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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary


Black Heart Procession

Sunday was a dull affair except for breakfast which was delicious (ate at Quality which has the most delicious biscuits known to Man. Many times I forego pancakes or french toast and just order two biscuits and a coffee and happily drink and dunk. Positively rapturous.)

In the afternoon, I went to the HMS Bounty, a dive of a bar down on Wilshire. It’s connected to a residence hotel, which means that there are always a bunch of narcoleptic little old people dozing off into their drinks. The bartender yesterday was 90 million years old; the people I was with thought he was adorable, whereas I found him just left of depressing. I couldn’t help feeling that we had hijacked these old folks’ only sanctuary by asking them to turn up the televisions, and change their Sunday pattern to accommodate our younger band of ne’er-do-wells. The whole experience bummed me out. Maybe it was being in a bar at 5 in the afternoon, maybe it was being in a bar at 5 in the afternoon surrounded by a bunch of people I didn’t really know and wasn’t sure that I even liked. And I wasn’t drinking so I couldn’t blame my downwardly-spiraling mood on alcohol.

Terence was way down at the other end of table, and occasionally I would make eye contact with him to reassure myself because as the afternoon stretched into evening, I began to feel more and more forlorn about life. What the hell am I doing here? Once again, I was sucked into my black hole of an existential soul and began brooding. People were criticizing all of the Oscar clothes, and I was getting really irritated with everyone because none of them knew that Jennifer Connelly’s dress was Ghesquière! I even had a psychotic break à la Anne Heche where I was convinced that I belonged in the television set with the Beautiful People more than at the Bounty with the Schlubs.

Today, thank god, my mood is less bleak and the delusions have subsided. Seven decent hours of sleep and an hour and a half of yoga can do that for you. Also, I have just been told that “the check is in the mail,” and that there are two more projects on the horizon. The prospect of being paid and having additional work, that’s how I sometimes spell relief.

5:13 p.m. - 2002-03-25



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