paint the black hole blacker.

Los Angeles was surreal this weekend. The congested freeways, the sunshine heating up the sidewalks, the busy cafes and restaurants all felt like part of a movie set constructed over a place where my life used to happen. It is strange returning to a place you once called home only to find that you no longer belong there. I was merely a visitor this weekend. And despite the negative connotations of being a tourist and an outsider, I have never had a more positive relationship with that city than I do right now.

I found it beautiful the way the heat dried out my hair minutes after stepping out of the shower or a swimming pool (I was in three different swimming pools this weekend). I found it comforting that the heat turned sticky at night. The food tasted better. The streets seemed cleaner.

So three margaritas, one lemonade, one frappuccino, one gin and tonic, one ice blended from Seattle's Best, two Tecate's, and 12-15 glasses of water later, I have imbued my old home with a nostalgia I never really believed possible.

Perhaps all you have to do to appreciate something deeply is to make it disappear from your life for random intervals of time. I have learned that lesson many times in the last four years, but I never realized I was learning it until right now.