Home

I dreamed about my dad last night and woke up missing home. We were going out to eat at an Italian restaurant, much like the last place we went out to eat together which was DiMille's in San Diego. The place was crowded so until the waitress could find us a table, we danced on the dance floor. I woke up and rolled over to stare at the oversized painting on my wall of an elegant woman wrapped in thin linens. It reminded me of when it hung on my bedroom wall in La Mesa and Emily asked if that woman was me. For days the three of us would go back and forth and Candace would get Emily to say it was Mommy and I would get Emily to say it was me. That was an awesome house and I loved how my room was almost seperate from the rest of the house, with french doors that opened up to my own private patio where Candace and I would sit at night and have a glass of wine or a few beers. I needed a change in my life though, as I was stuck in a stale cycle of routine that was leading me to make bad decisions about my life. I'm definately happy where I am though and have some great friends up here. One of my friends here from San Diego asks me if I think I'm here for good. We wonder about it and talk about how we never really know, because after all, we somehow ended up here to begin with, but San Diego is still home.