Twister

Wide open spaces of the Mid-West. Straight horizontal lines and easy walking. San Francisco was the opposite of here--it was angles and sharp curves and deep challenging hills. There were copses and stands of trees, sitting up on top of hills and parks--little clumps of dark green against the pale pastel collection of rooftops and neighborhoods which clustered together on inclines--opening like fans. A city that you could see from anywhere. You crest a hill and there it was--more of it. This neighborhood there which you can see in it's entirety, or that park there where you can make out joggers or strollers being pushed lazily on the stepped walks above Pac Heights.

Oh magical city. There is nothing like you. The sharp yellow light, the relaxed posture of your citizens. The brisk wind and the damp. The cat-urine smell of crushed eucalyptus that clings, still, to my stroller tires and certain pairs of shoes. Acrid and stinging, sickly, that smell always makes me cry. If I were there today, I'd reach down to the path and gather up a handful of those wonderfully reeking needles of leaves and stuff them into my pockets to bring home--I wouldn't care who was watching.

And then there's that of course. Who's watching? In San Francisco, no one cares. No one judges. Well, they do, but not for the same things as other places. No one judges by differences. It is the city of opposites--like a land from a childrens book. The only thing you can do wrong is to be just like everyone else. Homogeny is frowned upon. The normative is to be different, rebellious, to go against the grain. And after awhile this becomes tiresome as well--it is horribly hypocritical to all do the exact opposite of everyone else just because it's opposite. But when you're back in the middle of the country, the idea of the city seems so refreshing. So lovely. California is it's own country, and San Francisco is the left-most section of it.

It could not be more cliché to say that I left my heart there. Maybe it would not be accurate either. Maybe it would be best to say that I am always turned toward the city. As if, when I am somewhere else, it just feels as though I am that far away from home.

In San Francisco, no matter where I lived, the corners of Divisidero and Fulton were my main node, the heart of the city to me. And where I lived was just 6 or 3 or however many blocks away from that point on the map. When I was not there, it was if I leaned toward it subconsciously. As if life is just an enormous game of twister and I will always have my left foot stepped squarely onto that circle. Left Foot San Francisco, Right Hand Atlanta, Right foot Chicago. And I am just that off-balance. beginning to wobble

Beginnings

This blog is simply a space for me to write without anyone reading it, necessarily. It's a space that, at least for now, will be only for me. I have such stage fright when I approach my blog. I fear opinions, failures. I want a space where language can play out of me and I don't need to worry about it. I need a space to practice, to exercise, to remember.