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April 8, 2001

We decide today to go down to Santa Monica pier and drink Coronas at that restaurant at the end and watch the sun set.

And I tell him how bad my day was, how I blew the audition, and the hairdresser didn't give me the cut I wanted, and I've gained three pounds this week, and he's just looking at me and I stop in the middle, suddenly feeling very stupid.  Is this my life?  A blown audition is the most important thing that I can talk about that day?

  "What's wrong?" He asks me.  Of course, I can't say anything. Nothing like explaining to someone you've been dating for two weeks how petty you think you are to make you feel even more petty.  "Nothing,"  I say.  And smile again, but the insides still aren't matching the outsides.  This has been a miserable day.  A truly miserable day.  And now the sun is starting to go down, and there's a crowd of people in front so we're REALLY not gonna be able to see anything.  "Let's go somewhere else,"  he says.  Next thing I know, we're walking back down the pier.  "We've got plenty of time," he says.  And I believe him, even though the light's starting to turn that dangerous I'm-setting-and-you're-missing-it-orange. "I know a good place.  Not far," he says, "We can make it.  We've got all the time in the world."  And I believe him.  It's easy to believe him.  I'm stupid and pathetic.  He knows a good place that's not too far.

I realize he's got my hand.  I'm following him.  He's in control.  And I'm thinking how nice it is for someone else to take my hand and to lead me to a good place that's not too far.