fever in fever out

if i said i was a little sick of being the single gal at parties would that be okay? i think so. i'm sick of it. sick. of it. of. it. it. it. it doesn't mean don't invite me. it means, being the single girl...,or woman really...at parties is a lot harder than other things. a character builder for which i should win the pulitzer for best attitude or some such.

a party tonight, after an afternoonm affair which was a delight, but the evening she-bang was also delightful but somehow i felt myself in a twilight, in another zone, in the zone of self consciously talking to men whose girlfriends or wives or whatevs were watching and then artfully bringing drinks or introducing and there's nothing wrong with that, introducing, after all, i don't know you you should tell me your name what you do how our paths have crisscrossed and such but at the same time there's a distinct sense of subtle otherness. or is it pariahhood and am i the only one who feels it and even if i were in a couple i think it would feel it, which means it's not about being a single at all, is it? after all. i'm sick of it all.

my little sister's in a production of death of a salesman, she did music arranging for it (i know, it's not a musical, but there's music in this prodxn. it's a new world. welcome!) and she's got a crush on the fella who plays biff. but what she can't figure is does she like biff or the actor who plays him?

it's a puzzle. i'm sick of puzzles even though i haven't done one in years.

also—i am sooooo sick of coming home and this little house smelling like pot. can i live somewhere where your neighbors' weed problem don't stink up the joint and your other neighbors don't ask you to take down their garbage or other favors which make you feel like a bitch for not wanting to oblige straight away? can i live somewhere without stink? where? can you recommend someplace? time might well be nigh to pick up stakes and move on. nyc is getting on my last nerve. and anyway, i only have one.