Forgetting to love

Hi Blog Land.

I am having a bit of trouble getting my characters to fall in love, or to display “real” love…between “real” people. I don’t know if this is because my relationships have been precarious, or if it’s because I am currently riding on a different wavelength from my partner. We are going through a nasty hump, but it’s nothing to be dramatic about. We are both aware of it and just allowing each other to express the apathy that comes after being with someone for over six year. Ugh, you smell! Ugh, walk faster! Ugh, ugh, ugh! You know what I’m talking about; trivial situations that don’t really mean anything. Or at least don’t really amount to anything that means we are horrible people. Passive aggressive, yes. Weird, yes. Unwilling to grow up, definitely.

My poor characters meet in high school, and they have a child during their last semester. Although I know someone who’s gone through this situation –what I’m really having trouble is, getting into the mind of my male character. Why? Because he also will also enlist in the army. I have interviewed two veterans in this process, and quite frankly the military experience is a sensitive subject. Aside from there being a lot of different titles in the Army, there are also some topics that were really uncomfortable for some of my subjects. I wonder if this is the character I must let go of. It hurts me to say this, but he might be. Or maybe I can work more on my lead character, and focus on him afterwards. Right now, they’re not gelling.

They always end up in some argument in my head, or some dramatic situation that causes my character to do something extreme, which frankly doesn’t fit my current style.

Maybe I’m afraid to go there.

Well, we’ll see where it goes. If you have any good suggestions about the development of love – please share. I have a good idea of my experiences, but sometimes it’s good to get some feedback outside of my personal circle. Ugh, this feels like the time my male acting teacher stood in front of class and asked me to imitate his sexy walk. Apparently, I sucked at being a sexy woman. My life!


Back to people watching and eavesdropping.


Too Many Windows or The Cat Spirit

Have you ever walked naked in your living room? Ever wonder if there was anyone watching you?

Well, I don’t technically LIVE in this hotel, but it will be a “kind-of-home” for the next couple of weeks. I’ve been trying to write a composition in French for a few hours now, but no luck. It’s pretty difficult actually, my grammar in English is kind of sketchy as it is—but I’m trying my best, Reader. I am originally from Peru. Cut me some slack Language gods.

The other day, after I had exasperated myself from writing the France entry, I decided to rest. That evening, I had an ugly nightmare. I picked up a book to read, and then let it fall gently upon my chest and stretched my awkward limbs (like a daddy long leg spider) on the couch. It was misty-warm out, so I left the window open.

As I explained in the last post, I love ambiance noise, especially French ambiance noise. It’s magical to me. I know that in a few weeks, all this will be gone. As always in life: fantasies, fairies, and farts—all ephemeral.   Still, I want to share this story. It is a strange story about cats, naps, windows, and sex…and one more thing. Accidental creeping.   I pride myself in being a creeper (for writing that is), but I am not usually a creeper just to be creepy. However, this was all an accident. Okay, I will just tell it.

It all began because a spirit visited me as I slept on the couch. I will call it the CAT SPIRIT.

The Dream:

A cat had found itself in the hotel room. I came out of the bathroom, and there it was sitting by the window looking inside. I wondered how it got into the room. “It must be a flying cat,” I thought to myself in my dream. So then I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. It was not good water, so I put it aside. Then I went back to the small living room space, and the cat was now licking it’s paw in the middle of the room. She was making herself at home. I was like, “Non chat! Allez!” or something in my broken French. It just stared at me and kept licking its paw. I walked over to it to pick it up, and as I reached down it — the cat went bezerko! It crawled up my arm in swirls as if it was a snake trying to wrap around me. It reached my head and scratched me everywhere. “Non chat!” I kept saying. I finally grabbed a hold of it and threw it out the window.

: /

I know. It’s a violent dream. Don’t worry! I am aware that it is a horrible thing to throw a cat out the window, but anything is possible in dreams. As I walked over to see the damage, I cringed expecting guts, blood, brain and, well, death, really.  There was nothing on the ground. No cat, no thing. “I’m mad,” I said to myself. I didn’t know what else to say. I was in the hotel and I thought I was awake.


Then a cold breeze pushed it’s way through the window, and I found my legs curled up next to me with my oversized sweater attempting to cover my entire body. I touched my arms frantically to see if the scratches were there, and they were not. “It was a dream,” I thought to myself. I relaxed on the couch again and stretched my toes. In the corner of my eye, however, I see a couple on a balcony.

They are talking with their faces close to one another, the way the French do, and I sighed. How romantic I said. Then the man grabs the woman and pushes her against the balcony. They grope, touch, kiss, push against the bars with their bodies and nuzzle their faces into one another like animals in a petting zoo.

What was I doing, you ask?

I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to watch what they were doing, but I was transfixed — lost, even–between reality and a dream. Where am I? Is this happening? Am I still dreaming? and — Wow, that’s really hot! Etc. etc. etc.

All I have to say is that, here in Paris, my neighbors are not shy. There are way too many windows in this city. You can see into them, and they can see into yours. I wonder if there was someone watching me frozen in shock from all the passionate man-handling in the top floor of the apartment building across the way. Maybe the Cat Spirit was trying to warn me about the lack of passion in my life. Why did I have to nap so late? Why did I have the perfect view of this couple? Why couldn’t I keep myself from staring?


Because watching the French love on one another is like watching the word passion manifest in front of your eyes. There is no space to breathe, no piece of flesh unnoticed, no touch avoided—it’s simple, sexy, and very VERY real. I suppose that in that moment I realized how unreal I was, and how real they were. How they were able to live, and I was living in sleep—almost like death, and definitely alone. Alone and not being passionate. It made me feel longing and sadness all at once.    Ugh.

There are too many windows in Paris. Note to self, do not walk around naked in the living room when the curtains are opened.


I just woke up to some crap gray light bursting through the cracks of my blinds and a slap to the ass. Wish I could say it gets kinkier than that, but no. It stops right there. Part of me is glad it didn’t go any further, I think my mouth guard doesn’t really fall under the category of sexy.

Remnants of black eye liner from the night before remind me of our late night excursion. It spreads towards my cheeks as if I had been crying, but no. I just sweat a lot when I share a bed with a man. Woah girl, what’d you do last night? Yeah, I know you want to know. I wish I could give you drama, reader. Was it a party? No. Was it a club? No. Did you get in a fight? Ha! Not since the third grade. No. No. It was a movie and ice cream night. And it was spectacu-LAR.

I lead an exciting life, as you can see.

Anyways, this morning of crap gray skies has inspired me to reach for some oatmeal. The life of cray cray party people like me need to have a break from excitement. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m too wild.

So I sat up in bed and pulled down some blinds to verify that indeed it was gray out. Indeed it is. As I opened both eyes, allowing the overcast brightness to shine on my greasy face, I smile through my mouthguard and enjoy the splendor of fog outside my window. Ah…to live in the bay.

Today I will OATMEAL away. I hope I still have some Apple Cinnamon left.