I am warning all of my Lowellita loyalists now that I am not on my A game. The certain burst that comes from deep within me and emits energy through my fingertips has been snuffed out this week.

I am now at the point where that burning desire in the pit of my stomach to let you all in on the torrid details of my so-called life is on the last inch of its wick.

What happens after it goes out?

I am not sure.

There comes a turning point in every person’s life when you ask yourself, “Is this it?” And do you know where this all hit me? Of all places — in the ladies’ room at a bar.
Without getting too vulgar, you get the picture.

In the stall, between the cell phone numbers scratched into the metal and political debates scribbled in different colored markers and handwriting, something caught my eye.
Amid all the graffiti musings about how meat is murder and the drawings depicting unnatural acts were nine bold block letters in green marker. All I could make out was “Lowellita,” then below it someone had taken a black marker and colored over the rest of the message.

I tried to see if I could read what was underneath. It could have just finished with a “was here,” but my mind was racing thinking of all the possibilities. And who else had seen it before some wonderful woman came along to spare me more embarrassment?

This was no bathroom humor. Actually, there was nothing funny about it. They say what you don’t know won’t hurt you, but this wasn’t the case.

After failed attempts to blot out my pseudonym with anything I could find in my purse — eyeliner, lip gloss, a Tide 2 Go Stick and even some chewed gum, nothing was going to erase my identity from this stank stall.

So there I was, standing in the rest room of a dive, staring face to face with my alter-ego. It wasn’t pretty or glamorous or anything like I thought it would be.

This is where the story of my life, which is this column, can take one of two turns. Will I continue down the same road that landed me on the wall next to the other graffiti? Or will I turn right onto a path I have never explored before and give it a chance?

I unlocked the stall, put my unfinished drink down on the bar and walked out the door into the balmy summer night, looking for something less familiar.

Where should Lowellita’s travels take her next in life? E-mail lowellita@lowellsun.com.