Wednesday in Thailand.
It is still Tuesday in the US. Election Day. A New Hope for the Future comes to us today from New York City. It is the only good news I have received from home in a very long while. We are all New Yorkers today.
The news cycle is always such a shitshow over there. Yesterday I watched another video of a woman being dragged out of her car and assaulted by I.C.E. in the middle of the street in broad daylight. It was terrifying. What has become of my beloved home?
I think of all my friends and family who came to our country and worked hard to build a stable home for their families and futures. Now it is all being torn apart by this reign of terror, made especially for reality TV cameras to document. The entire thing just sickens me to my stomach.
I can’t do anything about it right now. I’m stuck out here floating around aimlessly in the SEA. I just have to wait it out until it’s time to go home and clean up the mess.
For now, I have to get serious. I really do need to tend to my financial and professional house. It’s been neglected in favor of reckless adventures down at the docks with some wild, wild cats. Love that for me, but it’s time to get serious or I will be homeless and that’s not something I’m meant to be.
Technically, I am “homeless.” This is why I prefer the term “unhoused.” I prefer not to be “unhoused,” as in, living without shelter. Shelter is important. Should I take shelter on a beach somewhere? Where is that lovely Irish seaside cottage when you need it? I guess I have to “officially” become a Guinness Mistress for that little perk. Do you think I have to submit a CV with lots of experience to apply for that job? Or is it more of an apprenticeship kinda thing?
Hahaha, I’m just sitting here giggling to myself now. What more purpose is there to living life than finding muses who inspire me to write such epic poetry about them? Seize the Day. Kiss the hot guy in the elevator. Make metaphors about it later. Rinse and repeat. Get those passport stamps.
Hahaha.
It must be fun to watch the CCTV footage of me writing at my laptop, giggling to myself. I’m sure it’s very entertaining to watch, especially after a lifetime of being sent on shitass errands for the Boss. Just think, this week it’s someone’s job to monitor my activities and report them to someone. Imagine how that must be. Imagine being given the job of following me around to assess my threat level and all you get is footage of me giggling to myself on my laptop about hot beef stew.
Amazing.
That must be very refreshing to watch, hahaha.
Can you even imagine this interaction? I can:
Minder: I got the report on Betsey Horton you asked for.
Boss: Good. Did you find out why this Posh American Lady is hanging around down at the bar with all of that riff raff?
Minder: She’s writing stories about people, sir. You were right. She is writing about you.
Boss: I knew it! What kind of stories is she making up about me and the other lads down at the end of the bar?
Minder: She says that, and this a direct quote from her blog, “kissing you gives me the same warm feeling as eating a bowl of hot Irish beef stew.”
Boss: [long, stunned silence] She said that? About me?
Minder: She did. And many other things too.
Boss: … Such as?
Minder: Don’t shoot the messenger, but… again, this is just a direct quote. These are her words, not mine. She said she was very annoyed that you were too drunk to get it up.
Boss: [rolls his eyes and sighs heavily] Ahhhh, shite.
Minder: I’ll just leave the whole report here, sir.
Boss: Gee… Thanks.
It could be a whole series! Hahaha, sorry to the other writer haunting that bar, but I’ve got the jump on you on this one. Scooped ya again!
Hilarious.
I can just hear my dead dad’s voice in my head right now: “Betsey, this is serious. You don’t know what you’re messing with! This is dangerous, rah rah rah! Stop laughing about it right now! This is your future at stake!”
And then he would tell me a whole story about the mafia and that time he worked at the TGI Friday’s as a waiter and got his wallet stolen and had to run home and then go to work at the steel factory and listen to the machines grinding his sanity and soul away and that’s why he went to Harvard and became a lawyer and he didn’t go through all of that so I could throw away all of my opportunities chasing around riff raff down by the docks and blah blah blah.
Oh my god. What is this Obi-Wan Kenobi Force Ghost Shit? Oh, now you choose to act like my father now that you’re an unsettled spirit who can’t move on in the afterlife. How convenient for you.
Oh, and then of course we have the classic, “I lived in Lebanon as an exchange student before the war and my host family had to flee their home and country and I knew so many people who died and you need to be more grateful for everything you’ve been given in this life.”
The immigrant guilt trip is so real in the US. So real.
I guess all I have to say to him is… you’re the one who told me to become a writer instead of going to law school. What did you expect?
The answer is for me to marry a lawyer. Yuck. No thank you. I’ve met enough lawyers in this lifetime to last me for the next seven generations. I’m good on the lawyers. Thank you.
Oh yeah, he never said that directly, but the strong insinuation was that I find a rich, stable man to take care of me so I can forever sit in the library scribbling away in my notebooks. Well, that didn’t happen. The deal I made with the Indian Guy fell through, and the wallpaper in the library was covered in black mold and slowly poisoning me to insanity. That’s why I ran away to the other side of the world and spend my time gallivanting about with the local riff raff in the house of ill-repute down by the dock, much to the disapproval of my entire family.
So there it is.
A random person just approached my table and asked me if I am a professional writer. They said they want to be a writer too. They asked me a lot of questions about how to become a writer. I told them they need to sit down and write every day. Pick a spot. Same time, same place, bring the notebook and write, even if nothing comes out that day. Keep grinding away and eventually you will have a book. Then you can worry about the whole process it takes to get it published, which is a long process. Until then, you’re not getting anywhere without an actual manuscript in your hand. Period.
I also advised him to be prepared for lots of rejection and to throw a lot of unfinished projects in a box to collect dust in a closet somewhere. Can’t get attached to one project. That’s the mistake I made with Bloody Mary’s. And with Andrew. I was attached to Andrew for too long. It was something like 10 years, I think. He was my Muse for a very, very long time. Too long, I think. Never again.
So now we’ve moved on, and it’s like, okay, but yeah, let me take my own advice that I just gave to this guy and find a job to support myself and pay my bills while I write about whatever the fuck it is I’m even writing about it right now.
“All Over The Place” indeed.
Well, that was a fun episode. Let’s sit here and stare at this blog and try to turn it into a business that makes money. Haha, funny. Hilarious. Somehow we will make it work…
Off now. I wanted to find a park to do yoga in today but the weather does not look like it will agree. I guess I will just have to stay at home in the studio today. Might as well enjoy my luxury high-rise space while I can still afford it. I won’t be living the high life much longer if I keep up this ridiculous behavior. Ugh.