As a kid I dreamed of red carpets, drinking champagne in the back of limousines, my body dripping in diamonds and organza.
Los Angeles held this unworldly beauty and draw of something far more glamorous than small town theatre and playing pretend.
I was not immune to the intoxicating image painted about the city. But the city looks quite different up close.
It’s like a carnival, the fist day you’re running around funnel cake in one hand and cotton candy in the other, your hair whipping you in the face as you spin trying to take it all in.
You’re riding the highs and everything feels like a movie and the sun is shining and everything is glistening.
But after a while the fair loses it’s appeal, you start to notice the tarnish on the ferris wheel and the teenagers barfing into buckets, and the jaded looks in everyone’s eyes.
And you have to remind yourself that you wanted this- but half of you is fighting that- pleading the fifth because you didn’t know everything was just plastic.
You want a refund and you want so grasp something real.
Now I dream of simple things.
Friends visiting from out of town.
Making macaroons and making an even bigger mess.
Cuddling on the couch and reminding myself how far we’ve come.
my friends do cool stuff:
Listening to: Closer by The Chainsmokers & Halsey
Binge watching: LOST & the new episode of Master Chef
Snacking on: Popcorn