multitudes

At work the other day, the new guy guessed I was an only child. Is it that obvious? I guess it is.

I threw a bachelorette party last weekend. The groom joked that we'd all be home by 9pm - I have a reputation for getting sleepy early. But we stayed out until 2:30. 18th Street felt like an amusement park. We ended up at the Reef and I found myself in intense people-watching mode - everyone seemed younger, everyone was wearing the same trendy clothes; I felt like I was watching an ant colony or something.

Last night my husband was at a going away party for a friend from college so it was just me and Cosmo. I ordered hunan bean curd, szechuan eggplant and stir-fried spinach from Mr. Chen's in Woodley Park. I drank a Heineken. I watched a film called "P.S." in which the main character learns she needs to stop feeling sorry for herself, to root for her own happiness. In The Artist's Way, a book I read last year, the author talks about how the universe opens up to you once you know what you really want. People tend to experience synchronicity - once they admit they want something, opportunities present themselves.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actress when I grew up. As a teenager the dream persisted. I remember at one point my dad said to me, "if that's what you really want, you should go for it." Then later, under the spell of the TV show "L.A. Law," I temporarily decided I wanted to be a lawyer instead. "Oh God," my dad said. "That's the last thing the world needs, another lawyer."

I'd still like to be an actress.