The transformation begins. The property is suddenly alive with Sean and his partner Mary pruning, tilling, weeding and the like. The terraces that run down to the property line in front of the house are beginning to look like vegetable beds and as I have said before the earth is rich and soft after the heavy rain.
The torrential rain caused damage to many roads across the region and this time our neighborhood was not spared. In the mountains above me the upper part of Rambla Pacifico has fallen away. 100 feet of road crumbling off of the mountainside like royal icing off a wedding cake.
The fencing for the goats has been mapped out and at the beginning of March I hope to complete this part of the project. After a long discussion yesterday with Mary and Sean I think I may very well become a vegetarian. This will please those of you who think my plan to eat the goats was cruel.
The only problem for me being in Malibu is what happens to me when everybody leaves at the end of the day. I feel incredibly lonely. So, last night I headed over to Jennifer and Jason’s house near Trancas and fell into a deep sleep on their sofa.
It was fun waking up to their three children and their sleepover friends screaming around the house. We ate thick creamy porridge and black coffee and I drove home.
However, the truth is, before the children woke up I woke up feeling desperately sad. Apart from the usual sense of doom that overcomes me each morning when I remember that half of America is gripped by a terrible financial firestorm-as well as the snowstorms that have snarled the capital and all other major East Coast cities. I was sad because I woke up too many thousands of miles away from the man I want to be waking up besides.
I am falling in love.
Falling in love is not an easy thing to do for a sex addict.
The moment things don’t go my way my default is to retire to a safe and quiet place and lick my wounds. Why should romantic love be so damned painful?
It has been hard these past few days to make sense of what happens to me when the love thang kicks in. Of course I want to see him but he is in NYC and he is otherwise engaged. Why can’t I meet someone who lives close by and is good at farming? Anyone know a good gay farmer who wants to spend his days in total paradise with me..I suppose THAT is the fly in the ointment-me.
Who would want to do that?
PS Obviously anyone in London who knew Lee McQueen is upset by his untimely demise but I am especially sad as he was so maligned after Issie Blow’s death. Artists are fragile creatures, he was especially so. Somehow, at the end of the day, art is simply not enough to sustain anyone.