LA Post #1: The Hermit Emerges

I underwent a serious withdrawal upon landing in LA. I became Leonardo in Basketball Diaries when he was locked in that room crying and frothing at the mouth as his body filtered his addiction. While I didn’t froth at the mouth, I definitely threw a few tantrums and made my sister cry--a kickback to my adolescence. On my way down, I went into a loony comatose clean freak state. You see, my parents define the word pack rat and I am your quintessential obsessive compulsive clean freak. My cousin says it's a part of my sign--Leos cannot stand disorganization, which is why we dominate in an effort to create order. So, instead of blogging or sending out my resume or better yet, crafting my brilliant million dollar business plan, I devoted myself to returning order to my parents overstuffed home. I know, I know, it's their dysfunction, not mine, and if they want to hold on to my brother's ten year old elementary school calenders or empty Turbo 16 boxes (Yes, I had a Turbo 16 player. Go Bonk!) than why stop them? I just can't do it though! To exist in a space overwhelmed with pointless excess makes me ill. It is exactly why I try to avoid sample sales and discounters as the thought of sorting through racks of rags to find one item that I already have in another color at 70% off gives me severe anxiety, which in turn does not justify the means. Regardless, being OCD is a disability that I can do very little to control and as such, my disability consumed me. What is most important though is that while I did devote my first week in LA to my parents, forty trash bags later, I have regained control and feel strong enough to write. (Hooray!) Surprisingly, I feel energized, and tomorrow, will begin my second attempt to start the healing process.

I don't miss New York as much as I thought I would and the lack of delectable food leaves me with no other option than to eat less, which is never a bad thing. The pros of the various amenities at my parent's home (i.e. the pool, elliptical and sprawling lawns) also make it hard to miss my concrete dwelling with nonsense childproofed windows in New York. One can breathe here and silence really is golden (OK, so what if tonight was the first time I really left my parent's oasis in the center of the city, but so what?). Currently, I am sitting at my father's desk with the windows open and am typing to the melodic sounds of birds whistling. It's 2 am for heaven's sake and the birds are singing crying babies to sleep. It's like a scene out of Snow White. Birds aside though, being here and recovering from my six day coma simply feels good. I can see clarity not as a mirage, but as a reality in the distant horizon. It also feels good to be able to communicate with the outside world again. One would think my parents locked me away in the basement the moment I arrived as I refused to communicate with anyone beyond the perimeter of the property. While I am not not exactly sure what sparks these bouts of hermitude, I am going to make a greater commitment to understanding and controlling them as I progress. Well, it's late. More to follow.

xx

R