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Little Bohemian
Title: Little Bohemian Address: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog. ListAll&friendID=12030916&MyToken=249b5fe0-0017-4489-8af1-469d3fdb4198ML Author: Little Bohemian From: Hillcrest Blogging since: April 2006 Post Date: January 21, 2007 Post Title: San Diego Part I
I've just moved out. The magnitude of the change occurring has not hit me yet, and I worry for the moment it does. I think I might go mad and hang myself or something. I'm in Starbucks, and it's the first time I've felt at home since I got here. Granted, I only arrived less than 24 hours ago, but still. The Starbucks lady was friendly, too friendly. She kept asking me how I was and what I was doing in San Diego, and I kept giving her information like an idiot, and so she kept inquiring and all I could think was "I don't care! Give me my coffee and shut up." I sat down with my coffee, glad not to be talking to anyone, and the lady at the table across from me chimes in, "So you just moved to San Diego? I moved here a few months ago myself." Dammit! I said something polite enough to affirm her but empty enough to end the conversation.
I sat down and looked busy -- pulling out my laptop and getting settled. She went on to inform me that she moved here to attend law school, which surprised me because she must have been in her late 50s, and I tried very hard not to blurt out the fact that she might be dead before she even graduated. She was pretty weird. Very erratic and unorganized.... She'll make a great lawyer if she makes it through.
I'm looking at her right now, actually. She's eating one of those ridiculously priced sandwiches they sell here, which if you wait long enough, they'll give you at the end of the night; I went home with, like, 12 one night, knowing full well I'd never eat any of them, but I can never say no to something free. It's in my blood. My family trained me to be a scavenger. Even as I packed for this trip...move...I keep calling it a trip, but it's not, it's a move and I just can't wrap my mind around it. Anyway, as I packed for my extended trip, my mother and aunt went behind me, digging through my trash, picking out things that could still be used. They were saving teal-colored make-up from the early '70s, which will immediately be thrown into a drawer full of unused teal-colored make-up and random pieces of I don't even know what that I'm sure will be of use in the future for some unknown but dire, specific purpose. "We'd better keep this because if I attend a hookers and trannies party, even though I haven't been out of the house in 20 years, I might need it!"
I don't want to go back to the apartment. Because then I'll have to admit that this is now my new home. This is where I will be coming back to when I leave Starbucks from now on. Right now, at Starbucks, I feel like where I should be. I don't feel like that at the apartment. It doesn't feel like my life. It feels like I'm stuffing myself into someone else's life and trying to feel at home there, but it's unnatural. I'm hoping this feeling passes with time. It doesn't feel like this place will ever feel like home. It doesn't feel like it's mine. There is a comfort and confidence that comes with owning your city. I wasn't crazy about Fresno, but it was mine. The people were mine and the places were mine. It's all very egocentric, but true.
These people aren't mine. I don't like them; I want them to leave. I want them to be more like me so I can feel better. They feel different; they almost feel dirtier. Which is a terrible thing to say because I'm sure they're very clean, most of them. But the thing is, they are different, and I tend to think people that are different from me are almost inhuman, like they live in a totally different part of the world that doesn't teach the basic human laws of cleanliness and behavior.
I'm a little pissed at God right now. With no real reason to be, either. I think God likes it when we're mad at Him because it makes our relationship with Him more real, more relevant. God doesn't want us to mindlessly and obligatorily follow Him. He wants a relationship and that means fights. It means disagreeing and sometimes not talking, on both parts. It means messing up and falling but mostly it means letting Him love us when we do. That's the hardest part of being in a relationship with Jesus, to me: accepting His love when all my existence tells me I either don't need it or don't deserve it. I know that will be a lifelong struggle for me, which sucks because feeling unlovable is just about the worst feeling I can think of. I think at the heart of every issue is the issue of love and whether or not we are experiencing it.
I have to go soon, back to my not-home. Maybe I could just move into Starbucks. That probably violates some kind of code, but I could be like the girl on that movie that lived in Wal-Mart and had her baby there and ultimately got married there.... I could get married at Starbucks. I don't think they'd let me, though.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Little Bohemian
Little Bohemian
Title: Little Bohemian Address: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog. ListAll&friendID=12030916&MyToken=249b5fe0-0017-4489-8af1-469d3fdb4198ML Author: Little Bohemian From: Hillcrest Blogging since: April 2006 Post Date: January 21, 2007 Post Title: San Diego Part I
I've just moved out. The magnitude of the change occurring has not hit me yet, and I worry for the moment it does. I think I might go mad and hang myself or something. I'm in Starbucks, and it's the first time I've felt at home since I got here. Granted, I only arrived less than 24 hours ago, but still. The Starbucks lady was friendly, too friendly. She kept asking me how I was and what I was doing in San Diego, and I kept giving her information like an idiot, and so she kept inquiring and all I could think was "I don't care! Give me my coffee and shut up." I sat down with my coffee, glad not to be talking to anyone, and the lady at the table across from me chimes in, "So you just moved to San Diego? I moved here a few months ago myself." Dammit! I said something polite enough to affirm her but empty enough to end the conversation.
I sat down and looked busy -- pulling out my laptop and getting settled. She went on to inform me that she moved here to attend law school, which surprised me because she must have been in her late 50s, and I tried very hard not to blurt out the fact that she might be dead before she even graduated. She was pretty weird. Very erratic and unorganized.... She'll make a great lawyer if she makes it through.
I'm looking at her right now, actually. She's eating one of those ridiculously priced sandwiches they sell here, which if you wait long enough, they'll give you at the end of the night; I went home with, like, 12 one night, knowing full well I'd never eat any of them, but I can never say no to something free. It's in my blood. My family trained me to be a scavenger. Even as I packed for this trip...move...I keep calling it a trip, but it's not, it's a move and I just can't wrap my mind around it. Anyway, as I packed for my extended trip, my mother and aunt went behind me, digging through my trash, picking out things that could still be used. They were saving teal-colored make-up from the early '70s, which will immediately be thrown into a drawer full of unused teal-colored make-up and random pieces of I don't even know what that I'm sure will be of use in the future for some unknown but dire, specific purpose. "We'd better keep this because if I attend a hookers and trannies party, even though I haven't been out of the house in 20 years, I might need it!"
I don't want to go back to the apartment. Because then I'll have to admit that this is now my new home. This is where I will be coming back to when I leave Starbucks from now on. Right now, at Starbucks, I feel like where I should be. I don't feel like that at the apartment. It doesn't feel like my life. It feels like I'm stuffing myself into someone else's life and trying to feel at home there, but it's unnatural. I'm hoping this feeling passes with time. It doesn't feel like this place will ever feel like home. It doesn't feel like it's mine. There is a comfort and confidence that comes with owning your city. I wasn't crazy about Fresno, but it was mine. The people were mine and the places were mine. It's all very egocentric, but true.
These people aren't mine. I don't like them; I want them to leave. I want them to be more like me so I can feel better. They feel different; they almost feel dirtier. Which is a terrible thing to say because I'm sure they're very clean, most of them. But the thing is, they are different, and I tend to think people that are different from me are almost inhuman, like they live in a totally different part of the world that doesn't teach the basic human laws of cleanliness and behavior.
I'm a little pissed at God right now. With no real reason to be, either. I think God likes it when we're mad at Him because it makes our relationship with Him more real, more relevant. God doesn't want us to mindlessly and obligatorily follow Him. He wants a relationship and that means fights. It means disagreeing and sometimes not talking, on both parts. It means messing up and falling but mostly it means letting Him love us when we do. That's the hardest part of being in a relationship with Jesus, to me: accepting His love when all my existence tells me I either don't need it or don't deserve it. I know that will be a lifelong struggle for me, which sucks because feeling unlovable is just about the worst feeling I can think of. I think at the heart of every issue is the issue of love and whether or not we are experiencing it.
I have to go soon, back to my not-home. Maybe I could just move into Starbucks. That probably violates some kind of code, but I could be like the girl on that movie that lived in Wal-Mart and had her baby there and ultimately got married there.... I could get married at Starbucks. I don't think they'd let me, though.
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