~This time nine years ago, the last summer I spent up at Hotel Hell, I was in the best physical shape I'd been in since my mid-thirties. I had been religiously doing yoga since the first of the year. I been swimming laps in the pool two/three times a week since mid-May, right after Amy took me to the rock climbing gym, to get back my upper body strength so I could progress to serious rock climbing. And I'd sunbath nude after each swim.
I was tan, healthy and clear minded..and getting more so with each passing day. I am firmly convinced that is the driving force that led to the massive blow-up less than a month later. The Rents needed me to be weak and fuzzy headed to keep me under control...and to justify my status as the Scapegoat.
The final piece in this scenario was my working on an action script that, at the time, seemed like it could be purchased as a straight buy-out for 50G's. There was a possible package deal for projects that could be done for a million per STV movie that a friend was involved with. That it was a long shot, like most 'deals' in Hollywood, was besides the point. Even the hint that I could do so was enough to doom me.
I've left Hollywood behind me for now, possible forever. But my physical health really needs to be addressed. I'm a fucking wreck. I now have room to do yoga. Plus this park is a far more interesting place to walk than Desert Rose, which is a sterile set of small streets and just plain boring. This place is a funky maze.
I have largely recovered from the move and hopefully it will cool off soon – it's been hot and humid even at night – and then I can start in again with exercise. This is on my mind of course because I'm looking at the Big Six Oh this time next week and I need to stay around for a while longer as I still have work to do.
And so it is....
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