Fat Lady Sang

Oh I'm so becoming psycho ex-girlfriend. Somehow I fell madly, passionately in love with this city. It's misguided sure, like a Texas oilman's love for a dithering Guess model, or like my love for cheese. I take a bite. It bites me back. I can't help it. I came out here like everybody, fresh from the nap about the California dream, and found, eight years later, a husband, friends I'd slay fire breathing endangered unicorns for, oaxacan tamales and an abandoned border collie, but no career to speak of. Lots of close calls, dropped agents, missed connections and coffees. And times is up. My husband has been offered a job back in my hometown of Memphis which will be awesome for him. Not so sure about me. Not sure I want to end up in the place I started. But I don't want to go. That simple. So while I wait for the fates to slap each other back and forth if and when we start filling the moving boxes, I'm gonna start this blog, little love letters to the city that was too busy minding its other million little bambinos to pay much attention. Maybe if I take pictures of it, talk about how pretty and interesting and quirky and never-ever nagging it is, it'll love me right back. Make some Hollywood magic so I never, ever have to leave. Oh, enough with the pity. I know it's mostly my fault. They say in every relationship one always loves the other more. I happily accept my place.