Ten Days

I am waiting in the Trader Joes parking lot for a prospective car buyer.

Time is running out big time. Three more shifts at work. People saying they will miss me. Hoping I find as good of friends as these. Hoping I can find a good job fast. Hoping I won't lose it.

I am finding as creating disturbing distractions.

Eleven Days

Today we moved my little sister into her apartment. I have forced her to move by herself to Burbank. Very sad.

We had a nice time moving though.

I feel a skin shedding.

I am twenty-six, but maybe I am growing up. Maybe. Probably not, but its possible.

Thirteen Days

Today I bit the bullet and found my silly, floundering courage. I told my acting manager I was leaving. Of course, they were very supportive. They admitted they, themselves, are floundering in this hellish, hollow waste of a city, and I am "too talented to sit around waiting." Oh yeah, forgot I am going to New York to act. That's right. Theatre. I have let it sit on the back burner too long. Going to class is easy. Getting a job is an entirely different thing.

Anyway I digress...

Why is it I always expect a fight? Probably because I expect everyone to be my parents and make me feel guilty.

Being a person means making your own decisions and living with them. Maybe I don't make enough decisions. Time to grow up.

Here, finally, are some pictures of my new apartment. I know I am doing this now. I am not comfortable with it. Isn't that funny? In a few, short days I will be on the road, probably shedding wistful tears, and wondering still if I am capable of making decisions like these without ruining my entire life.

Michael Found Our Apartment and Seventeen Days

You wont believe this, but it's true. My roommate found an apartment. I should have mentioned that he was in New York at all, but it has been a crazy couple of weeks, though I suspect its about to get a whole lot worse.

Michael found an apartment.
He found it.
It has been found.

There should be time made to revel in this excitement, but my messed up brain goes, "What about your car? You will never sell it," and "Where exactly is the money coming from for the security deposit?" Worry trumps excitement. So lets pause a minute and be excited.

Yay.

It is in THE perfect area. Right between Prospect Park and the Greenwood Cemetary. My new joke is that Leonard Bernstein is my neighbor. My comic genius knows no bounds. The apartment seems perfect. The excitement is being bottled up to explode somewhere in Texas I am sure.

Image from this flickr photog.

Also I got an IPhone. No, I cannot afford it. Yes. I feel guilty. Leave me alone. It is hardly a dent in the exorbitant amount of money that is about to fly out of my checking and credit accounts like bats.

Oh. And it is awesome.

IPhone

I really want to be able to blog on my road trip. Looking for a good blogger app.

Is this working?

This is a picture of my lost childhood btw. I am so dramatic and interesting.

Eighteen Days

I just got back from home again with my car. I didn't mention that I didn't sell it and then thought it was a brilliant idea to fix it. I think maybe that was a mistake. I had to split the $3,300 fee on two credit accounts. I am in debt again and I something makes me think that I wont be able to sell my car. Fiddlesticks.

Eighteen days. I am hungover and extremely anxious. Work party last night. Kind of a goodbye, kind of not. Drank too much and acted bad. "Aren't you excited?? I am so excited for you." um...yeah. Excited. Why am I not more excited?

I am starting to freak out about all the money. Where am I going to find the money? I need to learn to pray I guess. Dear God, please may I have some money? Amen.

Sorry for the rant. I am off to work a double.

Old Car

New Car.

Wanna buy it?

I Hate Los Angeles...25 Days

What is the matter with me?

I went home this weekend. Going home makes me weak and sad and totally fucked up. I had to hold in tears the entire drive home. I had to hold in tears today at work and came home and cried all over my tie and apron. I am so lame.

Am I going insane? Is it this hard for everyone? Is everyone sick of me? I know the answer to that one. Yes.

Ok so I am trying to work this out. I think I miss being taken care of. My mom takes care of me when I am at home. I am just a weak little girl who wishes that people would be nicer. Ok no. Lets be honest. I wish people would buy me lots of things and dinner and iphones and trips to new york and also fix my car.

So I am having a pity party.

Bottoms up.

But if your home was here, wouldnt you be a little sad to leave?