In one phone call

And since cookies crumble,
milk spills,
flowers die,
and dreams defer,
as it turns out, I will no longer be listening to Duke Ellington.

Through some strange shift in the wind,
misdirection from directors,
lack of productivity from producers,
my time in the land of Mr. Ellington has been cut short.

This is clearly a sign from a higher, more intelligent, power that this situation was not going to bolster my career, despite what working for free in what was quickly becoming creative squalor might do for me kareer (sp?).

Things pass and things change.
Even in a sea of nothingness, there still has to be something new and unseen just around the corner. I’m going to go find it on my next dive.

Does anyone want to go to the beach?

Duke

There is a new exercise regime I’m taking part in. It comes out of our usual boredom, frustration, judgment, depression, anger (oh, too many complaints)…

This is not stemming from one of those days where I must hurry home, shimmy down these panties, unhook this bra, and pour myself a tall, albeit respectable, glass of cool, clear Remy Martin featuring two ice cubes and one bendy straw. Although the origins of this regime are routed in something similar…

I have, simply, grown tired. Tired of irreverence. Tired of vanity. As I discovered the other day, walking through Bloomingdales, tired of shopping. Tired of “getting to know you”. Tired of having to let you go. Tired of boredom. Tired of letting things I ultimately have no control over frustrate me.

The feeling you get inside is amazing when you let all of that go. Doors begin to open. Renovations are no longer needed.

And now I can listen to Duke Ellington all day long.