I had the kind of New Year’s we’re told we’re supposed to have: dancing and kissing and ten people to a car. Secret after-parties, breakdancing, the best burger of my life. Best friends. I’m $90 poorer and, two days later, my body is still sore. It’s good to know we’ve still got it.
I took a week off from work and spent it writing the first draft of a short screenplay. This is the biggest thing I’ve done as a grown up lady and sometimes I can’t believe how far I’ve come. How far I have to go.
It wasn’t a good year, but it ended well.
I’m moving, is the other thing. I wasn’t planning to move. I’d told myself I’d stick it out. I’d already stuck it out, of course, for nearly two years, but my heels were dug in the dirt. It means something to have a home and he couldn’t run me out of mine.
But there was an incident last night. There is an ‘incident’ in my building about three times a week, but this one involved cops and cut lights and I am moving now. I was so afraid of being weak, but stubborn isn’t the same as strong. I’m learning the difference still.
I’m heartbroken to leave my sunny little studio. My leaky-and-loud, drafty-as-a-castle studio. I’m grieving this loss like a break-up. This place has been my home for nearly two years and I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m not ready.
I feel cheated, but really it’s just life, you know? We all get lost sometimes.