PEP TALK-ISH

I apologize for not responding sooner. Life got a little hectic for me, as it does, running frantic and full speed like a shitty car trying to make it over a mountain pass. I say this with a lot of experience having driven a four speed toyota tercel with bicycle-like tires through Montana in the winter on my way from Wisconsin to Oregon. Also, my laborious commute in and out of the Valley into the City everyday probably adds to that feeling.

It started with my family flying out for Thanksgiving. They flew out the Wednesday before as did my sister Sarah from Denver. We spent the first night ordering in dinner, watching Caleb perform scenes from toddler-hood, listening to music and drinking beer. Everything was wonderful, until I woke up Thanksgiving morning with a stomach flu or food poisoning. Then everything they said made my stomach turn. I made an effort to be patient with them, but the sliver of contempt brought on by barfing my way through a day of delicious food grew into full blown annoyance as the weekend went on.

My father treats Los Angeles like a puzzle and tries to solve it every time he's here, saying things like, "If we took a left here and drove a few blocks down we'd be at the Grove right?" or more randomly, "There's a high school around here right? What's the name of the high school in this area? One time I went for a walk from our hotel to Hollywood Blvd. and I walked by what I think is a famous LA high school." This is endearing, but annoying on a clear day. Factor in holding a barf bag in a car in bumper to bumper traffic on the 405 while getting questions about where Orange County begins and LA County ends and that's me.

My stomach was destroyed for the following week, but I managed to muster strength enough to celebrate Caleb's Birthday at Travel Town Railroad Museum in Griffith park. My family left and their visit seemed like a quick snap. I was nostalgic for their company for the next day or two, feeling depressed at the Starbucks where we shared a coffee or on the 405 where we shared the misery of my stomach.

I could feel myself becoming a person I don't want to become. It's a person I've been and I don't like him. He's annoying. It's a gloomy version of me, a Bizarro Drew. Not that I'm sparkling with joy and energy, but I don't want to feel sorry for myself for no good reason. The tragedy of a weekend gone wrong is hardly something Shakespeare would consider putting into production.

I've invented a mental outlook to combat this side of me. It's another side of me, a character who lives in my head. I call him simply, Positive Drew. Positive Drew is like an old throw back hip hop motivational speaker. He's the kind of guy that would come to your middle school and rap about respecting your fellow classmates while you enjoyed your hot lunch on a rainy day. He raps overly positive rhymes in my head. He says his name a lot. He says shit like, "Driving to work like a jerk? Cheer up man, I'm Positive, Positive, Positive Drew!" That doesn't even rhyme I know, Positive Drew is that weak at rapping, but he's confident in his message and it cheers me up.

My point is this. You're living in Paris, you're an artist, everyone loves you and you're on an adventure. Do you need a house? No. Do you need a resume? No, you're a designer/ artist you need a portfolio. Should you be in the states? Maybe in New York with your love interest and some old friends? You can always move there next. "In France eating bread, Not in bed acting dead! Positive, Positive, Positive Sonya!"

Also Disneyland helps, I went there the weekend after Thanksgiving. Caleb's mind almost exploded. I think he's still having flashbacks. We went on a Winnie the Pooh Ride and he keeps saying, "Winnie da Woo House!" So great.