I Just Don’t Want To Write About It

I don’t want to write about my recent trip to the Ellen Show.

I don’t want to share with you every single frickin’ amazing moment that was those 4 days in LA.

I just don’t want to write it down. I don’t want to compartmentalize each thing that happened and close up those thoughts. Cause then it’s over. Irrational, maybe. But the whole thing was such an experience, I don’t want to package it up in a final writing and be done with it.

I wrote about not being able to get tickets. And then I got tickets. I wrote about the getting of the tickets and the thrill of knowing I was headed to see an idol of mine. If I were write about the actual trip to the show, then the whole thing is over. The top item on my bucket list is done. And while all amazing, I don’t want it to “end” just yet, so I can’t write about it just yet.

I don’t want to tell you about lunch with Dave from the show. I don’t want to tell you how “lunch” turned into an amazing 4 hour “event” and new friends were made. I don’t want to share those pictures with you just yet.

I don’t want to tell you about the now infamous Cadillac margaritas, nor will I share with you how they were on fire.

I don’t want to share with you how I found Ellen’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, giggled like a school girl and laid on the disgusting concrete for the “pic of a lifetime”. I won’t tell you how I made my sister take that photo a gazillion and then a gazillion more times.

I don’t want to tell you that the trip has caused me to wonder greatly. I don’t want to tell you that I wonder WHAT IF I’d gone to LA after college and not listened to all those people that told me “You’re not an LA girl, you belong in NY with that attitude of yours!” What if I’d gone to LA? I majored in TV production, and I didn’t go do a thing with it. Would I be sitting around a writers table today? Would I be a heroin junkie on Hollywood Blvd? Would I be a suburban OH housewife, writing by night, working at a bank by day? I wonder…

I don’t want to tell you that I’m pretty sure I’ve got the mad skillz to at least work the register in the Ellen Shop alongside Ari.

I don’t want to admit to the tears on my cheeks as I write this.

I don’t want to tell you that wearing a white shirt and kelly green pants was totally the right choice for TV.  I don’t want to tell you about my amazing “touchdown” signs and my cat-like reflexes each time the audience stood. And I don’t want to share those pictures either just yet.

I don’t want to tell you all about it. Not yet. Cause then it’s over.