Will's Window: Vol. 1

Being attractive and fit is social currency anywhere, but here in Los Angeles...my goodness! The pressure to be some-kind-of-hot is tangible, like the bounty of cake and bulge in my face every day at the gym. So strong is the pressure in my…spirit…yes, that’s it, that I have begun the 75 Soft Challenge: a 75-day mind and body fitness challenge internet-popularized by 75 Hard, which I refuse to do, because I like myself. Still, summer approaches, and now my 75-Soft watch begins. As does my umpteenth-thousand and tenth attempt to lose weight and frolick as a dolphin, not at whale, with all the gays at Ginger Rogers beach.

That is, if there will be beaching on Ginger Rogers at all this summer. The Palisades and Eaton fires are still burning, a full two weeks after they started. That’s insane! The devastation is unimaginable. All those poor people losing their homes; their keepsakes and family heirlooms; their pets! Good Lord, there are no words! And the winds picked up here again today. These Santa Anas are no fucking joke.

“Global Warming doesn’t exist,” my ass!

Speaking of non-existent things...I am still unemployed. I got really far, before the Christmas holiday, with a company I was eager, prepared, and excited to work for. Five interviews, over a month a half, full of me puttin’ on the ritz to get a damn job, only to be ghosted for two weeks before receiving an, “Everyone thoroughly enjoyed meeting with you. Unfortunately...” email. What really sucked was my would-be boss, in our conversation, gave me every indication the job was mine, short of saying the words; which, I guess I should have known. But dagnabbit…way to set a brotha up!

Devastated.

That was a little over a month ago. I applied to a few jobs before I realized everyone was checked-out for the holidays. So, I threw my hands up and reclined in what is now, on record, the saddest Christmas and New Year of my adult life. Outside of cooking, which I mainly did for my mom, I couch-rotted in misery both holidays.

Still haven’t bounced back, tbh. My life is in shambles, and I am not okay; I feel defeated, hopeless, and bumish. Very Lawrence, season one.

I gotta get back on my feet, man. Posthaste.
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Oh, and Donald Trump is trash.
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Blessings.