Dear God,
I couldn’t watch The Substance. It was super boring. I only made it about twenty minutes before I had my fill. You can tell Demi Moore is confident—and a bit of a freak. But then again, I’m not a freak. I would easily simulate sex and be naked on screen if it weren’t for my values and my fear of displeasing You. After all, I already did porn. I’m completely free with my body—it’s art to me. Sex is art to me too.
The strange thing is, being raped and drugged in the past has completely turned me off to both men and women. I can’t stand sex. The mere thought of someone putting their tongue or penis inside me makes me want to vomit. I pray that You help me with this. It’s the reason I have no interest whatsoever in getting married, and no desire for children either. I’d rather adopt teenagers and give them a “good life,” but even that feels risky. So I guess I’ll just stay to myself and be good to those who have been good to me.
I gave my neighbor across the hall a gift basket. I have a funny feeling I was the only person who gave him a Christmas gift. He was so happy to receive it—“So cool!” he hooted. I swear, I don’t know anything about this man, even though he’s lived across the hall from me for seven years, but I want him to live with me someday. One day we’ll grow old together. I have this funny feeling.
As for Shervy, I’ll always care for him. I hope he finds love and has lots of sex one day. I know that when he does, he’ll drop me like a hot potato and I’ll never see his face again. A woman could easily take him away from me with a simple kiss. But until that day comes, I’ll take care of him too—especially since he’s loved me for so long and takes care of me now.
I feel amazing right now. I’ve been doing this thing where I eat half of my meals and save the rest for later. I just ate the other half of yesterday’s breakfast, and I feel full and satisfied. I’ll eat the other portion of my dinner tonight.
Today I have studio. I’m working on my first mixtape!!!!! I’m so excited. I love the music I create—I really do. I listen to my own music more than anyone else, except Ariana Grande. I like her music. I guess you could say she’s my favorite singer—but not really. I prefer my own voice. There’s a certain kind of emotion locked inside it. You can hear sadness, sex, anger, confidence, and insecurity all at once. I think it’s because of everything I’ve experienced. I used to want a strong, majestic voice, but I think that was overcompensating. I’d rather just be who I am.
I’ve decided that my two favorite episodics in the world are Sex and the City and Entourage. With that in mind, if I ever did an episodic, it would be city-based with a main ensemble cast—and of course, I’d want to be the main character. The problem is, the world would have to see me as colorless. It’s very rare to have someone other than a blonde or brunette as the lead in a show where ethnicity isn’t the central aesthetic.
In real life, my boyfriend is Middle Eastern. My best friends are Hispanic and Black. My music friends are Black. My coworkers are white. The kids in my class are Chinese, Hispanic, and Black. When is the world going to catch up? The only time I see this kind of mix on camera is in commercials or films like Avatar. Otherwise, it’s a Black film, a white film, an Indian film, or an Asian film—or a white lead with a few other ethnicities sprinkled into the background or given smaller roles. Sad but true, whether the industry wants to admit it or not. Disney has at least caught on that America is a mixed breed. Now if only other networks would catch up.
Anyway, I’m happy to be in bed—naked—and enjoying a good series. I know I need to get up soon and start working. It would be smart to go to the laundromat and work on my music while my clothes wash and dry. Today’s goal is to collect all of my songs and place them into one album. That’s the goal. Then I’ll promote it as a mixtape. I want it on CD and vinyl by the time I get to California, ready for Iroc to hear.
Iroc is the next big honcho You’ve placed in my path. You’ve placed heavy hitters in my path before—Vincent Cirrincione, Lionel Richie, Jay Roewe—and now Iroc. The kind of person who can make one phone call and change my entire life. Before, I showed desperation. This time, I’m playing my cards differently. I’m being nonchalant. I’m not paying the bill for meetings. I’m not calling or emailing for help. I’m not trying too hard with my appearance. I’m going to be effortlessly chic—not in clothes, but in energy. I have this special way of coming across rich even when I’m not. I don’t need labels or a fancy car. Some of the richest people I know in L.A. look homeless and drive old cars because they hide their wealth. It’s all about knowing your true value.
I know I can write songs as well as Taylor Swift. I know my mind can shape music the way I want it to sound, like Michael Jackson. I have the vision. I may not play instruments or know the notes by name, but I know what I’m talking about. When Iroc told me I only have filler songs and no hit yet, it took everything in me not to say “fuck you.” Instead, I let his jackass side come out so I could better understand what I’m dealing with.
Father, please help me know what to say to anyone who is an asshole toward me. One thing I noticed in Entourage is that when characters are insulted by agents or managers, they walk away—but not before speaking their truth. Men can do that. Women have to play differently. I’m not a game player, but the industry is a chessboard.
I love some men, Father, but men with power bother me. People hated when Marilyn Monroe gained power through her production company, and since then, men have found ways to prevent that from happening again. Some women, like Reese Witherspoon and Margot Robbie, have their own production companies, but they still go through gatekeepers. Taylor Swift broke the code by selling her film directly to cinemas, but she already had something tangible fans wanted. Film is different. It’s hard to crave something you haven’t experienced. I trust that You will figure this all out for me.
Maybe—just maybe—Jay Roewe isn’t completely gone as a possible help to my career. He did try to help me. I think he was just done hearing from me and wanted me to move on. I held no value for him. Still, I pray You make me heavy on his mind and move him to help me.
I’m still in bed, rambling. Entourage makes me think about my life—wishing I lived in a mansion with people who supported me, with a publicist, manager, and agent who helped my career, and a life where I get to enjoy myself. I wish I could wake up and see my parents already in the kitchen, or have friends to ride around with.
I’ve always wanted true friends. Maybe they’ll come later. Maybe soon. Maybe I’m just a lone wolf. That’s why I work with children. They talk nonstop, and in special education it’s okay to hug them. I squeeze and hug them all the time. I love my classroom so much. I can’t get enough of their hugs, holding their hands, and talking to them. You’d think I want kids of my own, but I don’t. I like giving them back.
My dad just called to see what I have planned for today—it’s been a good morning so far. Thank You for my life right now. I pray that I get everything accomplished. Please give Dino energy and wisdom to help create a great mixtape. Give me guidance, Father. Show me successful mixtapes and help me understand what will make mine successful. Protect me on my journey to and from the studio.
I love You with all my heart.
Amen.
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