I keep saying that I can't believe it's been four years since I moved to LA.
But I'm lying.
Time doesn't fly.
It's been a long four years.
It's been a long four years without my best friends.
It's been a long four years eating dinners alone.
It's been a long four years sleeping alone.
And now that I've made it four years, and I'm hovering somewhere on the fence between being new in town and settling in.
But it's hard for me to imagine another four years in LA. I'm exhausted. I know I can't go back – and I wouldn't want to – but in what condition is the road that lies ahead?
I feel like I'm back in my car, stuck in the middle of the San Bernardino National Forest, with no option but to keep moving forward.
But what happens if I do?
I still have this schoolgirl mentality that I should be awarded something after four years of hard work – some certificate or diploma or degree or congratulations or scholarship or something. But Tuesday came and went without pomp. Just the usual circumstance.
And so here I am, underemployed, under-appreciated, underwhelmed, struggling more than ever, dodging bullets left and right. I can't seem to catch a break.
I still don't know what I'm doing here in LA.
I still don't know what I'm doing on this planet.
But at least this town is a nice place to camp out while I figure things out. I guess I'll just wait to see how bad they can get, before they start getting better.
My God, What Have I Done?
A Year in LA
The Best Life?