Nonsense

How about this 100 degree heat we're having? I am not sure what I hate more-talk of the weather or this preposterous heat. Currently these steamy temps are making a mockery of my already mediocre appearance. My hair looks like Ms. Frizzle, my cheeks are constantly as ruddy as a fresh tomato and I have no energy to put on anything that lives in the same neighborhood as style. In short I look like a sweaty farmer's mule-faced daughter.
In other news I am offering in home care to a severely embittered 90 yr-old woman while getting my affairs in order for the big move and it's given me a lot of time to think about my writing, photography, the usual. I of course have come to the foregone conclusion that the only person standing in the way of my success, is... well lil 'ol frizzy me. So I did what I do best and made several lists of proactive ideas and feel a pinch better.
I also recently dyed my hair red and then bamm-o! ran into an old red-headed crush of mine, serendipitous? No; he turned out to be a bit of a letdown. Turns out the only redhead I am fond of is Lucille Ball and her hair was about as naturally red as mine.

Upon some intense pondering while at work I realized that I am putting all my proverbial eggs in the Big Apple Basket. Despite the fact that I have yet to be published, gotten to the svelte size 6 I dream of, okay fine, 12 will do, I somehow have this fanciful notion that once I swipe the dust off my boots in Brooklyn that I will be well wildly together... let me do the movie preview version, because that's how it plays in my mind and you'll get it. Accompanied of course by a peppy new Natasha Beddingfield song.

Sturos Takes New York

Cut to me frolicking in Central park in dark denim skinny jeans, or jeggings, whichever is easier for you to imagine, an over-sized cable knit sweater most often worn by fishermen of Maine, but very offhandedly trendy for a svelte New Yorker such as myself. I am laughing gaily at something my GQ-esque boyfriend said, who is accompanying me. Cue Natasha. We are off to some trendy gala of sorts. I am carrying a manuscript in my titanic sized designer hobo bag. And fast forward to me riding on the subway looking again, painfully hip, having had a heated debate with GQ,and also pondering when my novel will be published, but it'll all work out, this is the movie preview of my life, obviously, and even if Natasha mentions heartbreak, she also says to be yourself and embrace life and it'll all work out.

That's the shorthand. The preview of course. To be certain if I do indeed work things out with GQ, stop eating chocolate chip cookies and get published you must watch the entire movie. Or follow me to New York. Or tell me to introduce myself to delusion because we are clearly in an intimate coupling.

Oh Natasha, sometimes we are indeed trapped in a circle. You said it sister.