last week i intended to finish the book i'm still editing this week. and the week before, i intended to get serious about coming up with a strategy for my next move. in life, i mean. not in physical space. but maybe that, too. these days my requirements for a new city include a trader joe's and an active harley davidson community. food and meat. what else does a girl need? anyhow, this week i intended to finish this book by...yesterday...it's still yesterday somewhere, isn't it? today i intended to pay my home depot bill, and not give a shit. about whatever it was that i was giving a shit about but shouldn't. here's where i should say something about roads to hell.
on one of my trips to west virginia i ran into an old friend who said, "wow, you're an editor—you're so successful!" she's right. i edit magazines and books—thus, i am an editor. i drink coffee every single morning and always wipe from front to back and without fail refrain from sex on the first date (dates mean being picked up in a car, not in a bar, right?)—thus, i am successful. thank god for syntactical and semantic loopholes. here's where i should say something about fool me once.
a while back, a friend told me that at our age life is no longer about the family we had growing up, it's about the family we have with our partners and children. wait, what? i have no partner or children—so what is my life about? just me? isn't that selfish? yup. gloriously selfish. if you take apart the word, it literally means "like a self." can't argue with that. i haven't been an "us" or a "we"—i have been a self. a miniature tornado of a self—shredding every manicured plan that got in my way. now i wish i would've done more damage. i should've moved at least 2 more times, had 5 more boyfriends, quit 3 or 4 more jobs. here's where i should say something about if i had only known then.
i've been 34 for 3 weeks and one day. i've noticed that i can no longer escape my own perspicacity. it creeps up on me all the time, even before i've had coffee. audacious, right? it tells me the glory of selfishness fades with age. it does. well, it does when you know for sure which things you shouldn't live without. i can't live without seeing my family at least twice a year. at least. seeing the ocean or a lake once every summer. having a pretty, grassy yard with a garden. dinners out with my friends. kisses—the kind from a man who knows what he wants, too. can't have any of these things without settling down a little. a little, i said. as in not a lot. i can swing that. here's where i should turn on some old country music and get ready for the sweetest dreams.