I played tour guide to my L.A. friends all weekend, and now I am exhausted. So after I read this 200-page dissertation on FSA photography and Eudora Welty, I am going to watch Weeds and nap all day.
I don't know which of my two homes I most dread coming home to. Is it here in the Bay Area, beautiful and pristine? With my high school friends and my parents? Smoking outside my elementary school and wasting minutes, hours, days? Or is it in Los Angeles, where I can do anything? Where I have a two-story Brentwood condo? Where I have to constantly reinvent myself and force myself to learn new things and write 20-page (and 40-page) papers?
Which place is home to more of my isolation? Where do I alienate myself more? Where is there more heartbreak and confusion and shallow relationships, all ending in a snap of the fingers, all regrets, all sorries, all I'll never do that agains.
I have realized that I have torn everything down in both places. All of my decisions have added up to nothing again. All I can do is start over. It's terrifying.
9.01.2008
mere illustrations.
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Perhaps what you have is two houses, and no homes.
Building a home... building a home is hard. You don't really realize how hard it is until you tear it all down and try to put it back together--only to realize that the pieces no longer fit.
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