Just a rough estimate
I am waiting I am waiting I am waiting
Erase it
I am waiting I am waiting I am waiting
Do better
I am sitting and I am waiting and it is hot and I am lost. Where is my theme music? Where is my moment of seeing (my) someone through the crowd? Where is the magic in travelling to Marakesh to meet a man you met on the internet?
Oh dear god. I have flown to Morocco to meet a man that I have met on the internet.
Can we back track please?
Woops, too late. I am standing in the middle of an open air market and I have flown 7 hours from my native New York City to try to experience what “this” “life” is “about”. I have rented a hotel room. I have bought new clothes. New shoes. I have washed quaffed pinned tucked spanked….done everything in the realm of human possibility (if there is a God and she IS Beyonce, I call upon her graces to bless me with such beauty and presence) to make me into the best thing- lady- me I can be.
Is this the stupidest thing I have ever done…yes…no Am I doing it? Well I’m here and I’m doing something so there’s that.
Does Marakesh smell like an armpit? Is the ground in Morocco made of sands that are actually made of spices? Is there a fountain nearby? Will I meet the love
What’s his name. What is his name. The love of my life will be
Miguel
Craig
Greg
Sam
SAM. Will Sam be standing at the fountain in the middle of an open air market? Is he actually a 13 yr. old girl playing a trick on me? Is he a fat ex-con who is going to sell me into white slavery? Is he a man or a martyr? A sinner or a saint? DO I FEEL ASHAMED????
Pick my pocket pick my pocket heart on the sleeve woops I lied it’s in my pocket and often I lose it just like I lose everything else. Haphazardly. My wallet. My keys. My cellphone. But what about your dignity and your virginity and your humility? All of those were lost haphazardly too.
In a fire? NO. There was no fire.
In the rain? NO. But That would have been nice.
I wish it were raining in the market. Love always happens in the rain.
But, no, just like everything else, it happened when I wasn’t paying attention. And now I am supremely aware of my circumstances so I know nothing good is going to happen. Because the times when I lost (everything) (but see above), I wasn’t paying attention and that’s why I lost but on those nights I felt more alive and had more fun and never laughed harder or moved as gracefully. Until the moment the fun is over and reality falls like a house on your head.
Do they sell shots where is there a bar
How does one meet a man on the internet you say? The internet is place. A real place.
I have emailed a man named Sam.I.Am.88 for 5 years. It is time we meet I decided.
The death of my mother helped me decide.
OH DEAR GOD WHEN DID THIS BECOME SOME TERRIBLE CHEEZY ROMANTIC COMEDY SCRIPT OH WAIT I REMEMBER BECAUSE FOR THE PAST 6 MONTHS I HAVE BEEN WATCHING NOTHING BUT ROMANTIC COMEDIES AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ABOUT ANYTHING. MY MOTHER ISN’T DEAD I TAKE IT BACK, IN FACT I CAN’T EVEN ENTERTAIN THE POSSIBILITY OF IT BECAUSE IT WOULD DEEPLY UPSET ME (have you ever practiced hearing the news of one of your parents dying? Because that is a thing that you can do in acting school but also regularly in real life if you like)
I don’t know when exactly I got so confused about my “Great” “Expectations”. In fact, it used to be that my greatest pride is having no expectations. But at a certain point ( I didn’t realize) I started to care about story and about character and about feeling and image and romance and longing and fairytales.
What are your other thoughts? Why would you fly to Marakesh?
Do they sell bagels there?
Do they have things we don’t? What is it like? To know what you want? To not constantly be wanting to have a bagel? Is that what freedom is?
Run. Just run. Just. Get the FUCK out of the market. Go. Start walking. Just leave.
You move. You start walking slowly towards the hotel. You move into a jog. Into a run. Your sandals fly off. Your white gown is billowing in the breeze. It starts to rain. You hit the hotel lobby. Then DOWN POUR.
You hit the elevator race back to your room. To the bathroom. It’s marble. And stunning. You fling open the windows. They overlook the market. The sky has opened and you watch it fall on top of a city that you have flown 7 hours to visit. You climb fully clothed into your bathtub. You turn on the shower overhead. You sit as it rains outside. But you’d rather be soaked by water from a pipe. And you sit there. And try to remember how you got to this place.