One Note - VII
“We must be willing to get rid of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” - Joseph Campbell
I have a lot to report that is unreportable - that is to say thoughts, impressions, questions, and wildly inappropriate feelings that are unprintable by any stretch of the imagination and should not be taking up space in my head.
First of all, what the fuck is the matter with Stefan - or Dizzy or whatever he wants to be called these days? One second I’m interviewing him about this audio virus - and spending all my free time reading the research he sent me - and the next he’s telling me he can’t talk anymore. Talk about hanging me out to dry.
Second, after a sleepless night obsessing about what to tell my editor, I finally dragged my tired ass out of bed, put on my sweats, and ran four painful miles up and down the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains until my lungs ached and my mind was clear. By the time the sun broke through the early morning haze I’d decided what to do.
Rather than make the call from my apartment, where my boyfriend Clive would feel free to eavesdrop and interject opinions, I elected to call from my favorite bench in the park down the street. It was early, but I knew there was a good chance Sam would already be in.
“Morning sunshine,” she answered, recognizing my number. “What're you doing up so early?”
“I have something to tell you,” I said, “and I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”