Noise in the Shape of Writing

I am going to try to write more. Sometimes I go through needlessly angsty Mondays knowing that if I don't write something (Monday evenings are the deadline for the weekly sketch show I write for), I will feel horrible about it the next day. I shouldn't feel that way. I should be anxious to write. (Super bonus angsty deterring factor is the promise I have that I will read every one of my friends' blogs (that I know of) each time I publish in my blog... and that can be quite time consuming!)

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Each day as I commute to work, I tend to take a pretty involuntary, subliminally rehearsed route. 5, 170, 101, Cahuenga, Sunset. I could (and do) very easily drift off into contemplation only to find that I am miles down the road, having miraculously steered in the correct direction for several turns and lights.

Part of my daily jaunt, however, had become the habitual avoidance of the crazy white lady.

Crazy white lady -- or person who staggers through all lanes of Sunset traffic knocking on car windows, for short -- is part of my routine. Get in left lane of Sunset westbound. Ignore banging on passenger window. Promise self it's okay to stiff the needy because I know I donate elsewhere.

Problem is, I don't. At least not yet. I made a deal that I would not feel bad about the needy for as long as I am needy myself.

Now I have a job. And it pays pretty good. (Though I'd trade it all for a season writing for the Daily Show, natch). Still, I hug the left lane of that boulevard from Cahuenga to Fairfax every morning... reflexively... like the way I duck my head as I step into the shower under the perilously low, head-bash-hungry, metal frame... the one I call Mr. Hurts-a-Lot.

The no-job thing worked to assuage the guilt for at least half a year.
The checks I sent to NOW and the ACLU worked for several years prior to that.
And the fact that my parents give at church worked for quite a number of years while I was in college.

Now I am back to having no excuse.
Today I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I knew work was going to spring for a free lunch. I had no excuse not to hand over the scrumptious delight on bread to crazy white lady.

And I was going to. I know I was... but she wasn't there.

Now I don't know if I was.

I do have a strong opinion about it all, though. I feel that being accosted when there is a perfectly good soup kitchen nearby -- probably within a few blocks of anywhere in L.A. -- is something I am justified in nipping in the bud. Also, why should I choose this person to sustain simply because they had the guts to ask? Aren't all the timid needy persons as worthy, if not *more* worthy?

It seems unfair.

Soon our company will be moving to Beverly Hills/Mid Wilshire-ish (a block from Kirsten again!) I will no longer drive past crazy white lady. I will be driving past crazy rich SUV bitch and bastard.

But I will still be eating PB&J.

And I will probably look lke crazy white boy to them.