Vacation

Sometimes the best part of going somewhere is coming home.
went with Joann to Marin, to West Marin, to San Domenico, to Robinson park where I learned to ride my bike, to my favorite church, and all over the baby. All the little lands. All the memories coming around me. Going over the hill to Woodacre. Going to the lockers of my high school. Going to the little bridge by Madrone where I was convinced I was needed to help people, where I'd leave little packages for homeless people at age 7 of food and tell them to find me if they needed help.

I got sad and crumpled last night, with my foot throbbing again. So worrisome for the tromping I had done to it.

Coming back today is the best thing. I am also coming home to myself more and more everyday.

I am listening to Ryan Adams again, and I play the line over and over again "I'm getting really cold and I'm looking at you -- but you're not moving" and the dive of his voice comes into this place that I know inside. It like goes on a ride with me.


Mono took me home this morning down 280 and highway 17. Their slow then sudden guitar and movement apexes calmed my zigzaggy 17 ride. helped me go along slowly and feel covered.

Now it is raining hard so I didn't go the bank. I blow-dried my hair all the way and took pictures of my bangs and recent yellow streak in my hair. I heated up the vegetables that Sarah made and sent me home with, so cilantro-ey and soothing. I was so happy to find my leftovers I made from Friday, Mango-Chutney Chicken and Rice.
I had the best meal in my house being all rained-upon.