I started writing for two reasons. First, this became my journal, my catharsis, my purging of everything I’d put myself through. If I wrote it, I could read and study it, and therefore, learn from it. And two, when I went out to find some sort of literary connection, I found it difficult to relate to anything I found on the shelves of my local Barnes & Noble. I will admit that certain books did speak to me, and others did rhyme with my experience, but nothing truly said, “Yes, I’ve been there too.” The closest thing I found any connection to was Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love, which I believe spoke to just about anyone with a soul. Perhaps it’s a bit of an auspicious goal, but I can’t help but hope that my experience will speak to women in their twenties the same way Gilbert addressed the paralyzing dilemmas of women in their thirties. I, too, hope that my story will have a happy ending that includes a sexy Brazilian ex-pat who wants nothing more than to fill his days and nights with the task of loving me.
Unfortunately, the trials and tribulations of a woman in her late-twenties (Holy shit!), such as myself, rarely end in such a way. Or maybe they do, but my experience would say otherwise. Unfortunately, my experience could more likely and appropriately be titled Fuck Dwell Cry or Screw Pee Pray. I’ve been peeing on entirely too many sticks lately. (Kiss Wait Tattoo or the more overarching Honeymoon Decline Torture could also be aptly applied.) I suppose I’ll be happy as long as I can also claim Mistake Lesson Application as a title and I don’t slide into the cycle of Mistake Mistake Mistake.
These are a few of those mistakes, lessons learned, and lessons applied. I should also mention that these are true stories, as I remember them, however I have changed the names to protect the innocent…namely me. Ok, so maybe I’m not entirely innocent, but I am honest, at times raunchy or blunt. I make no apologies for this, you have been warned.