Been battling insomnia, a vicious circle. The more I worry that I won’t sleep, the harder it is to drop off. I’m up and down for hours, anxiously peeing, assuaging the turmoil in my gut in vain. I retired early, right after dinner at Yamashiro with some of Gretl’s friends, too tired to party hearty. I shouldn’t eat so late either but the two computer programmers got lost in Hollywood. Geeks said Gretl-so I’m kind of surprised they didn’t have a GPS. Josef helped develop the technology and he only recently conceded to buying one. What’s that about?
Preparing today for my performance in Pasadena, wondering if anyone will show up. Even a poet’s friends don’t want to attend a poetry reading! I extend an invitation and they get a panicked look on their faces, revealing they’d rather be anywhere else. After we are to drive back to the hotel and cab it over to Boardner’s for Peter’s memorial and it will be interesting to see who shows up there.
Liza, one of Peter’s ex-girlfriends came over with her sister yesterday. A lovely young redhead from South Carolina, replete with endearing accent. Interesting to hear of their life together, that period. Things felt a little awkward but I believe we all tried to accommodate one another’s feelings. Gretl gave them some hair ornaments she made, flashy flowers festooned with rhinestones, very Billy Holiday.
Wednesday, Sept. 23
In, on a plane, to LA, flying over volcanoes, listening to Peter playing guitar and singing. I finally got around to digitizing some of our old practice tapes, or rather, paid my boy to do it. Arrived after the uneventful flight, the only kind of flight I ever want to have. Had the Continental Breakfast next morning, such as it is—sugary yogurt and stale muffins—and tried to tie up some loose ends, got relocated into a proper suite , returned to the hotel after buying a few things at Whole Foods, paced until Teresa and Ave and Gretl all arrived at the same time. I enjoy solitude, it’s a rare treat, but then I start to feel anxious, don’t know what to do with myself. Free floating anxiety, isn’t that what it’s called? Seems it’s just a fact of my life these days. I’ve been really absent-minded too, keep losing the car key. I’m just tired, sleep deprived.
Spent the afternoon with Teresa and Ava, swimming, hanging out by the pool, Ava pretending to be a dog and playing Fetch, something she picked up during their recent visit to Canada. I had to find a stick for her, which wasn’t easy. “This isn’t the forest you know,” I said.
Writer Paul Cullum, another of Peter’s ex-girlfriends, Zuade Kaufman (who has become a pal) and Brian Donegan came over in the evening, a lovely surprise as I haven’t seen him in years. He looked good, boyish in his Converse sneakers, hair still red. We ordered in pizza and discussed items Gretl found on Peter’s computer—seems natural to me there might be things deemed questionable and somewhat incriminating—who expects to die suddenly?
Wonder if other women from Peter’s past habour regrets as well? *sigh* I wish things could have been different. We truly were kindred souls and I loved him madly, deeply at one time, a life time ago. I suppose it was long ago but time screws with one’s head. It often feels like only yesterday we were together, especially in a dream.
Going through withdrawl! No Internet! No wireless. I’m peeved as they told me last time I was here that they were getting it. I might have stayed looked elsewhere had I known. Oh well, I spend too much time online anyway. It’s just hard to communicate with peeps.
Found a gecko in the bathroom! Enchanting. I remember there used to be one living in the apartment Peter and I had on Virginia Ave, behind one of his paintings. I suppose everything is reminding me of Peter on this trip to attend his memorial.