LaLa
A day that was more reminiscent of 2005 than I cared for it to be. Spoke with N this morning about all the ins and outs of finishing LaLa and how much and how long. Then S sent email that he does want the LaLa but he also, natch, wants all these other concessions as well. Then spoke with E about how I am handling all of this and she gave good advice. S gave good advice. N gave the best advice – he said walk around the bayou and see how you feel. In the end, Max and Arlene and I walked around the bayou on this, possibly the last unseasonably warm day of January, and we sat across the bayou from the LaLa and looked at it real hard. All I saw was another dream dashed, an effigy of S I’d like to burn, and no real resolution other than again Que Sera, Sera and Doris Day eternally singing in my head.
Sitting here with the Snake right now and he tells me that T in Seoul has become addicted to the blog and possibly loathes himself because of it – but I think he only reads it as a diversion from his Rice Rocket who he has grown fond of. Too funny really if you consider that most missives I get are for people who keep reading the fn blog like watching a goddamn train wreck but then descry it and rail at me to discontinue writing it, associating them with it, or whatever. It’s unbelievable that anyone would care enough about As the Bayou Turns to bother getting bothered but then welcome to my sordid world.
N and I are going to write a book in the end. He will write the erotica and I will write the narrative and it will be filled with fact, maybe occasional fiction to temper the outrageous truth, and maybe even snapshots or videos – it will definitely have original songs. We will sell it, go on book tours, and emblazoned on the cover we’ve decided is going to be his naked junk-in-the trunk ass. Best seller. The names will be changed to protect the innocent but then no one, not even us, will go unscathed, in this tell all end all real fiction novel of novels. It will make the blog look tame.
But that is neither here nor there. Right now there is still a lot of putting down on paper how to split up the D family. There is still a lot of therapy for all parties to figure out how to proceed or how not to act the way they have been acting for the last twenty years. N called me on my proceed with love said that it was also a way to keep me from feeling the cut – well there it is. I’m exposed for being silly – yet again. So I’d ask him how do you live a life without regret I wonder? Who wants to – a comfortable life, no regrets, make sure every step is cautiously weighed against everyone’s desire – no one gets hurt, no one risks regrets – sounds like a case for the GREAT SHOCK ABSORBER to come rescue the world.
The bayou isn’t going anywhere and no one fucking owns it so if S is so mercantile that all he cares about is flipping the house and has no dream to occupy the land, the space, then LaLa might have to be thrown into the swirling pot of muck that 2005 was kind enough to throw our way – chum for the big fish in the little pond.
What will I tell W? – who named the LaLa – that is my only regret here. He will say “oh man” and I will just have to laugh.
L is still in El Dorado where now J has fallen – her worst fear – and he is seeing the end of days unfold before him – sigh.