Loft Life Residency Week #7
Marty Supreme spoilers, real wood, and dreaming big.
I am writing from the kitchen table of the apartment I’m housesitting. I’m housesitting in a part of Brooklyn I’ve never lived in. I’m now living here until I move. The bedroom has a huge floor to ceiling window. I refuse to lower the blinds down for it. I wake up with sunlight. I’ve cooked every day since I arrived. I am feeling better than I have in weeks.
There is a chair in this house that looks exactly like the chairs we had at our dining table when I was really young. My family used the dining chairs and table from my dad’s childhood home. They were an Ethan Allen set and my grandparents bought them in Detroit. The chairs had this curved bar that arched the back of the chair and extended out as armrests. Sitting down felt like getting hugged from behind. One time I wrote my name under the table, probably when I was five or six, and I’m not sure if my parents know that. When I was nine or so, my parents decided they wanted the local Amish family to make a new table and chairs. It took almost two years of corresponding letters, waiting on a list, deciding which wood to go with, then making the furniture without electricity, and finally picking up the pieces. Now that I’m thinking about that, I think my parents waited until after I got done writing on family heirlooms for them to get the new, custom furniture.
I can feel that the table I’m writing this on is real wood. Like the tables I grew up at. There is something incredibly grounding about surrounding yourself with real, Earth materials. Yes, plastic is made from oil, which is extracted from the Earth, but sitting at something so firm, so heavy, so steadfast instead of shaky, movable, and readily available is different. In my new home, I would love to avoid IKEA and particleboard furniture of the sort, if I can. Whenever I speak on something I want, it appears. For example, I started thinking about not wanting particleboard furniture anymore last week and the bartender I’ve been befriending at Birdy’s offered to help me find some vintage furniture, since he sources from estate sales and garage sales in the tristate. Earlier this week I needed a garage for something soon in Los Angeles, and someone I went to college with reached out with an offer after seeing me beg on Instagram. I have always gotten what I wanted: it may not be the exact time or moment I wanted it, but I always get it.
I really don’t feel like writing right now. It’s like when you get to therapy and you’re like, “I have nothing to talk about because everything is great!” but that’s also when it’s about to be the craziest session of your life.
I’m feeling very strange not being in my closet and being in a real home. My mouth’s been agape with the awe of having so much space to walk around in, and so much to soak in. Like, an east facing window and watching the sun come up every morning, an espresso machine to dial in and taste, having both oatmilk AND whole milk in the fridge, a dishwasher(!!!).When I shower I challenge myself to play the most insane lineup of songs I can think of. Today’s cue was: “Christmas Wrapping” by The Waitresses, “I’m The Slime” by Frank Zappa, “Girls Gone Wild” by JT, “O Ruthless Great Divine Director” by Lingua Ignota, “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima” by Krysztof Penderecki and Jonny Greenwood, and “Little Saint Nick” by The Beach Boys. I properly cooked (i.e. no microwave) for the first time in almost three months this weekend. I forgot that’s how I’ve pulled myself out of slumps before. How connected the mind and the gut are. I forgot I’m great at cooking. I got dinner with my friend Nicole this week and we were talking about our depression meals, wherein I realized I’ve been eating my depression meals for the last few weeks. A depression meal is anything that is mindless, not an insane challenge in texture (like yogurt, smoothies, rice cakes), but nutritionally you can gaslight yourself to say things like, “but I’m still getting my protein.”
For the last few weeks I’ve been consumed, aside from the misery, guilt, shame, and heartbreak, with spreadsheets, email threads, and rallying the troops again for a project. I moved around a lot of energy this year and I know I can’t go back to the person I was before. I think about her a lot: me, at the start of the year. Her, scared and doing it anyway. I think she knew a lot would change, but I don’t think she would’ve imagined it like that. A friend of mine in London is going through a very similar situation and told me he’d “rather be alone than be a coward.” Exactly.
[A very slight spoiler, which I’d argue you can guess this dialogue from the trailers, but I do talk about Marty Supreme ahead. “Grayce, how did you see it? It’s not released yet.” I live in New York City.]
Marty Supreme didn’t change my life but it did validate that I’m insane. There’s a part of the movie where he tells his friend since childhood that he’s the one who has it worse off because he has one singular mission on Earth and she doesn’t, which makes her lucky that she doesn’t have that burden of excellence to live up to. I will back off on more spoilers but there’s many situations he puts himself in in order to pursue his dreams, some of which I’ve similarly done. I’m hesitant to say this but: I feel the same way. Like Marty, I, too, feel this ever-present burden to do this mission with my finite time on Earth, and as excellently as possible. I know how it sounds, and this belief has been troublesome and has cost a lot of relationships in my life, especially when I say this with the context of the scene I’m referencing. I’ve felt this way since I can remember. I don’t feel chosen by this, but as I’ve matured I feel more so the honor and discipline this requires above all else. I waited so long to get to where I am, why would I hesitate any longer? In my professional life I have never done anything half-assed or half-hearted. Someone with less talent and more audacity will come along if I don’t act on it. For better or for worse I am the Marty Mauser in my life: athletic, skilled, and ruthless. I refuse to go away.
I had a really big audition this week. No other details, but I will say that 1.) it was not for an AI company and 2.) it had numbers attached that made me realize how serious this was and what caliber I’m breaking into. I have been to so many callbacks this year, which, now that I’m thinking about this, it’s been my most callbacks/pinned/avail checks I’ve had in one year. That feels on par. I feel like I’m pulling myself up the mountain right now. I’m statistically getting closer to booking every time.
Addiction is so funny because my first thought after I unpacked here was, “This would be a great house to get high in.” My undergrad experience was that: somehow ending up in expensive New York real estate and getting absolutely fucked up. One of my first penthouse experiences wasn’t a real party, but first semester of college some friends and I ended up at a friend’s dad’s friend’s penthouse. We slapped bags of red wine across the all white living room and my weed guy made a delivery to us. I got incredibly crossfaded and everything felt like a gentle wash over my body: every emotion and thought melted into a warm bath, fully submerging me, with my nose being the only part of contact with the air. It was also wintertime. Memories like this come up a lot during the winter, not just with the holidays, but also a time when I used to get fucked up as a means to escape the sharp, cold reality of how alone I felt. Funny; I am alone again. Not funny; I don’t feel alone.
Thank you all for reading this week’s residency log. A few things:
Do I give divorced mom or divorced dad energy? There’s a right answer to this.
If you live in NYC and could help me pack in the next week, please call/text/dm me because I need some help.
I hope you have a wonderful holiday season! I’m attending a Feast of The Seven Fishes tomorrow, and on Christmas I’m spending it with friends throughout the day. Wherever you are, I hope you are healthy and have a great day, whatever it holds for us. This week’s playlist is below. Who else is pairing Lady Gaga, The Pogues, and Chumbawamba? That’s what I thought. Happy holidays! DREAM BIG!!!!!!!!!!