Let me paint a picture for you. The apartment is quiet; I am the only one at home. It is dusk, maybe a little past so that it’s dark but not pitch black. I have opened the door to our balcony, but I’m not sitting outside. I am sitting in the doorway, on the floor, so that no one can see me from the street below unless they really look. A lavender scented candle glows in its holder beside me and I am sipping cheap Cabernet Sauvignon out of my pretty pink and gold wine glass, the one I paid a couple bucks for. And I’m writing as the breeze hits me from the side.
Moments like this make me feel like I’m gonna make it after all. You know, like Mary Tyler Moore.