Every day I wake up in Bako I'm sad and depressed. But yesterday it was particularly bad. Just a dark, dark day. No idea why it hit so badly yesterday. But I know myself well enough to know that when I'm feeling that down, there's really only one thing I can do.
Make it worse.
I started by pulling up photos of my former home. It's a minor house by a major architect and as such it pops up on a fair number of LA architecture sites. For years I was listed as the owner. Not any more. The new owner made swift work of that and now his name is plastered on everything. Obviously, it's his right - he owns it now.
But I still hate him.
I'd hoped there'd be some sense of closure by now, it's been almost six months. But I fear the loss of the house will be an open wound for years to come. One of many, I'm sure.
Next, I decided to Google my former roommate. We'd started out together in the entertainment biz over 20 years ago. After a few years, he switched over into the fashion industry. After toiling in retail for several years he took a huge leap of faith and moved to New York. I lost touch with him over ten years ago, but I'd heard through mutual friends he was working at a prestige fashion industry ad agency.
I didn't find out much more about him through the search.
There were, however, a couple of photos.
One showed him at a Brazilian Vogue party in Rio. Posed with Karl Lagerfeld.
The second showed him art directing a Nautica photo shoot. In Antarctica.
I hate him too.
At least he didn't age well.
It wasn't all doom and gloom though. I saw on Facebook that several former colleagues, the few I knew who still had full-time jobs, were let go in the past two weeks.
That cheered me up.
Not over their misfortune - I wouldn't wish any of this on anyone. But it reminded me that all of this misery wasn't because of some epic personal failure on my part. At least that's what I tell myself. The advertising business everywhere has just completely collapsed. After 20 years in the business, I now don't know a single art director or designer over the age of 30 who's gainfully employed.
But I couldn't dwell on it.
Revisions to the Port-A-Potty ad came in.
