Felt From A Distance

Today I want to go to the gym.

I want to jump in pools.

I want to sit on the patio of a bar with friends and hear laughter IRL.

I want to come in from the heat of a long day to the relieving chill of a movie theater and the salt on snacks.

I want to have one of those long belated catch up lunches.

I wanna go to the annoying, expensive pop up that you pretty much only do for Instagram.

I want to go “oh! That thing’s tonight?!” and wonder if I can still make it in time if I rushed out the door and my pajamas.

I want to look forward to the trip, and buy tickets to the thing.

I want to sit in the Hollywood Bowl when it’s too hot and forget about all the sweaty, crowded discomfort by the time tears are coming down my face in the settled night. When that song that always does it to you starts playing and you remember “damn, I’m really here.”

I want to spend 25 minutes trying to figure out what food truck to eat from and another 45 waiting in line for esoteric fusion — and French fries — before immediately spilling them on myself once rejoining my friends on a small nation of blankets for a movie in the park.

I want to hear the fireworks in the distance from Dodgers stadium and go “oh, right — I wonder if they won.”

I want to drive to gallery openings and arrive late to brunches.

I want to do things I didn’t even really do to begin with — where do you putt putt in LA anyway? I know, I know, that place in Sherman Oaks. But like, is that really the only one?

I want to wander a full and chaotic studio lot with cold Starbucks and the sharp coworkers that become families through hours of work and walks.

I want to overpay for everything at Disneyland and traverse miles of commerce and magic until my legs hurt and my camera roll is full.

I even want a reason to fill up or wash my car. I want to beat back the rage of traffic by singing a jam at the top of my lungs.

I want to day drink through Los Feliz or Silverlake or NoHo, I want to get “it’s too late and I’m too old for this” 3 AM pancakes at Fred 62.

I want to be even less good at Zoom.

I want to hear muffles and clanging glasses and disappointment in the quality of chicken fingers but most of all irrepressible laughter at a comedy show.

I want to buy tchotchkes I don’t need at a Con.

I want to have plans with friends and theories and arguments about what happens next in the franchises we love after we’ve just seen their latest installment.

I don’t want everything to go back to normal. I want us to be better for it and for the future and for the most antagonizing forces in life not to be headlines and the administration that makes them.

I want to have an end to this post, but there isn’t just yet.