I am rather sad about ending my beloved blog, Breakup Babe. But life goes on, does it not? Besides, now that I’ve rid myself of the name, I’m sure that I will find true love INSTANTLY, like the second I walk out the door of this coffee house onto the icy cold street.
Except I wouldn’t know true love if it whacked me in the head with a ski pole. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been “in love?” Longer than most of you have been alive. I hear it’s horribly overrated. That is chews you up and spits you out, leaving you older and more scarred than ever before, with a new piece of hideous baggage that has dirty underwear sticking out of it.
Strangely, however, the protagonist of my next novel is going to be “in love.” Some of you people might need to remind me what it’s like to be “in love.” My ancient memories are dim. But I thought it might be a lark to write about a “good” relationship for once, since I will probably never again be in one in my whole damn life. (I'm not asking for anyone's pity! I heart being alone! Hear me? HEART it!)
In other news, I’m off to the hills this weekend to exercise some of my fledgling backcountry ski skills and hopefully not get caught in any avalanches. It’s going to be a nice, toasty 15-degrees, with temperatures plunging at night. Luckily there will three of us (me plus two cute boys!) crammed into a two-person cabin so I plan to stay plenty warm.
Have a good holiday weekend.