Tuesday, December 16


Three winters ago I did not know what to do with life. I remember writing it down, clearly, next to my Christmas shopping list. Since then about 1095 days have passed. I fell in love four times and had sex about three times a month. I bought 72 books and changed jobs more than once. I never said I love you, except to my little nephew who is now six years old. (He said it first). I turned down seven men and got dumped twice. I wanted to become a writer, then decided I didn’t, then decided I did. I also wanted to become a stewardess, a professional dancer and a cook. I slept with men I should not have slept with and ignored the ones who seemed too nice. For some reason I thought coming to Paris would make me feel better, would make me feel like I could conquer myself. The only good thing I can say is that in three years time I haven’t lost any teeth. Perhaps some weight and some intelligence, but that’s a fact of life.