I have complained before about owning too much stuff. Unable to throw things away. Yesterday was no exception. I moved more stuff into the Malibu house from Hollywood and find it impossible to let things go. Throw things out. Dump the junk that in some cases I have dragged twice around the world.
It amazes me that I have now sold over thirty works of art and you really would not notice the difference. Every spare space on every spare wall is covered with art.
I have just one small box of knickknacks that I have left on the drive waiting to be sold when in fact they need to be thrown away. I need that TV intervention show where kindly looking therapists gently pull ‘precious’ things away from me and throw them into a dumpster/skip. I am not, obviously, a 3rd degree hoarder but my inability to let things go one might use, at this crucial time with Jake, as a metaphor.
What’s the difference between shame and embarrassment? I am embarrassed by the things crammed into my cupboards, closets and wardrobes. Under the stairs I keep an archive of every film and theatre project I ever worked including two 35mm prints of AKA. I attempted to donate this thorough personal collection to the Outfest Film and Television Archive but at the last moment did not get around to.
I have a shelve, a rather deep shelve, in the kitchen where I have put things that I know need to be thrown away. Every time I open the cupboard door these things look at me pathetically, ‘please don’t throw us out’ they plead.
All this stuff from Hollywood fucks up the aesthetic. Cluttered, overwhelming and all the wrong colors. I am trying for less and all the time have to deal with more.
Yesterday Ashley and I cooked dinner for Frank and Stephen. Delicious. Both Frank and Stephen didn’t know what St Tropez was. I was mildly shocked. The Architect text messaged me asking, in lieu of dating, if he could be my slave. I am considering my options.
I am so happy that Ashley lives here. She brings such verve and life to the house. This Sunday she is inviting friends over for lunch, it’s going to be a great deal of fun.
Yesterday I realized that in the post Malibu Hill Billy from last December was the first time I heard from Jake. Compare the lightness and optimism of those early posts. I wish I could reclaim that mood. I will eventually.
I have a date for my operation.