I am a writer, a writer of fictions, I am the heart that you call home...

and I've written pages, upon pages, trying to rid you from my bones...

Chicago. Maybe I've made bad choices. I miss the possibility of Orlando. I heeded the creed: "out of sight, out of mind" but that's just what they tell you to keep you quiet. Everything reminds me of him. And perhaps that's because we shared everything. I allowed him to touch, to use, to make new my things. All of my things and I don't know how to start new without a gigantic demolition party. I don't want to trash my things. I quite like my things and I worked my ass off at 3 jobs to acquire them. So what's left? Maybe I should stop lamenting and crying and bitching and take note of what's good and what's here and now.

I'm healthy. I'm in a city full of outrageous opportunities. I have incredible serving skills and a pretty kickass resume to boot. I'm awaiting an offer from a Four Star Fishmarket restaurant. So, perhaps Europe will become a reality. Hooray! Good business.

I don't need a stupid boy in my life. I don't need an unpratical man for that matter either. I just need to be content with the Hula I was once and will be again. Fun, fun, fun- that's on the agenda. Chicago is quite lovely and I think I'll lose myself in its bustling streets and loud, loud opportunities. I love to get lost. Roam and worry until I've seen and been places I never knew existed and met people I never thought I'd meet. Maybe that's what I'll do today. Get lost. On my own. Such a time! Such a place...

Until we meet again...