I miss Los Angelos. Sometimes I feel like there's more California in my blood than my home state of New York.
My recent literary fixation has been female comedians. I read Bossy Pants in a matter of hours, and am addicted to reading and rereading the whole of Mindy Kaling's newest blog. It's been cathartic as I make these radical life changes, and begin to pick myself back up after shattering to pieces. Non ever more so than this morning, as yet another minor rejection from the object of my affection left me crying in my bedsheets. It was then that my inner female comedian interrupted this regularly scheduled programming to interject the fact that I was in fact mourning the rejection of a man who, at this moment in time, lives in his van with his cat in a parking lot across the street from a bar.
I'll let that sink in.
There's a scene in SATC where Miranda laments the fact that her ex Steve, currently residing on her couch, is getting phone messages from girls he met in a bar. A realization that to desperate women, a homeless man is better than no man. And in fact I have been spending the last 4 years of my life chasing after a man who is not only not chasing me back, but has spent those 4 years in some sort of personal destructive downwards spiral that has not only led to his own disparaging situation, but in my efforts to "earn" his full time affection has resulted in my own financial dismantlement.
Good job Lindsay!
But then, that is what this time is all about.
I must admit, it's much nicer to be able to make these self discoveries in a world with leaves on the trees!