A letter to the City of Angels…

Dear Los Angeles,

I need a job. I’m running out of money. And also enthusiasm. (And hope, a little bit). I’ve ‘shown up’ every day, kept my focus, applied to everything from “associate editor” to “server at Cuban Mom n Pop” to “promotional girl” for Sparkle’s Angels. (We both know, in my heart, I really didn’t want to be that kind of angel…)

The thing is, if I can’t find work here — even day job work, while I’m trying to build my acting career — we are going to have to break up. And I really like you. A lot. I wanna stay for a while. I think you’d really like me if we got to know each other better. And I’d feel that all I’ve sacrificed wasn’t for nothing. (A partial list: my cello, my dog, my cat, my savings, my furniture, my friends, my boyfriend, my day job, my acting career in Portland.)  

I’m asking you to meet me half way. Asking really hard.

I feel like I’m trying to jump into double-dutch jump rope and I can’t get the rhythm right. 

Let’s see what we can figure out together, ok?

XX, L

Image of 1960’s Brooklyn chewing gum factory workers.