I've spent the holidays in Los Angeles, this year, where I have moved in order to become a screenwriter. It's expensive, here, and Mitch and I had been out of work for a few (more like several) months, so we didn't have the money to go home.

Christmas went pretty well just the two of us. We made breakfast casserole and went hiking in Topanga State Park.  Today, though, I've felt off. I eat because I'm hungry until I'm suddenly too full; I've had that restless unproductiveness that's a mixture of boredom and lack of focus; I troll the internet, and it depresses me. I told Mitch I had a dementor, and he laughed, which I felt pretty good about until I realized he was quoting the Big Lebowski.

I've finally got myself settled in on our makeshift couch (an air mattress in the living room), The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay opened on my lap, just started. If I were at my parent's house, right now, I'd be doing my best to get away from people. I'd want to sit by myself and read my book.

I miss friends and family, but it helps a little bit to have finally gotten myself to do what I'd be doing around them, anyway.

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