*Yawn!*

This weekend has been one filled with blankets, fires, naps; a retreat within myself. After going, going, going for five or six days straight, the body needs rest. Friday night after volunteering for The Giving Spirit here in Brentwood, a girlfriend and I went to Venice. I, sleepily, offered to drive. I wore black with my red coat, that bright red coat that everyone says something about. I wonder if people see me in that red pea coat and think I'm a firey woman, or just a brave blond? Venice brought me conversations with crazed artists (when I met this crazy artist, the rumors held true for me: they truly do have crazy, hungry eyes), awkward businessmen from Dubai, a quiet Redsox fan.

Saturday I thought about cleaning, running errands, doing laundry, even working for a bit. I slept in too late. I turned on a Christmas special, reverting back to being 9 years old (Frosty the Snow Man anyone?) and curled up with my book and a blanket. I missed the day and felt guilty. Night swept Brentwood too soon and I ended up an awkward Christmas party in Santa Monica. I was the baby of the group. Then off to a bar, later, with a friend, where I wandered the room and made friends with strangers.

Tonight, I made up for it, my laziness. Suddenly inspired to take a drive to Manhattan Beach, I found an amazing parking spot and shopped for a bit before stopping still on a sidewalk outside a coffee shop. Pulling my jacket in closer to me, I looked out to the water, and it shined back at me--softly--like an old mirror. I watched the sun set on the Pacific by myself as families and couples bustled about me; unfolding lawn chairs, dragging children in little red wagons, sipping steaming coffee, heads down, huddled together in preparation for a Christmas fireworks show.

The sun set quickly, an orange ball that the ocean greedily swept away; a dying fire in the sky; one last glowing ember before blackness rolled over the beach.