Archives for posts with tag: Holidays

Diana Lee

The good news:  I can keep goats and hens on the property in Malibu.  I spoke with a very polite lady at the Malibu Council code violation department.

I was expecting a very long conversation, instead, it was very short.

“Can I keep three goats on two acres in the Santa Monica Mountains?”

“Yes.” She replied, adding.  “You can keep 3 goats on your property as long as they’re 50 feet from anything humanly habitable.”

Silence.  She cleared her throat.

“Is that it?”  I said, expecting more.    “Yes.” she replied, “that’s it.”

“I think I may very well be in love.”  I murmured.  She giggled like Marge Simpson.

The last vacation tenants just left the property leaving a rather unpleasant egg smell behind them.   Perhaps they were vegetarians or something.   There was orange peel on the paths and some child had broken a faucet that cost $85 to mend.  I shall take it out of their deposit.

This morning, after breakfast with John and the others, I started my list of things to do for the New Year.  Suddenly I was thinking about yield per acre, chicken coops and chevre.

Malibu house.  The dogs just love it here.  Luna spends hours exploring the garden-just like the Big Dog.  I missed darling Big Dog so much today.  Jerome left pictures of her in the mail box that I could not bear to open.  They remained unopened since Christmas in a large pile on my desk marked ‘urgent things to do’.  I thought I better look at them.

It made me feel sick with grief when I saw her sweet face.

I wish I felt that way about my grandmother.

Anyway, I spoke to a very eager sounding vegetable garden planner, my architect and a lady who lives near Sacramento about buying goats.    Our call was dropped so I’ll call her again tomorrow.  She is a ‘grazing service provider’.  I met the plumber  at the house who mended the faucet and tomorrow, first thing after breakfast I need to make a list-like call Lewis for instance who will reconfigure downstairs so I can start living there in April.

There is just so much to do!  I just need to do it.

At breakfast I confided in John that all my life, my real career has been the maintenance of my addiction and anything else I got up to was a hobby.  Making films was a hobby, making theatre..a hobby.  A distraction from the disease of addiction.

My primary purpose has been the pursuit of selfish pleasure.

Today, I have only good news to report even if Luna trotted out of the long grass covered in ticks.  Everything was very dealable with, not nearly as scary as I expected-and I never once had to take a nap.

Sometime I wake up as if from a nightmare but the nightmare is the day ahead.

Someone commented yesterday that they would rather read about sex than money.  Yet, the same issues spring from both.  Shame, fear and resentment.   When I hang out with my very rich friends I come away feeling like I could have done better.

Most of my rich friends were either born that way or have handsome divorce settlements.

As the New Year approaches I am beginning to worry about what comes next – even though I know that the universe has and always will look me after.  I want more.   Yet, what do I do to get it?   I enjoyed the relatively simple occupation of Reality TV.   Just be oneself and do the work of being oneself.

The conundrum I have always had in sobriety-how can one be ambitious yet with gentle optimism hand over the reigns of ones life to God?  How?

Dinner with Anna last night.  She cooked linguine and aubergine mille feuille.   Delicious.  I tried wearing a huge, Russian inspired ensemble but as it turned out there were only four of us at the table and I felt like a bit of a prat.

When I got back to the car Luna had spent the hour tearing apart the rest of the passenger seat.  Very distressing.

I must confide in you, dear blog, that I am trying to be optimistic about self-sufficiency.  I would prefer to be doing it with some one.  Being on ones own and making another project happen on ones own can be very, very depressing.

So, as well as becoming self-sufficient I may stop paying my mortgage.  The house is worth 30% less than what I paid for it.  Perhaps, like many Americans, I should negotiate a reduction in principle.  Yet, the only way to do that seems to be to force the hand of the bank by not paying ones mortgage.

It’s a miserable option.