Los Anxious

I’m finding it terribly difficult to write generally in Los Angeles. Perhaps because it is home, and because I am comfortable, all of my writing to this point has been for work or for direct correspondence. I drive a lot here. I barely walk anywhere. I’ve tried driving in silence and also with songs on repeat. I think better in voids, rhythmic voids. There is a lot of anxiety-inducing stimuli in Los Angeles, and I’m trying to break down their effect on me. The prospect of being late because of traffic. The prospect of getting pulled over for a speeding ticket. The prospect of getting stuck behind a slow driver, or run off the road by a maniac. The prospect of getting a ticket for talking on the phone when I am really scratching my face. Not finding parking. Not having money for the meter. Not having cash for valet. Not having a debit card on me for gas. Running out of gas without enough cash. Being late because I had to stop for gas. Parking illegally because there is no where else to park. The prospect of getting towed because I parked illegally. I am forever plagued by getting somewhere and all the barriers to arriving in a state of serenity. All the hoping and stressing leave little room for calm and reflection. I just want to walk and ride the metro and the bus. But then I’ll really be late because to take the bus from Malibu to the gallery where I work – it would take at least 2 hours to get there. In which I might actually be productive. Which makes the prospect both intriguing and appealing. However, unfortunately I never have 2 hours to spare because I am forever running late. I don’t have time to take my time. I think I should make time to take my time. Perhaps that time might give way to writing.