Lowellita began to think her mind was playing tricks on her last week. There was no ruse pulled before her eyes. The only reason for that is that her eyes were half closed at that point. They are as wide as an owl now.

I created a monster. A monster that wears patent leather heels she can’t afford. One that sips over-priced jewel-toned potions while charming her way to comped cocktails and expensive late-night noshes. Someone who only uses artisan bottled water to boil pasta and make tea — if (with their social life) they are ever home to do so.

A person who exists solely to be seen, on the scene, making a scene.

No one wants their image of this vapid columnist to be tarnished. Well, at least more than it already is. They do not want to believe that she thinks martinis are overrated and finds Elliot’s Famous Hotdogs in Lowell to be a delicacy.

It all started with a pair of pink, knee-high suede boots topped with fur trim. I once thought they were the perfect fit, the object of my affection. My prince charming. When I look at them now, I wonder to myself, what was I thinking — or how much had I been drinking?

Mauve-hued animal hide, how tacky.

The anonymity is lost now. Sometimes that is a good thing — hey who doesn’t like free drinks once in a while or all the time? Sometimes it is a bad thing, when people think you are going to jump atop the tables outside The Courtyard and re-enact a scene from the now-defunct Matthew’s. OK, so that happened once, but never again, like wearing those pink boots.

I have come to realize what I had been looking for — whatever it was I was looking for — was in all the wrong places. In reality, I have been in the right place all along.

There are friends in bars at last call.
Notoriety is not captured in writing on a bathroom stall.
Sex appeal is not gained through terribly uncomfortable heels — though it can help. Enlightenment does not happen over coffee or runny eggs.
Fate is not something you find staring at the ceiling.
Creativity is not found in a bottle ... of perfume.
That right place for me is here — in Lowell.

This became apparent one night as I tussled with the sheets and my thoughts. I was thinking what was next for me? Should I throw in the keyboard and move onto another venture, in another city that is less comfortable. Or stick with what is familiar?

As I lay in silence, I could hear a low moan in the distance. It was the roar from the University Avenue bridge crying out to me. The sound tortured me all night.

In the end this city may break my heart, but first loves are well worth it.

Lowellita has found her safety net here. Will it be a mistake? E-mail lowellita@lowellsun.com.