Yesterday sucked breathing L.A. Sucking dirty emissions from cars, feeling stuffed from smog.
A velvety black sheath of toxic chemicals hung over the Hollywood Sign as I drove to Beverly Hills to get my hair cut and semi-something color. I'm told my color will fade, wish smog would.
I parked my car at a meter where sludge from sewer had spilled over onto street. I had to step in it in order to put money in the meter, and my open-toed sandals sunk in. Yuk. Pew. Gross. Just how I wanted to smell on the occasion of my second time in a Beverly Hills salon.
When I stopped by Fernando's work later in day, some idiot idled his Jaguar's engine and I breathed what felt like a bag of poison into my lungs.
For the second time in a day, I wondered why my regrouping in L.A. was taking so long.
Familiarity.
Relationships.
And I got an infection needing antibiotics, which made me sleepy 24 hours a day.
As I breathed the Jaguar's exhaust, I was on the phone with Felice, who told me Rabbi Wolpe was diagnosed with cancer. He's 48 years young. And I wish him the best and a speedy recovery.
As I've mentioned in this blog, people living in L.A. have a 30% greater chance of getting cancer than the national average, with the exception of New York, as a direct result from breathing the air.
Without going into details, I've had my share of hard-knocks when it comes to health, and, therefore, am conditioned to want to work for good health.
Back to the business of chasing clean air. Next Colorado.
