Well, I don’t want to sound all self-pitying and pathetic, even though, honestly, my present situation totally justifies sounding that way. I had two almost perfect years, actually. Michael was the reason for them. In trying to be perfect for him, I ended up having a lot of fun. Until Michael, I didn’t really do much. I had left college, moved into my own apartment, started going out every night in Milan’s wake and spent my days sleeping, shopping and getting ready to go out again. None of it, not the apartment or the going out, had much to do with me. I was living where my mother had put me and trailing after my best friend. I guess I was a kind of tourist in my own life. Michael changed that totally. He pointed out to me that the people I was close to had things of their own. He didn’t come right out and say 'get a life', or more specifically, 'get a job', but the inference was pretty obvious. The whole job thing in my world is kind of a murky area. We don’t really have jobs in the traditional sense of the word.
