Falling backwards towards home�
When you board the train at Union station, it is hard to tell what direction it will leave. Half the seats face north, half south�but which are which.
So, picking wrongly, I sit facing where I�ve been.
I face Los Angeles.
I ride, back-first, for 2.5 hours.
Falling backwards towards home.
Falling backwards towards a 9:30pm arrival time.
On a train, it doesn�t take too many visits to the caf� car to secure a drunken buzz. Sometimes the rail-bound happy hour is social�but not tonight. It is quiet on the southbound Surfliner tonight. The lingering odors of hour-old fast food hang in the air of car number 2. I feel no kinship to my fellow passengers tonight. I suppose that is what makes the train exciting: you never know.
I have had flirtatious rides sitting next to young women.
I�ve had scary (but rewarding) rides sitting next to the mentally ill.
But tonight we all ride alone.
Hundreds of us scattered throughout the cars�bound by vehicle�isolated by thought.
I finish my second Heineken and wonder why I paid extra for an imported beer.
My head enjoys the familiar fuzz of low-grade buzz.
I read for an hour before booting up this laptop.
I�ve come to a point in my life where every time I experience creative art (TV, movies, books) I feel an odd conflict: I respect and admire the artists creation WHILE AT THE SAME TIME admonish myself for not producing more art myself.
This book is great/why am I not writing now?
Jon Stewart is hilarious/I should start my radio show back up
What a cinematic journey/I could write a screenplay if I just focused.
I almost have to slap myself and remind myself to enjoy the art in that moment�to allow myself to be entertained and inspired. To let go of the guilt and have faith that the experience will spark my creative fire.
But is that a lie I tell myself?
And if so, should I just let the lie comfort me?
+++
As I ride this train, I look towards LA due to my seating accident�but my mind looks towards the previous day spent in LA, as well.
My partners and I signed our corporate paperwork today.
We also signed a 3 year lease for office space in downtown LA.
And just like that, I am a co-owner of a growing business.
From my corner office on the 12th floor I can see the Hollywood sign.
In a couple weeks they will finish knocking down the walls and painting the place according to the palette we picked out. (Brown hues for those who care)
My office will have a sofa-bed.
My office will be my 2-night-a-week bedroom.
I wonder if that will impress chicks I meet in LA?
�Wanna come up to my office/apartment for a nightcap? Oh, you need to use the restroom? Its down the hall�let me give you the key.�
Luckily our office space is in the same building as a 4 star hotel. So I have full access to the pool, gym, and showers.
Its only a matter of time before my partners knock on my office door to find me sleeping off a hangover�
Still in my folded out sofa bed�
With the taste of vomit in my mouth and flanked by 2 passed out hookers.
Of course, more likely will be the hours of boredom� the 9pm to 1am hours while I sit in my empty office in front of the computer.
Hoping my �new Mail� icon would blink.
Cruising for cybersex.
Wondering if being naked in my office on webcam is �wrong� once it�s passed midnight.
Wondering if I should go down to the hotel bar.
Looking out the window and wondering how I got here.
Feeling trapped by the office walls and wondering what LA adventures I *should* be getting into.
Wondering if this loneliness is a phase.
Or an expected by-product of a renewed commitment to work.
Am I falling backwards towards something new?
Time will tell.
Business will grow.
And the sunsets will care least of all.
�