The other morning the alarm rang very early. It was dark and cold and a weekday. Something about the combo reminded me of life in P-town and how I used to wake up so early to start my day, and do my commute, and get to work on time.
I have lived in San Francisco for almost one year, and haven't missed Portland that much. I think part of it is because everything was so new: new house, routine, new book contract, new projects, and the newness of blending a life with my love. I knew him well before we packed that u-haul but he still took a little getting used to.
But on Monday morning I missed Portland and the feeling hasn't gone away. I am dreaming of farmer's markets and eating outside at my favorite restaurants, and Powells, and shopping, and of course -- friends.
It is a good thing to remember. Life is more than food, and bills, and computers that won't work, and parts of book chapters that get deleted, and hit and run accidents.
P.S. I am eating leftovers this week. M has been on the road and has a good friend in town. Thankfully the fridge is stocked with not-too-exciting but need to be eaten things. Lunch today: sliced of whole wheat firestone bread with cilantro pesto, sliced yellow tomato, and cheese (what kind? who knows. It was just a nubbin.) For dessert, sliced cantaloupe. I am contemplating an afternoon jaunt to a coffee shop for a little sip & write, but we'll see.
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