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 café 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.