Today, I took the stairs up Runyon with John. He only stopped twice and didn't throw up this time at the top.On our way down, I decided to still take the hard route up. So we said our goodbyes and I took my detour. It feels easier now and I walk at a faster pace. My feet plant firmly in the little nooks on the side of the mountain. I'm not so afraid to slip on the loose gravel that could easily let a novice slip. Even the precarious downhill of exposed rocks failed to slow me down too much. So that after having past them, I ran full pace towards the end of the route. Before I reached the top, I started to get that familiar spottiness in my vision reminiscent of a sun stroke at a Vegas outdoor concert in July. So I walked the rest of the way. Once I had reached my car, I had undertaken five miles again. This time, faster and harder than the last. My shoulders were starting to become darker than the rest of my body. I should put more sunscreen on next time.
I had purposefully filled my day with plans. After eating lunch, drinking my morning tea, and doing the whole shower routine, I ventured out. First at the eyebrow threading place to get those suckers not looking like fuzzy caterpillars on my face. After that, HD Buttercup to find the elusive couch. A month and a half now at my new abode, and I'm still at the too big or too small stage of Goldilock's trial of the chairs. Actually in my case, it was usually too expensive or too disposable. Where was the couch that fit into my price range of "might last five years but costs less than $600?" HD Buttercup proved to be a waste as I had arrived there 10 years too early of my planned socioeconomic climb. I clutched protectively at the my H&M purse as to prevent the appraising looks of the real diamond and gold wearing HDB patrons. After a hour and a half of imagining myself talking and sitting on vintage emulating tufted modern couched with fellow blazer and black hipster glasses wearers, smoking out of carved wood pipes, and crossing my pristine white $100 chucks over bare knees, I briskly escaped an oncoming bad financial decision. Half a hour later, I'm at Costco surrounded by families and women with sleeveless shirts and highlighted underarm hair stubbles. This place also required a quick getaway. Two $50 contacts boxes later, I'm on the road towards the Glendale mall.
Do you ever point two fingers out and pretend your hand is a gun? And then cock the gun and point your fingers up your chin? This is what I do sometimes in crowded places. I try not to vocalize the rhythmic "I want to kill myself" echoing in my head, as I navigate crowds, especially malls on a Sunday afternoon. But my agenda required I purchase more clothes for work as my job now subconsciously requires that I stop wearing clothes meant for teenagers. Torture trying to objectively peruse racks as hands would sometimes reach in between mine to grab what I was going to look at, or I would get a whiff of someone who had put deodorant on too early in the day and didn't think they needed to reapply. Hand going into two finger pointing position again. $70 later and my new favorite shirt (I will take a picture later this week), I drove to my hair appointment.
I regularly go to a Korea town salon where I never get the same stylist. All the same as I've never been disappointed, only maybe slightly paranoid that they're making fun of me when talking to each other in Korean. In this case, it is a good thing I don't speak the language. My stylist this time was a Korean man boy with black eyeglasses and subtly purple perfect hair. I convinced myself he was gay and uninterested as my hour there was spent in utter silence, except for the sound of a hair straightener opening and closing. This helped my red eyes hide tears as I read a Vanity Fair article on ivory and the hyper extinction of African elephants. I paid them $60 after and they did a perfect job as always.
Grocery shopping, dinner eating, and now writing on an online journal I've neglected for years. It's part of my new five year plan that involves finishing a screenplay by July 1, 2012. Not one word has been written on my script but I do have a four page character development formula. We'll see how this year progresses. As for now, I promise to write a journal entry everyday even if this only helps to reinvigorate vocabulary remembering muscles of my brain.
Cultivating my eccentricities are helping to keep me sane these days.
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