Lately, I feel like my love/hate relationship with Los Angeles has become particularly pronounced. This morning for example, the drive to work was so beautiful, I found myself uplifted.
From the 101, the same freeway that was closed just hours earlier due to a shooting, I could see a view of the Hollywood Hills and beyond that, clouds that looked as if they had been lifted from cels from The Simpsons intro.
The fast, short-attention span pace of work and life has been wearing me down lately. Ironically enough, it’s this same pace in which I seem to thrive the best. Deadlines and quick turnaround keep my laziness in check, but at some point, something’s got to give.
At night, when it’s just pinpoints of lights and colors blurring past, is when it seems to be the most seductive. And the most depressing.
It’s hard for me to tell if the big, bright moon in the sky—much like my love of the city—is waxing or waning.
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