Men hate Sex in the City. It’s because the show has some truth in it. It is a very scary thought when all the women in the world wise up about men and conspire… not against men. I am not a huge fan of the show, i.e. I cannot quote or cite examples from the show like my girlfriends, but I get a good laugh out of it. The strange thing is every time I find myself out of a relationship, I feel as if I was one of the characters in the show. No one in particular as I feel that I can relate more or less to each of the four. When the party is over, as in love ends, we start the next one, sharing vile spirits with the girls, bingeing on ice cream, shoe shopping therapy, etc.

Not sure how many episodes of sex in the city I have enacted so far. For every episode, there is a trilogy of a great beginning, a lessons learned, and the same ending. The only thing that never changes is how anticlimactic it feels between the episodes. I take a deep breathe, wait for the sunset, moon rise, watch the world spins around and around with an imperfect precision. Rather have loved and lost than never have loved at all.  

Still wrapped up in remanent warmth of love, I feel blessed. 

Tomorrow, I will get up at the crack of dawn to row, then make coffee, process some pictures, and maybe research care instructions for these beautiful orchids that he made me.