Like a fish out of water.
I haven't written much lately. Things have been so so hard, that it's impossible for me to begin to describe it. Suffice it to say, it's been a bad bad few weeks at work. My kids both had H1N1. Hubcap has it so bad I'm worried about him and feel compelled to check on him everyday, bring him food, make sure he is Okay.
I'm running through some sort of transition, and I don't know what it is. I hate work so bad right now, it's almost a physical sickness. I cuddle my kids at night, and keep telling myself this too shall pass. Why is it that when I finally feel myself coming into my own, that things become so emotionally challenging that I'm almost at the end of my rope?
I am starting to hate Montana with a passion. I should rephrase that. I hate living in Montana. I want to go home. I want to go home to California where I belong. I'm considering it at this point, but nothing can happen until the house sells.
I know life will not be any easier in CA...money will be hard, worse than hard.
But at least I'll feel like I'm home. I don't fit in here. I try. I know I could try more, but honestly, I'm stretched so thin, I have no energy to put into new relationships. I want to go home and bathe in my old ones.
I want to take my kids home so they grow up knowing there are people besides white people. I want to smell the dirt, grime and urine on the streets....I'm coming to the slow realization that I have tried to go country, but I'm an urban mite. I always have been.
I think about the stuff I used to love, walking down the street, hearing people talk in different languages...some I could recognize, some I couldn't. I knew the homeless on my corners by name, and gave them clothes, coffee, cigarettes, money without hesitation, knowing that they were living the life they chose, and who was I to tell them any different. What you give of your heart, you must give fully, with no regrets.
I can't say that I ever do that here. I go to Wally World, and look at people with scorn in my eyes, I know I do. I know it must be coming off of me in great waves...saying..."fucking hicks"....I go to work, and work with people who know of nothing but this place. Who think this is normal. Hell, maybe it is normal, maybe I'm the weirdo from CA. I know they think that about me, and the more they do, the more I feel myself wanting to act out.
It's getting harder and harder to stay in the closet. It's all I can do not to put blatantly gay topics right on my facebook page for all of them to see. I know one of these days, I'm going to do it and not realize it. I need to somehow tell hubcap I think....
I wish I knew what I really wanted to do. If it wasn't for the kids, I'd be out of here...now. Not waiting. But they deserve more than me selfishly pulling them out of the only place they have known as home for my own needs. I must consider this carefully...and hope with hope that I do the right thing.
I just want to go home. It's that simple. I long for my city by the bay. I long for the fog, for the drives down Hwy 1 from San Francisco to Santa Cruz, for the slow peace of Point Reyes. For the hustle and bustle. I even long for the traffic. How crazy is that? I want to go to Trader Joes, and by my coffee again at the Castro Cheesery where they knew me. How is it in a city as giant as SF....I had more "neighborhood" connections than I've ever had here?
My soul lives in CA....how come I don't? I moved of my own free will, but now I'm regretting it in a huge, big way. I'm not meant for this life here. I know people do it, but I'm not sure I'll ever feel comfortable here, really comfortable. It's because everything I loved, and treasured, in a pleasure way, is not here. I remember driving in the city, looking out over the bay, the blue water on sunny days, the sail boats...the smell of fish frying in the air, the sounds of sea gulls, my favorite scavengers.....and I would always think, OMG, I live here....the pleasure of it, time and time again.
My memories are so wrapped up in the smells (quiet now Sta). In the colors...in the funky dirtiness of it. My pleasures in that city never had to do with the fancy places to eat, or go, they had to do with the rougher side...the grimy side.
Don't get me wrong, I like nice things and places as much as the next person...but walking down a street in the mission, and seeing a mural, standing in the sun with my friend while we waited for Carnival to start....parking my car in the parking lot on Ocean beach and just sitting.......Barbara's Fish Shack in Half Moon Bay, and in Montera...the coffee house that sat on the highway with the glassed in porch and huge rockers so that you could sit there, and enjoy the view. My dad and I used to go there every time he came.
I had neighborhoods I loved, and neighborhoods I avoided like the plague. I loved the Mission, The Haight, China Town, Little China Town, The sunset, and The Richmond....I stayed far far away from The Marina, Pacific Heights, Northbeach, the inner Sunset. I loved Fort Funston and the Hang Gliders, and Pacifica and the fog.....and lets not forget Devils Slide.....
Sta and I used to take small road trips just to go there, and then down the road a bit for Mexican food at a taquaria.
Street musicians, and the silver and gold guys down on the Pier. Fleet week, with the endless noises caused by the Blue Angels flying over head all week. It's all so perfectly clear in my head, even five years later.....fiver years after I left....and it's so fucking real I could touch it.
Enough for now....