ATLAS BELCHED

The herculean hero didn't shrug; he heaved. He ate some bad take-out, or warm sushi; or he drank the water in Mexico. It's obvious; take a look at my world: I'm perplexed and plagued by alarmist predictions that we've begun World War III; I'm governed by an action-hero (literally); and I've been in L.A. for two months, and I'm still twirling in my tiny studio amongst a bazillion boxes. I have so much to unpack and no where to put it. What was I thinking when I packed up my other tiny apartment? I have literally unearthed love letters from high school, ten year old magazines (no, not National Geographic - I gave that up years ago; okay?), a baker's dozen of unmatched socks, and a swatch of an ex-boyfriend's underwear. Is my Prozac not working? Do I need Ritalin?

No, I refuse to believe that I might need pharmaceuticals. (I may need another cigarette, but that's different. Really, it is.) I think the chaos is due to the world being out of balance, and me right there along with it. So why aren't I doing more Yoga? Eating more fresh fruits and vegetables? Having my colon cleansed? I do strive for balance and wellness, but there's so much on my plate I find that now I can barely meditate for ten minutes. My to-do list ends up intruding, or I hear the lyrics to some Jessica Simpson drivel, or I just quit because I think, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool to watch the dust bunnies grow?" What's a new Angelino to do?

The other morning, instead of sitting to write (this blog, or my new screenplay Wish List, or the novel, etc., etc., etc, ad infinitum) I decided to get out there and do something about it. I decided to go shopping. So, I grabbed a coffee, a fresh pack of Marlboro's, and took off in search of some fiduciary healing. (Marvin Gaye would be my guide...) Now, any kind of shopping in this city is absolutely insane. Even if you go to "the mall" there are questions, so many questions, to answer: which mall? Which side of town? And the dreaded, Where to park? But furniture shopping? Furniture shopping in Los Angels when you're broke? Might as well put my social security number right up on the internet. But I opted to be positive and optimistic; somewhere I knew that I'd find a thrift shop or a lovely design boutique that was having a sale. In reality, I found both. Only the thrift stores were actually more like homeless shelters; and even with the boutique's fifty per cent off, the fabulous mid-century bookshelf I wanted was two thousand dollars. I almost fainted, right there on a handy 1930's fainting couch. Instead, I plopped myself gently down and almost cried. Okay; actually, I did cry. But, immediately after being escorted out by security, I decided to pull up my boot straps (and my pants - I had tried to sleep my way out of a ticket) and continued on my heroic journey. If Oedipus could do it; so could I.

I used an entire tank of gas, and killed at least a dozen species of plant and animal alike, driving around town. But, the gods were with me; and Atlas clearly took a break from praying at the porcelain one, because I did finally lay my hands on an affordable and stylish bookcase. I also snatched up a handy little guide to local yoga and wellness centers. One-stop shopping. And I didn't break the bank. Not bad. Now, if only Atlas can do so well with the spinning discus we call home...