How did I get here? Some days it all makes sense. I have seen traces of weaving the threads into a pattern and I, I knew exactly where I should be. On other days, I woke up and wondered how did I get here? So far from where I thought. I thought, now I could live a mother who designed the renovation of the house of Gary and me. I thought I would be celebrating 17 years of marriage. Now I was sure that Gary would win his Academy Award. Yet, if IOther than that, I was wondering where is the me in all this. And 'the mother of a child, the wife of a man, the Art Department Coordinator Production Designer. It 's his and ours, but where is mine?
In my mind, the clean lines of modern home was built. The soft pink, blue and yellow were the children on the walls. The floor to ceiling glass of the Studio Art reflects the blue of the Olympic pool. Palm trees and peace fills the courtyard. But there are people inand at home. Only the echo of my steps as I walk through empty space to exist, that never came.
Chaise Lounge
Instead I found myself leading a different life. A single woman who is no longer regarded as a widow. An artist who lives in downtown Los Angeles. Somehow I had become panels concrete floors and brick walls. I was the steel spiral staircase to my bedroom in the attic. I was a red-orange couch with a long couch that housed my legs when I took long breaks from myLife.
Raw silk curtains fluttered in the wind, the giant warehouse looked in my window to see a place dominated by the aerospace industry. The confusion of my previous life, I do not follow us. The memories come to take me when I need it, but no longer has leaked from these walls, as they have in the home of Gary and I shared together. I had not done so many times before.
In this room, I was, I found the dancer, the writer and the woman who was willingmore. There are stories and reasons for the disappearance of those parts of me. If you are from another time. Only through mourning the loss of my husband, and the connection to my soul, to survive, I had dug through the rubble of my life.
In this place, I heard my own fellow dancers joined the salsa lovers swirling gray on the concrete floor. The fingers of my script written on the sides, overlooking the twinkling lights of theInner cities like moaning sirens pierced the sounds other city. That 's where the clean lines of modern table lamp on my dreams, and plans to become a life coach, others move to their highest potential. Inspire them to live life with passion and purpose, even when I do the same challenge.
I've traveled so far to go in a circle to where I started first on my own, just me, here in Los Angeles. I left behind stainless steel and cement StarkThe city is surrounded on the West Side of light wood floors, break a courtyard with a fountain and trickles my couch, red-orange with a long couch, which has space for long legs, when I made my life. And during these breaks, I see more and more held over me that my new life. Finally.
Becoming of Me
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