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2003-10-06 - 5:08 p.m.
This is a side note that I will insert on the top rather than the side making it more of a title than a sidenote which maybe it is, that is to say, maybe it is both: The other day my co-worker said "Is it normal to feel despair while at work?"
I don't like living in San Francisco.
I never thought I'd say it but it's true.
It's just wrong and I can't quite pinpoint it.
Maybe it's because I have an aversion to Victorian buildings or because the entire city feels like its haunted by bitter, lonely spirits.
Maybe it's because it feels like a small town.
Or maybe it's because everyone seems to take themselves just a little too seriously.
Maybe I'm just broken.
It sure is beautiful here on a sunny day. And there sure are lots of seductive little nooks and crannies full of books and poets and artists and...stuff.
I should love it here, right?
But the truth is that I hate coming home and I look for every excuse to get out of here.
I'd like to say that disliking San Francisco makes me hungry for something else, but it doesn't.
I'm concerned that my formerly vivacious appetite is being replaced by quiet apathy and empty repose.
But haven't I been writing about this for years?
WHY? Am I still writing about it?
I don't know what I'm hungry for and I don't know what to blow up and what to break and what to let go of. (Though I have strong feelings about what I want to hold on to.)
I am tired. All the time. I have been for years.
I just. want. it. to. stop.
Where to go now?