One year later and I've written nothing, except for a daily letter to nobody to state some small areas of gratitude, like 'I'm healthy', or 'I have a lot of cats'.
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Money is something I think about a lot, and I have theories about it...mental notes I make that are imbued with all kinds of magical properties.
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Do you think we find new parents as our originals pass away? How is it that a person seems to come along to fill the vacuum?
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In the movie Annie Hall there's a great statement. Alvie Singer, the character played by Woody Allen says “I don't want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.”
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About a year after I had stopped drinking I found myself in Westwood, home of UCLA, hub of young go-getters and tourists, and for some reason, location of a multitude of therapists, counselors, psychiatrists, and other mental health professionals.
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When I was in my twenties my mother took me on an amazing trip to Hawaii. She wanted to escape the brutal New York winter, but also thought it would cheer me up since I'd recently had a bad break-up with Charlie, my first serious boyfriend...the guy I moved out to LA with.
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When I moved to Los Angeles many years ago I hated the place. I didn't know how to drive except for the few lessons my boyfriend had given me, which always ended in a fight, me shouting 'I never even WANTED to learn this shit! Plus you're a horrible teacher!'
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When I was a kid in the Bronx they called it macaroni. After Church on Sunday my sister and I would go to the deli on the corner to get macaroni salad for lunch. Little elbow shapes swimming in mayonnaise with maybe a bit of pickle relish. It seems deplorable now, but we loved that stuff in 1965! The container never lasted long in the back of the fridge.
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