I miss blogging. I started taking pictures again this weekend, after almost two months of visual silence. Eventually I will upload them to Flickr, and perhaps here, but right now I want to write.
I finally feel at home in San Francisco. I realize that although I am adventurous, I thrive on normalcy. I have been working full-time for about a month now and the routine is beautiful. I get enough sleep and spend my evenings relaxing, usually going for a run or reading whatever I can get my hands on. I also cook, a lot. On the weekends I drink and dance with new and old friends, or we pass the time outside, working on my perma-tan. I feel healthy and happy.
But life is not the same. I naively convinced myself the hardest part of moving would be finding another job I love. I never thought my heart would ache this much for my family. I call my parents and brothers as much as I can. I try to remain strong and simply tell them I love and think about them. I didn't admit I cried after my mother called to say they were all together on York Beach, and she left an empty chair for me. She sounded happy, drunk on beer and sunlight.
I am counting down the days until I get to hug them again.
