The Dark Side of Fridaville

When my imagination can't come up with the rent for my room in Fridaville, this is what it feels like. No ideas for an essay, much less a book. No funny thoughts. No slanted views of life. No spark to light a room. No color in the universe. A chain link fence to keep wild life out. Vines full of thorns that strangle any would-be blooms with "You're such a hack." Does this happen to everyone? You wake up one morning and you're living in a double-wide body watching tv all day. Your soul isn't neon pink and aqua any longer...it's just rubbed down to the bare boards. If an idea hit you in the head, you'd just double up on the Advil. My fear is always that the well will run dry permanently, that I'll never move back into that room in Fridaville strung with paper flowers and stars, candles burning at both ends, a crazy musician who forgot to go home still playing on the porch. Because no matter how many times I get it right, hit a home run, find le mot juste, it always seems like the last time.

Things I Wish I'd Find in my Mailbox

the MacArthur Genius Award letter

a letter from the man I lived with for 7 years--is he dead or alive?

the first issue of Planet Nikki, a magazine that doesn't exist

rebate checks

clues to a treasure hunt

fan mail

gift certificate for a 90 minute massage

a small cherry pie--homemade

a bird's nest

an anonymous mix cd

an invitation from someone unexpected

mysterious messages of extraordinary goodwill

Trying to Wake Up

Again

My imagination is always falling asleep and I'm always trying to find ways to get it out of bed. Do you ever feel like you're in one long fight with yourself? Half of me wants to be more spiritual and meditate and maybe become a Sufi or a whirling dervish, while my evil twin would rather have sin than zen. My better angel wants to buy vegetables at the farmer's market but my evil twin wants the red rice and barbecue pork with the flies hovering over it. The Frida in me intends to start so many amazing projects, but the Britney in me just wants to wallow around on the couch with a People magazine. So every day I'm trying to wake up all over again. When I was home sick this weekend, I was wallowing on the couch with mail order catalogs and fell in love with a gray taffeta shirt photographed against a red background. It was so delicious I could taste the colors, so I got my watercolor crayons out and tried to draw it. I love Caran d'Ache wax pastels because you can wet the page down with a brush and water or you can rub the colors into the paper with your fingers and create all kinds of effects. Just holding them in my hand triggers that first-day-of-school, fresh-pack-of-Crayolas excitement. Remember those days when you couldn't wait to get out of bed and play? I wonder if it's possible to get it back.