A collage

A collage of thoughts, images and memories from the past few days, past weekend.

The view of West Los Angeles as I left work on Friday, the crisp dark night air in my face and a city of sprinkling lights before me. My new roomie’s face lighting up in the kitchen as she unloaded groceries, when I asked her if she wanted to go grab a drink. The bartender I hadn’t seen in about two months saying hello and sending over several rounds of drinks, “These are on me.”

The hum and chug of the washing machines and Infatuation’s now-familiar voice on the phone. Sitting in a car parked in red on busy Lincoln Blvd to get some of the best damn Italian sandwiches I have ever had. Traffic, never-ending traffic, in Santa Monica. The drive up to Malibu on the famous PCH with the windows down and sun filtering through my dirty car windows. Eating those “best damn sandwiches” pool-side at the Getty, as though we lived in Florence thousands of years ago, and I ate passionately and had mustard at the corners of my mouth. Sips of wine in the soft sun.

Kneading of pizza dough and simmering of the sauce. Early evening naps, let the dough just rise! Vibrant toasts meant for a summer’s night. Quick phone calls, reaching out like spider legs to the LA network to see what the dark night might bring. The walking to the bars, the gibber-gabs, the shenanigans and the crowding of asses on benches and in booths. Silly declarations of adoration, profound musings and late night secrets.

Errands in Westwood, wine sales and the purchasing of fun home accessories like glasses and candles. The scrubbing and cleaning that Sunday often brings. More hum of laundry and more kneading of the dough—pizza number two!—the gentle placement of pepperoni slices, the soft grating of cheese. A quiet night of a sentence said here and there, the glow of the computer screen, the clacking noise made by my blinds as the gentle evening breeze sauntered in.

Monday morning chaos and 8 a.m. conference calls. Need caffeine. The quick walk three blocks down to the Starbucks on the corner where they’re starting to know my usual, “Skinny latte?” “Please.” The tensing and untensing of shoulders and growling of the stomach. Margaritas and wine late-night at a taco joint catching up with an old friend. Pear tequila underneath an electric pink glow. A familiar smile and unfamiliar stories.

5:30 a.m. wake up calls to do THE STAIRS in Santa Monica. The huffing and puffing and groaning of the body at dawn, working and pumping underneath an orange moon, lazily hanging above the Pacific. 9 a.m. conference calls, too-sweet Chinese food. Leaving of work satisfied and accomplished. An evening jog through Brentwood with close friends in the lavender light of the magic hour.

Oh, the joys of daylight savings.