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My ex-boyfriend often drives me crazy. So I found a certain amount of irony in begging him to teach my how to drive.
I needed physical training and didn’t want to have to add “crashed a car” to the list of things I do in a day. The change in direction is what was challenging me so, naturally, I found it ironic when hours later my dad requested (demanded?) a letter justifying my direction in life. I didn’t want to have to add “crashed a car” to the end of that list.

People often come to a crossroads where they are forced to define their decisions and question whether they are the right ones.
“Do everything the opposite to what you’re used to doing,” Mr L.A explained as I almost side-swiped a parked car. I momentarily contemplated getting him to write the letter.
People often see other people clearer that they see themselves. Autopilot can be like a dirty windscreen in to self-reflection and honesty, but another persons U-turns and dead ends always stand out to bystanders like a truck about to hit head-on.
I have spent years justifying myself in the reflection of other people. So, I found a certain amount of irony when Mr L.A requested (demanded?) that I explain my immediate perception of him.
“You are the first person I was ever in love with,” I said. With zero irony.

The truth is that I have spent almost more time thinking about that car crash of a relationship than I have about myself as an individual. And I think about myself a lot. I could probably write a better letter about it than “Where Is My Life Going: The Untold Story” that needs to be penned in four hours.
“Dad probably doesn’t want a diatribe of my intimacy issues,” I concluded. Even though they may cross the double-lines of my life more than I care to acknowledge in my rear-view mirror.

When you know how you are perceived by someone, confidence in honesty or living up to That image becomes easier. Once Mr L.A learned that he will always be The First One, mannerisms switched gears. It made me think that, before I defined my direction, I should first find out how my dad defines me.

RG recently announced that he understands me better than anyone so, naturally, I found it ironic because I don’t even understand myself.
“I understand what you are doing,” he explained as I was inhaling a cigarette and drinking scotch. I momentarily contemplated getting him to write me a letter about it.
I sat down to write the Great Contemporary Novel entitled “There Is A Distillery At The End Of My Tunnel” but could only write one sentence.

I am looking for challenges.

When an emotionally unavailable, beautiful man walks into a room, I am immediately attracted to him. The wonder of whether I will be able to break down the Berlin Wall of emotional baggage intrigues me as a journey more than the contentment of success. When I need to get a job, I go to the most challenging part of the world to find out. I know that I could get employment easily in other circumstances, I wonder whether I can succeed in gaining something when everything is against me. When I look back on my life, I never want to see that I chose the option that already had a clear answer.

Looking back on my life on a computer screen, under the title, “Dear Papa,” I found a certain amount of irony in the fact that I was reiterating lessons my dad had taught me to explain where I am stationed in my life. They didn’t help me guess where I am going, as there is no Google Map for that, but they helped me define where I have been. And subsequently, visibly see clearly what direction I don’t want to go in again.
I signed off with, I am looking for challenges.

LA Girl Friend returned home to find me metaphorically in the foetal position, rocking back and forward.
“Are you OK?” She asked when she noticed my scotch glass empty. I had to drive, see. (Aside: Alcoholism is a lot easier to indulge in the moment you take heavy machinery out of your reality).
I was panicking about driving in the wrong direction, overwhelmed with the loss of my own direction and shaking from Jack Daniels withdrawals.
“You’re a capable person,” she explained. “You can do anything.” I momentarily contemplated getting her to write the letter.

Driving north along La Brea Avenue, next to a semi trailer that seemingly had a mission to knock me into the third dimension, I became overwhelmed with a sense of pride that I had overcome a challenge and succeeded in it. Not wanting to crash the car, I constantly reminded myself of the lesson Mr L.A had taught me.
“Take big left turns and little right turns.”
Suddenly, going against my instincts seemed like a good idea.
Naturally, I found it to be ironic.