The funny thing is...

Even when you stopped allowing the men in your life to break your heart, the thing that surprised you most was that it could still be broken — by Life, by Loss, by Things Outside of Your Control. Sometimes they didn’t just leave you and go somewhere else; sometimes they really left you and everything else in this world. When that happened, there was no ex. There was no second act, no breakup sex, and no opportunity to wait for him to come crawling back just so you could turn him away one last time.

Instead, you were left begging under the weight of the universe, asking Providence for one more chance, calling Fate at three o’clock in the morning to sob your heart out.

You did what a lot of girls do; you tried to move on. You went out nearly every night, hoping to run into Divine Intervention, or even Chance or Fortune—you weren’t picky then.

But no matter how alluring, no matter how charming, no matter how hard you tried to conceal your desperation, you brought evening after evening to a close with Grief.

What I do when I'm not here...

Not as much as you'd think. I went to a comedy festival last month and wrote about it for The Austinot. Actually, I turned a review of the festival into a weird observation about comedians and mental illness and why I like comedians.

I read a lot of books over a long holiday weekend. I would list them here, but I can't remember all. Here are some:

Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler (so good)

The Middlesteins: A Novel by Jami Attenberg (also good, heartbreakingly so...)

The Writing Life by Annie Dillard (my third or fourth re-read)

American Wife: A Novel by Curtis Sittenfeld (it's been on my list foreverrrr and she has a new one coming soon)

I am leaving off books I began and stopped reading because I lost interest. I never used to to do that; I really felt the need to finish a book even if it was bad, but now I feel like life is too short to waste time hoping something will magically get better. Also I add books to my Kindle wish list faster than I can read them. 

Watched a lot of television. It seems counter-intuitive, but I read almost as much as I watch TV. I watched the entire fourth season of Arrested Development. It was fun. I liked it. I'm not a critic. It broke my streak of binge-watching everything in the category of TV Shows That Have Been Canceled Even Though They Are Really Fucking Good. Like Fringe. And Alphas. And Touch (actually I'm cool with this one if Keifer is going back to the world of 24; also never really want to hear him say "Jake" or "sweetheart" a thousand times every episode again).

What else? I had brunch a couple of times. Dim sum. Sat on my back deck and watched a monster thunderstorm with big rain and hail one Friday night. Canceled my Match.com membership (see also: life is too short to waste time hoping something will magically get better) . Watched my adorable neighbors' adorable cats while they did adorable things in Switzerland (and brought me chocolate because they are...adorable). Sent my mom chocolate-covered strawberries. Went to the dermatologist expecting to have things removed and had nothing to be removed (see also: developed crush on my dermatologist). Went to the farmer's market in the rain and returned home with fresh peaches and pruney feet. Had some really good dreams.

There's more in my navel to be examined. I miss you.

Waiting for winter...

We get a few cold days in Austin here and there, just teasers really, when we oh-so-hopefully drag out our boots and sweaters, throw an extra blanket on the bed, and wonder if we should go ahead and buy firewood. Rationally, we know that it's going to be 85 and humid tomorrow afternoon, that it will probably be warm on Thanksgiving, that the weather is going to be schizophrenic until at least January (and then we'll have two months of cold weather and it might even snow).

snow weather by kellylovej

In Texas, I've learned to wait it out. I put the holiday lights on my fireplace mantel on Saturday. I had the air conditioning on because the high on Saturday was 90 degrees. I persist, and affix a red bow to the outside door.

I have an active imagination. I squint and see leaves turning gold and brown with the season (and not dying trees because we're in a 10-month drought).

I buy sweaters online from the comfort of my chilly, air-conditioned office. And scarves. Because there will be at least two days this year that I can wear both. I briefly considered these boots...for the one day of snow we might get.

I surf Flickr for images of covered bridges, autumn in New England (I was born in Massachusetts, spent time in Newport and rural New Jersey before moving down South).

I dream of wintery, blustery nights in front of my fireplace, wrapped in a cashmere throw (the heart wants what the heart wants). This wallpaper could give me winter wonderful all year.

I love my winter clothes so much more than the others for their forgiveness, for their layered cozy comfort, for the 10 lbs. of Thanksgiving overeating they're going to hide. I have three perfectly good (and lovely) winter coats, but I think I need this one. I'll wear things in layers in the wintertime that I'd never wear alone, like this dress. The only hat I wear in the summer is an ugly wide-brimmed thing I wear to walk the dog. In the winter, I wear hats and feel very stylish (and they also cover up "day two" unwashed hair).

One or two more humid days of 80-something degrees before the next cold front comes in. Today I am wearing a cable-knit sweater in my air-conditioned office, drove here in my air-conditioned car, and will sleep tonight under an extra blanket in my air-conditioned house, dreaming of winter winds, warming my hands around a pumpkin latte, knocking the snow off of my boots on the front porch and warming my feet by the fire. Brrrr.