Route 66 and then some…

I did some research on the new book this weekend.

I fought with Vicky.

I really hated myself.

I ended up exhausted.

As for the details… Vicky and I went out to Arizona this weekend to hang out with her friends, Billie and Dan. On the way, we turned onto Route 66 at Topock, Arizona. Quite a bit of the new book takes place along that road and I thought I’d be good to see some of that, get a feel for it. We went though Topock, stopped in Golden Shores for a couple reference shots, and drive all the way up to Oatman, which is really the stinky armpit of America. Yep, I’m a southern California dude.

Driving along Route 66 gives you a great idea why the interstate highway system was built. My god, it takes forever! We got down to Billie and Dan’s place early in the evening – everything should have been fine.

But we did that thing that couples do, where we fought the whole weekend without letting on to anybody else what was happening. Now, I gotta speak for myself here but I felt really shitty about it. Ever have one of those arguments where you just keep saying the wrong thing – and if you were right to begin with you just end up feeling like an ass? Well, that was me. And I didn’t even apologize.

Vicky, I’m sorry.

I carry a lot of baggage around with me and, sometimes, I’m just not the nice guy most people think of me as.

And I don’t even know how much of it had to do with Vicky.

I’ll give you a little insight. In the next two days, I’m supposed to go audition for a show in Long Beach. I’m supposed to audition because I told Vicky I would. I also told some actor friends of mine I would. But I’m not supposed to go because I love acting. It’s like writing these books or the plays before them. They have nothing to do with my happiness, when all is said and done. It’s just more product. Me pumping out more product. And there are times when I just want to be that guy who sits down with a beer and watches some TV, you know?

Sometimes, I get so sick of “actor Ken” and “writer Ken” that I could puke. Trying to be a success in life is sometimes more demanding than the expectations other people put on me to be a success. Does anybody else feel like this or is it just me? I just get so fucking tired of this endless self-promotion – writing my books, pitching my books, auditioning, rehearsing, coming up with new shit…

So, it was an exhausting weekend.

Then, I went to bed last night and woke up a couple of hours later… diffusing a bomb.

It wasn’t a bomb, per se… I was sleepwalking. The parts of the bomb were my alarm clock, a pen, a couple of Vicky’s ear rings… I tried going to sleep again but found myself at the bottom of the stairs… so I was awake.

And I took today off work.

Now, I’ll go to the audition, of course. I’ll continue writing this book. I’ll be “actor Ken” and “writer Ken”, the trained seal life has turned me into – I might even like it from time to time – but I just want you to know that there are times when I’d rather be anyone than that person life’s circumstances has turned me into… And I tell you this because I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels that way. I’m just the only one diffusing bombs in my sleep with hoop ear rings.