.SOMETIMES RAW.

Do you know the actor Chris Hemsworth? I don’t know if you have heard but Chris Hemsworth is starring in his latest movie “Tyler Rake: Extraction 2“ which was filmed in Vienna, Austria. They filmed right next to UNO city and I could hear explosions, helicopters flying all over the place and gunshots. I told my friend at work, “I really think he is good-looking. I wonder how it would be if I would be married to him.” My friend responded, “How do you think it is? Amazing. He is super rich and has everything you will ever need.” All this commotion triggered the idea to write my own screenplay.

(At the United Nations International Center – Visitors Entrance)

Scene 1

Chris Hemsworth is walking up the stairs to Gate 1 at the United Nations International Center after he successfully landed his helicopter on the helicopter landing pad. He just finished his last scene before he quickly flew over to pick me up. I am at work when he walks up the stairs. He then asked me to remove my belt with weapon and radio and take his hand. While I grabbed his hand he says, “Darling, you don’t need to do this anymore. Enough of this. Come with me. I only love you and already got divorced yesterday!”

So I grab his hand and walk with him. My son is already in the helicopter because Chris already picked him up (it is my movie, okay?). Staff members clap while I wave my colleagues goodbye. “I will never return to this place”, I say while I step into the helicopter. We fly toward the sunset (squishy music playing in the background) while he tells me over and over how much he loves me.

Then, we land in Australia where we start our life together. Again, I am the director of this movie and his helicopter can easily fly to Australia. Okay, his three kids will be over every second weekend but hey….. that’s fine, I guess. We move into his OUR mansion and I try to get used to being super rich by strolling around in the mansion while I overheard this conversation.

Scene 2– Downstairs in the Servant Dungeon

HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: I’m worried about Mrs Hemsworth. (that’s me now)

OTHER HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: Don’t be. She’s rich, ain’t she?

BUTLER: Stop arguing, you two! Someone needs to take this lobster up to the dining room!

HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: Sigh! (Takes platter and exits up the stairs) I’m still worried about Daniela.

BUTLER: Didn’t she always want this kind of life? I don’t know her too well but I think she really loves him.

OTHER HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: I know she loves simple things. She just wanted to be happy with Chris but this is all too much for her. The jewels are too heavy. She can barely walk straight anymore with this crown and diamonds on her head.

BUTLER: I think so, too. She will leave him. It is just a matter of time. She needs a little more in life than this. Oh, well, would one of you take this rare turtle soup with shellacked truffles up to the dining room? Do not make eye contact with anyone, including the turtle!

OTHER HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: Humph! (exits to the kitchen)

HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: Sigh! (exits to the stairs, carrying turtle soup, eyes closed) Oh, I think I see Queen Daniela.

OTHER HOUSEHOLD SERVANT: Well, go on. Say hello! She looks sad.

Me: This is all too much for me. You guys have to help me. I need to leave Chris. This way of life is not for me.

BUTLER: (nods once, approvingly)

All Servants: We will help you. Go talk to him first. We will start packing your things.

Scene 3 – Final Conversation with Chris

Chris: Do you like the new cars I bought for you? Let’s fly to the Bahamas. We will take our plane.

Me: Chris, I think you are amazing and I was joking with my friends that I wish to be married and live with you but I cannot stand this kind of life. I don’t care about all your money and all the things you buy for me. My question to you is: What do you really need? How much do you really need to possess? Don’t all these materialistic things end up running your life? I can even go so far in saying that the things you consume end up consuming you. Chris, the best stuff in life isn’t stuff at all. The best things in life are free. (squishy music playing in the back). I know that your endless consumption will result in increased unhappiness. This is why I have to leave you. Goodbye, Chris. (dramatically touching forehead and wiping away a couple of tears) Farewell, my love. Goodbye.

Chris: Daniela, you have a good point. I mean, I am so rich, I could just stop making movies and commercials and all these things that increase my income to another couple of billion dollars this month. I am actually so rich that I can comfortably live my life, eat the most expensive food, wear the most expensive clothes and buy ….. (you get my point, I am super rich!) and never make another movie again. WHY am I getting so much money in the first place? I mean, I am just studying a script and rehearsing it. This is not real work anyway. The Polish construction workers who fix my mansion and build another mansion on top of my mansion, these guys work really hard. Long story short, I made a decision. I will give all my money to you and your son. You enlightened me and I will always love you. I will transfer all my money to you right away.

(Daniela and her son didn’t hear the money transfer part because they already walked away slowly not knowing that she already has ten hundred billion dollars in her Bank Austria account)

.The End. (curtain falls)

*or what really goes on with those tiny ladybugs crawling on leaves.

One thing I love is to be be in nature and observe people and things. I took a long walk the other day and even though it feels cold outside, spring is in the air. Finally.

Buds on trees. Flowers sprouting. A wholesome breeze, as best we can tell, from the hygienic confines of our shuttered, dirty windows. Stopping to smell the tiny blossoms on the trees. Ahh, spring.

Snow is gone a long time ago. Rain stops in time for everything to grow and to turn the grass green. The sun is shining. Everything is awash in the glory of dawn. We’re going to have to change out of the winter clothes, aren’t we? Huge downy jackets, scarves, hats, and big, warm outdoor shoes. Our decaying sweaters, which we’ve been comfortable to pass off as winter shrapnel. Our wool socks and musty cardigans replete with cream cheese and merlot stains for which no one judged us during the bleak winter months, but now mark us as failures of contemporary armageddon. Majestic, glorious spring.

Morning dew. Fresh blossoms. Everything wet and clean and wholesome. We probably should think about a traditional bathing routine again. Splashing water from the kitchen faucet into funky nooks in the seconds before Netflix auto-plays the next episode may have provided efficiency during the winter hibernating stages. But actual sunlight and warmth means to go outside, sit outside, meet friends for more outside activities which is all a new set of social protocols. Spring, oh freaking beauty, welcome.

The contours of the season. Sunrise over the horizon. Treelines. Cloud lines. Lines of birds in flight. Lines in outdoor cafés. Lines outside of stores, hungry shoppers using the extra daylight to impossibly extend the lines even further. Lines in front of flower stores. Here a line, there a line, everywhere a — did that elderly couple just cut this line? What is this line even for? Linear, patient springtime. Everybody is supposed to be happy. It is spring.

Butterflies and ladybugs. Honey bees, wasps, (I know the difference) and mosquitoes. Spiders and ants (everywhere in the house and at weird locations), beetles and lice. All critters foraging, procreating, living, murdering each other, but mostly ruining happy hour because how can we possibly know whether they are resting or attempting defecation near us?

Fellow citizens taking to the outdoors again, enjoying the fresh air and camaraderie. Laughing. Walking. Jogging. Employing peripheral vision to dodge the scooters and mopeds and hovercraft. From bicycle to skateboard, every mode of transportation has undergone a winter metamorphosis, arriving to the new season in motorized splendor. Whirring and sputtering and threatening to concuss magical strollers adrift appear from everywhere. “I didn’t know she was pregnant”, a friend asked. I tell my friend to stop using the pronoun “she” since you never know if the person is a transgender man or woman who is now a man or man who is now a woman. My friend looks a little bewildered. She might not haven taken all the mandatory gender courses yet. Well, it is just the beginning of spring. Exciting, dystopian spring.

The birds are magnificent as they forage maniacally for morning sustenance. Suicidal attempts by flying against windows. Baby ducks. Baby gulls. Baby woodpeckers. Baby everything. Baby new species that did not territorialize the park benches last spring with those aggressive stares. All a flight at once, the sky speckled with their wretched persistence, chirping and hooting and cawing. Were there always this many birds? Is there a sky ordinance, perhaps similar to leash laws, that might curtail the flight patterns of these grandiose creatures? Glorious, melodic wonder.

The scents of the equinox. Freshly mowed grass. Trees exuding their rapturous whiff. Flower petals emitting nectar. Street sweepers swirling it all into a fastidious dirt. Greetings, itchy, watery eyes. Nice to see you again, hives. Good day, post-nasal drip; it would not be the budding season without you. I take a deep breath, inhale, exhale and let as much fresh air into my lungs as possible. The woman close to me wears two masks, protective goggles, plastic gloves, and sneezes. Is Covid still a thing? She sneezes into her mask, a somewhat undetectable “achoo” beneath the fabric, pollen and spittle and angst politely exploding and staying put on nose and lips and dimples. The circle of life, welcome back.

Happy Easter, everyone. Now, go grab those eggs.

I’ve done it. I trained for a fitness test with my super fancy watch. It can track, watch, maintain, observe, and highlight every single thing with and within my body 24/7. Everything, you guys. With this watch and after years of research, I have become “optimal” (as my watch calls it). I am an optimal woman/human/person/racoon or whatever you want to call me. I glance at my watch first thing in the morning. But even when my eyes are still closed my watch wakes me up to tell me that:

Your Body fat percentage, optimal! Good morning!

I hide under the blankets one more time and try to ignore the watch but it is synched with my phone which rings to tell me that:

Your Body fat percentage, optimal. Triglycerides, optimal. Dietary fiber, weekly activity levels, resting heart rate, 365-day meditation app on, all optimal. Get up! Start your day in “Downward-Facing-Dog”!

I get up, slightly annoyed but at least now I can spend the next one hundred years staying optimal until I die. At least that!

Thank you, watch (and phone).

With this optimal health, I could go for a long hike on a moonlit mountain trail, watching my step counter the entire way. Even before I have to drive to work! Oh, my watch just reminded me to eat my daily dosage of supplements (15 each for breakfast, lunch, and dinner). Done!

I step out in my garden to feel the still chilly morning sun warm my face and rush back inside to use my sun lamp (the phone suggested I buy this one), to stimulate Vitamin D production without skin damage. Hello, skin cancer!

So I sit motionless on the floor of my empty minimalistic room (the watch suggested throwing everything away in Marie-Kondo-style so I can finally breathe, have more space, and focus on the things that really matter), enjoying the perfect harmony between my Omega-3 and Omega-6 fatty acids.

My phone suggests a new job – something creative, fun, and meaningful. The challenge of a lifetime. My own bookstore! I deleted the suggestion because it lacked the optimal combination of ten thousand daily steps, standing, adequate income, and zero stress that I enjoy so much at my current job.

My watch just alerted me that my heart rate went up. Must have been the thought of going to work after all. Let’s get up and have breakfast, my brain tells me. There is still some leftover cake in the fridge. My watch instantly reminds me that I have not eaten cake in 423 days which is a good thing to keep my blood sugar low and predicts that I will live at least 120 optimal, diabetes but cake-free years.

The other day, my son made muffins and I licked the frosting and told him how good it was because emotional connection optimizes mental health. But I secretly spit it out since frosting’s nutrient profile is suboptimal.

I don’t buy or eat anything that contains artificial sugar anymore. Like zero. Like nothing at all. My son asks me to buy chocolate I scream, “NO, it is not healthy. My watch tells me NOT to eat it!” My son wants to be Charly and live in the Chocolate Factory at this point. Okay, well, his choice. Off he goes. The Ompa Loompa’s can raise him. All the better, as it frees up my time and income for optimizing my health. Without a child, I could downsize and spend the extra money on daily out-of-pocket blood or urine tests or for personal training sessions with fitness guru Mat Fraser and his GOWOD app to optimize my health.

I used to get blood work at my yearly physical, and the results were always healthy. But then I would wonder if my LDL cholesterol from last month was still optimal, and my next doctor’s appointment was months away. And I couldn’t schedule a new one until after I finished the anniversary dinner or my son’s Taekwondo competition or whatever.

But now, every morning after the forty-five-minute self-administered blood draws and uploads on my watch and phone, I look at my biomarkers exactly in the optimal range and feel warm inside, which is either happiness or my supercharged mitochondria. Regardless, according to the latest research, they are biologically indistinguishable.

I feel sad for the suboptimal. Yesterday I saw a poor girl in the grocery store pointing to a loaf of fresh French bread, saying, “Mommy! Mommy! Let’s buy this, it looks so yummy and smells so good!” I shook my head at the thought of the processed white flour and nonexistent fiber but tons of carbs. I choose the optimal bread by scanning the aisle for the brownest, gnarliest, chia-and-all seeds in the world-covered loaf I would find.

It is morning. I rise from my custom-built cedar-wood bed in my bedroom, with its blackout curtains and climate control set to three degrees Celsius and 38 percent humidity, to optimize my 9.3 hours of deep REM sleep. The prospect of another perfectly optimal day has my mitochondria quivering in anticipation. Ah, what’s this? I didn’t know my smartwatch and phone analyzed sleep. Sleep score of 93. Pretty good. But not optimal. I stagger out of my house but quickly get over the shock. I prepare myself for optimizing as long as it takes while checking my watch again for my blood oxygen level and didn’t notice a garbage truck approaching, and it is going pretty faaaaast………..