Winning the Divorce

About four months after B. and I separated, he asked if I could meet him for dinner. He had some news. The "news" was that he would more or less be living in Paris for the next 12-24 months, overseeing a European company purchase made by his company.  For anyone not in the know, B. and I parted on excellent terms and have remained friends. I was thrilled for him, but couldn’t resist a small tease.

“So you’re saying that if I had hung on for four more months, I could be a freelance writer living in Paris?” I asked.

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The Story of the Snake

The Story of the Snake

There are things in life for which I expect to garner a certain amount of pity. You may or may not feel sorry for me that I’m confined to crutches but damn it, when I call and tell you there’s a snake outside my front door, I expect a sympathy bouquet from 1-800-FLOWERS to show up, pronto.

This is the story of the snake, but it could also be called, “How My Mom Failed Me.”

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From Endurance Athlete to Alcoholic

Now that I’m banned from working out, I find myself with an abundance of free time on my crutch-clutching hands. What to do with all the spare minutes in the day? The answer, apparently, is drink.

If I make it out of this recovery period without becoming a raging alcoholic, it won’t be for lack of trying. Upon finding out I was banned from all workouts, my friends more or less put me on a suicide-watch, the main distraction strategy apparently being to feed me wine. People are pouring out of the woodwork with offers to imbibe. “Oh my gosh, you poor thing. Are you okay? Do you want to meet for a drink?”

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And We're Back...

Time to blow the dust off this blog. But first, a quick peek into my life over the past 7 months. 

  1. I ran and went to the gym. 
  2. I went on some dates. 
  3. I worked. 

Okay, then. Good summary! Moving on. 

I'm kicking off my return to blogging with an announcement--I'm grounded. I was diagnosed last week with a stress fracture to my left femoral head. Not good. 

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