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Part III: A Pizza and a Return
And just like that, I'm home.
It was a great Wednesday, all told: a break from writing to help my mother with errands, and then pesto chicken pasta for dinner; and with dinner, The Big Sleep and Coraline (both adapted from books, both adapted well, both lacking something the author brought to it in print). I slept restlessly, feeling a clock ticking the whole way—I knew my return came Thursday, but it still felt really abrupt.
Then my mother and I talked this morning, briefly but well, and she went off to a half day's work; and then I was packing up and reading comics (when did Marvel's writing staff get so good) and generally putting the punctuation mark on my latest Fort Bragg experience. From there it was the long drive and the long talk that coincides, and Santa Rosa traffic, and a moon to die for, and a pizza that we almost murdered people to get; and then the too-short ride and the summer night, and the bright bright lights, and home.
It is good to be home, truly, especially when I thought another night separated me and my bed; it's good to have nowhere I have to be tomorrow, to be able to just focus on my own life and my own things; but at the moment I admit I'm a little sad.
It's not that I actually want to live in Fort Bragg again—that proposition only sounds good for reasons I have discussed here exhaustively. But there is a peace to Fort Bragg, a feeling of youth and home, that I don't get here down in Mountain View. Life down here feels busy, occupied, cluttered even, with things to do and things that need doing. Life here feels like bills and responsibilities. And I know that will fade, but right now there's that pre-lingual desire to just crawl back home and sleep some more, and maybe write.
But I have to remember what I saw in Matt Fraction's writing. What I feel when I read about San Francisco, see in Chandler's novels. I have to remember that as wonderful as Fort Bragg is, it's better as a waystation; I can't use it as a home base.
But I can write about it.
And just like that, I'm home.
It was a great Wednesday, all told: a break from writing to help my mother with errands, and then pesto chicken pasta for dinner; and with dinner, The Big Sleep and Coraline (both adapted from books, both adapted well, both lacking something the author brought to it in print). I slept restlessly, feeling a clock ticking the whole way—I knew my return came Thursday, but it still felt really abrupt.
Then my mother and I talked this morning, briefly but well, and she went off to a half day's work; and then I was packing up and reading comics (when did Marvel's writing staff get so good) and generally putting the punctuation mark on my latest Fort Bragg experience. From there it was the long drive and the long talk that coincides, and Santa Rosa traffic, and a moon to die for, and a pizza that we almost murdered people to get; and then the too-short ride and the summer night, and the bright bright lights, and home.
It is good to be home, truly, especially when I thought another night separated me and my bed; it's good to have nowhere I have to be tomorrow, to be able to just focus on my own life and my own things; but at the moment I admit I'm a little sad.
It's not that I actually want to live in Fort Bragg again—that proposition only sounds good for reasons I have discussed here exhaustively. But there is a peace to Fort Bragg, a feeling of youth and home, that I don't get here down in Mountain View. Life down here feels busy, occupied, cluttered even, with things to do and things that need doing. Life here feels like bills and responsibilities. And I know that will fade, but right now there's that pre-lingual desire to just crawl back home and sleep some more, and maybe write.
But I have to remember what I saw in Matt Fraction's writing. What I feel when I read about San Francisco, see in Chandler's novels. I have to remember that as wonderful as Fort Bragg is, it's better as a waystation; I can't use it as a home base.
But I can write about it.
Labels: travel
posted by Tyler at
9:41 PM
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