if I were a recovering alcoholic who once hit bottom at a BBQ, stripping naked and pouring BBQ sauce over herself saying, “Light me on fire and fuck me!” Maybe that’s why I wasn’t at a BBQ. Or maybe it was because I’d already stayed out until 3a.m. on both Saturday and Sunday nights. That’s right. I party when I want to.
Why would I drink in the hot sun all day only to have to go back to work on Tuesday? Actually I didn’t have to work today. I’ve had the past five days off and it’s been blissful.
I ran into someone at a bar on Saturday night who asked me, “Why do you work?” I…I don’t know how to answer that. I just stared. I felt like I wasn’t a real artist. And then, as usual, the perfect comeback to that rude and unncessary question,came to me as I bought an awesome, hot-pink, Diane von Furstenberg carry-on suitcase today with matching carry-on bag today. I work to shop.
I must join the masses again tomorrow as I head back to the office. I’m at the end of my rope with working. Clearly since my first and last name is on this and anyone I work with can and does read this. It just amazes me how I can not think of what I do during the day once in five days. How I got to shoot a fun pilot all weekend and go to rehearsals for other projects my friends have me in, perform in shows, see shows and generally feel like myself. I can already feel the tension in my chest and back beginning, the vague soreness at the back of my throat, the unexplained food cravings and mild fatigue as my body prepares the shock of sitting in traffic for 45 minutes each way and sitting for 8 hours at my desk. I already feel my arms cramping up, prepping for a day of typing everything but the projects I’m working on. I’m already getting a headache thinking of getting back to work by day and get home at 7pm to start my own projects by night. Getting sad at the thought that I miss all this sunshine every day.
Oh, I will never mature around this issue. I just never will. I just re-read that paragraph above and cringed. It’s soooo melodramatic. But I’ll keep it in because I don’t want to cringe alone.