“This journal is a relief. When I am tired… out comes this, and down goes everything. But I can’t read it over – and god knows what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one’s self than to any one else) every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor.” – George Gordon Noel Byron
A treasure of a quote, really. I am relieved every time I clear my head either by typing here, or writing in my personal journal. It is important for me to embrace the contradictions within myself. If we hold on too tightly to one definition of what we think or who we are, we will never be able to grow into something better.
Speaking of relief, I finally took my car to the mechanics yesterday to find out what that grinding, metal-on-metal sound was all about. Having experienced it before, I pretty much already knew that my brakes were shot to shit. My sister and I left my car to be dealt with and we traipsed off to Ocean Beach to shop around the antique stores before meeting up with my father for lunch. We found my mother a gem of a gift, a treasure among treasures buried deep within one of the tchotchke crowded, musty stores that line Newport Avenue.
Lunch was fun and entertaining, we experienced what my father calls “OB TV, Channel One,” by sitting on the south side of the restaurant with full view of Newport Ave. People are endlessly entertaining to me and mine. After spending the rest of the afternoon hanging out with my sister, we finally went to pick up my car. It was less money than I expected, but more than I wanted to pay. I had mentally prepared myself for a ridiculous amount so that I couldn’t be pissed and disappointed when I was handed the final bill – call it a “self-convincing strategy.” Works like a charm. With new brakes, I decided it was time to finally wash my reliable little car. It’s been almost two years, and I figured, a day at the doctor? She’s earned it.
Detailed, washed, I told them to throw everything away on the floor of the car until I noticed what they were pulling out from under the seats. So THAT’S where those fabulous heels have been! THERE’S my notebook from that workshop! Don’t touch my riding crop, it’s been blessed by so many coveted bottoms. Lemon? Sure, sounds great. If only I could smell the lemon over the sour-milk, vomit-like smell of Armor-All.
With a clean car and a cleaner conscious for finally cleaning my car and getting the brakes fixed, I collected M.s. for the evening’s event – dinner party for the birthday boy! Friends, drinks, food, and laughs. And this morning, I am sitting in bed with my laptop balanced on a pillow, M.s. at my side, stretched out on his back, relaxed and dozing. This is going to be another beautiful day. I know I’LL be beautiful, because I have a hair appointment with Ronaldo this afternoon. But we’ll talk about how sinfully delicious it feels to have another person wash your hair another time. Right now, I think I’ll tend to this sinfully delicious slave for a bit.