For the last couple of hours I have been desperately trying to gather my thoughts like a fisherman gathering the day’s catch in a big old fishing net. However the thoughts have been so rapid and scattered they are slipping through the holes and it’s hard to catch them before they escape into the abyss. So as I sit here and write I feel wrong, knowing that the brilliant words that came to me an hour ago out of rage have dissipated, disappeared and dissolved like evaporated water.

I had reached a boiling point.

This was my umpteenth trip to “The City of Angels” a name that I’m almost positive is a misnomer of “The City Of A-Holes”. Now before the uber sensitive residents of said city get their recycled hemp panties in a bunch; let me explain my relationship and history with this city. The City of A-holes and I go way back and our relationship has always been strained, it’s very much like the guy who calls you at 3am talking sweetly about how wonderful you are and although you fall for it every time, deep down you know he’s just looking to screw you.

Yet every time he calls you run to the phone.

Somewhere, deep down you know it will be the same. Your only hope is to save yourself. Sounds easy but anyone who has ever been in an abusive relationship knows it's not as easy as it sounds. You can ignore the phone calls and the attention he gives you but always in the back of your head will be the love you feel for him even if he doesn't love you back.

Unrequited love is by far the most painful.

So does this mean I secretly love LA? Perhaps that's where the frustration comes from. As I sit stewing in the spoils of my all too often impotent career, most of which are mental or societal spoils, I think; is that all there is? Where are my real victories? And yes I have had some victories, that I cannot deny, but you always want what you don't have. I have yet to conquer this city.

Next time I will be on top, the screwer instead of the screwie.