Sawa

Last week I was fed up. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I was tired, fed up, pissed off.

I decided on Friday morning, on my way to work, that I had a choice to leave. So, I did. I went to San Francisco. I drove 500 miles by myself. If I stayed, I would have gone postal, like Michael Douglas in "Falling Down."

I needed to be far away and reconnect with the one person who's known me since I was nine- my best friend since the 4th grade. We drove around our old neighborhoods, which weren't as clean as they used to seem. When we're kids, there are just certain things that we don't see. Our eyes are small. Our hearts are big. We don't see black and white. We only know good and bad.

It was great to be back to a home where the fog comes in like big arms that hug you. All the comfort in the world I would find in the mist that covered my house and the streets. A city so beautiful, I relived it's history everyday.

It was good to be away, but I was happy going back. SoCal isn't always so great, what with the traffic and the way of living, I suppose. But it grows on you. I love the sun. The winters filled with rain. The too many places to go. The people I don't like seeing. The endless opportunities. My friends. My family.

And there's still no place better than sleeping in my own bed.