Katie Schwartz

I HATE, and I mean HATE, Let’s play what-if-your-husband-loses-a-limb-goes-blind-develops-an-allergy-to-pussy, et al.” This is how I want to spend my evening? Pondering acceptable handicaps my fictitious husband may or may not get. Why do we women do this? I had dinner with a girlfriend last night and she kept wanting to play the handy game. It makes me crazy.

It's odd when people laugh at all of the, here’s-the-manual-for-what’s-funny, things, isn't it?

I don’t like it here so much. I try. But, I'm homesick a lot. I don’t fit in, not that I want too, or try too. I have accepted that this is where I am for now, not forever, just for now. Living across the street from my sister is GREAT. It’s our little slice o’ Brooklyn. Coffee on the stoop and all. I used to write on stoops. It was one of my favorite things to do. And run the Hudson. I started in Chelsea, ran through Stuyvesant Square and ended at Central Park West, where I would get a cup of vendor coffee every morning. I was so happy. I’m not the enlightened type either. Enlightenment is all the rage in Los Angeles. Everyone’s doing it, and being of service. Not sure what that means. Sounds hookeree-for-the-poor. It sure is a popular catch phrase. Along with, I’m in my truth. I don’t get that at all, but I hear it all the time. It’s so staring-at-myself-in-the-mirror-while-cutting, isn’t it?