Lifetime Movie, 8:00pm Central.

Where is my life going? That’s a good question. I feel like a rug has been pulled out from under me, and like a baby I am stunned, and I cry more from the stupefied shock – not because I’m actually hurt. Or maybe I am? Hurt, that is. That’s a good question.

I feel like I’m in some dramatic Lifetime Special Presentation, one in which the good girl does wrong and her parents end up hating her; I’ll wiind up in some underground pub in the shabby outskirts of New York, refusing to use the change in my pocket to call my parents from the pay phone in the halllway. I’d rather wallow in the amber liquid that keeps my little crystal shotglass full, wondering if I’ll sleep with the handsome bartender who keeps filling it for me with a flirtatious wink.

After all, I will have fucked up a long time ago, my parents will be hating me – why shouldn’t I? That’s a good question.