Driving home from Manhattan I turned onto Central Park West to weave my way to the Henry Hudson Parkway and headed for West 75th Street to go past an apartment I lived in eleven years ago for a couple of years. On the left just before the turn was the San Remo. A beautiful apartment building on Central Park West and I realized I am never going to live in the San Remo apartment building. And all the pretenses I used to tell myself. Like that I would one day write a giant best seller or be a famous movie star and I would earn so much money that I too would have an apartment in the same building as Steven Spielberg or any of the other wealthy people who live there.
Or I guess I should just start in here:
I will never live in the San Remo. It hit me driving home from the city today. And all the other things I used to tell myself to prop up my near existent self confidence. My no sense of self. So what does this mean to me today? I guess it is a wonderful reminder of where I have been and where I am today. I used to day dream all the time about writing a blockbuster novel, being an amazing actress discovered late in life.
