I'm going to blame the vicodin for today's little bout of naval-gazing. (It's leftover from back when I sliced the tip of my finger off ... so yes, the prescription's mine, druggies.) The vicodin, and Julie and Julia, which I just finished watching on my Netflix Instant Queue gods bless the Wii I stole from my brother.
I miss New York.
Yeah, I know: I do this pretty regularly. Go along happy with San Francisco for a while and then bam suddenly I'm sick of it and just want to pick up and move back east.
Wait, let me pop another pill, bring it up to a full dose of painkiller.
Ah.
Where was I? Oh.
It's not that things aren't happening for me here in San Francisco. I'm starting to build up a network of friends that I like and can call up to do stuff here. I know the city more and more, my apartment gets more and more comfortable.
But there's something missing. Not exactly sure if it's what I think is missing, but whatever it is, it's not there.
That's all, really. Most of the time I'm okay and can ignore that hole, but it's getting more frequent now that the void becomes palpable. Maybe it's not New York where I'll find what I'm needing, but it's a place to start, isn't it?
Or I could just stay here, and try to figure out why that hole is there in the first place.
In the time since my last post, I've
- Gone camping for the first time since 2000;
- Broken my camera into un-usability;
- Celebrated my grandparents' 90th birthdays (and 65th wedding anniversary);
- Been injured again in my shoulder (hence the vicodin);
- Seen all my paternal cousins save one; and
- Got through a major family event without wanting to kill anyone related to me.
I'd say that was a more-or-less successful couple of weeks. It would be nice to be able to turn my head to the left again, but there you go. Life can't be perfect.
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