Pink Elephants in the brain: Change is hard, guys.

My life is a flurry of animated drunk montages. All pink elephants and swirly colors and giant, laughing faces. I’m not constantly inebriated, but I may as well be. Because life altering decisions, like purchasing an expensive vitamin regime on Amazon after too much pinot noir, are governed by regret, shame, and confusion. I wake up every morning like Daisy Duck in curlers, lit cigarette casually ashing into black coffee. But I don’t smoke, and who the hell let this fucking duck into my house.

I’ve journeyed into the E.T. Adventure bit of my decision. That part of the attraction that takes you to his home planet and smacks of a bad trip. One minute you’re dodging Johnny law in the forest, then suddenly you turn a corner into LSD mania. The transition is enough to spin heads and make dreads (I just made that up. YOU’RE WELCOME).


The emotional roller-coaster that is starting over at 38 has turned my world upside down. Stairs on the ceiling, leading nowhere. Time slows and stops then takes off at breakneck speed like an insane waltz. I’ve become my own Goblin King, with half the sexy because I can never be Bowie.

My body is ready.


In 27 days I’ll be on the other side of the country with no boyfriend and no cat. I’ve cut the life-line and am plunging deep into the Abyss, hoping desperately that the friendly aliens residing at the bottom of the trench have a fully stocked bar.

Take me to your mini bar.

I’m scared and nervous. My stomach is a raging kegger of nerves, while my mind is a wet t-shirt contest of regret. What. The fuck. Am I doing.

I will arrive in Los Angeles on August 29th with no car, no job, and maybe a hundred bucks in the bank. I am leaving everything, with nothing. I gave away my reference books and half my shoes. I’m losing sleep over which moisturizer to switch to in a dryer climate. I require a glass of bourbon and sleeping pills in order to reset.

Because, really, what am I doing? Can anything ever be normal again? How do you make friends in your late 30s? Will Daenerys and Jon Snow get all sexy times before figuring out they are related, which will more than likely not have any bearing on said sexy times because incest is a totally normal thing on the Throne Games? I am a walking blob of questions and confusion.

So I guess the only way to figure this out is to jump. Just, full on dance into the fire, as Duran Duran prophesized. Spoiler: I began the jumping process and actually do feel like my soul is on fire. But, like, less on fire with passion, and more AAAAAAHHHHHH IT BURNS.

4 weeks to go. Are brain softeners a thing? Like stool softeners but for thoughts? I will take five brain softeners, please and thank you.

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