never married, over forty, a little bitter


The two friends talked every night. Not for many years had the spare room walls heard such animation. Mary had received many confidences; it was part of her business in life. To impart, to confide herself was an unfamiliar delight.

Dora was very sympathetic within her narrow range. Outside it she was often astray, and did not follow Mary.

–F.M. Mayor, The Rector’s Daughter, p. 87


To sit half an hour by an elderly lady getting deaf, another half an hour by some awkward spectacled girl, such was generally Mary’s fate at the parties of the neighborhood. When it was over she had accomplished a duty; for pleasure she preferred reading under the chestnut tree. To-day the one of all others she most wanted to talk to most wanted to talk to her, and there was no archaeology to spoil her happiness.

–F.M. Mayor, The Rector’s Daughter, p. 82


This week I travelled about an hour to visit another beach city, one that hosts my all-time favorite music event and is the home of the last three men (all creatives) who caught my fancy. It’s very “hipster” and much more in line with my interests than the family-and-sports-oriented place I am living in now.

On the other hand, it’s more congested and trafficy and I’d have a much higher chance of having out-of-control neighbors or customers. All of which is moot because there’s no job for me there anyway.

In L.A. you pick your poison. I read somewhere that it’s almost impossible to live, work, and play in the same area, but I did have that with my last job, which is why, despite all the issues, it was hard for me to leave it.

I am a little concerned about living in my current place until I’m in my fifties. It’s easy but may end up isolating me.

While in this other town, I stopped into one of my favorite health food cafes for lunch. It was mostly filled with groups of people in their twenties and thirties, on dates or with friends, along with a few families and one small group of middle-aged women. As I ate, I spied three other doppelgängers in the room– women over forty, eating alone. So perhaps my life would not be so different there.