I made the reservations this morning for the shuttle to the airport tomorrow, my heart sort of bruising in the process. Gotta happen, little girl, I whispered to myself as I hit the sidewalk, and I knew it was true.
Other things I knew were true this morning: I couldn’t spend the whole day in a turtleneck (since I was going to wear a t-shirt back to the dear old desert tomorrow) when it was already too warm at 7:30 am; I couldn’t wear the boots anymore and would have to wear sandals around the City; I was going to have to gross people out with my feet. If you have read Cheryl Strayed’s “Wild,” then you have a pretty good idea of what I was exposing my City to. I thought I could hide things with some strategically-placed Band Aids, but that “waterproof” claim they have is a load if you have water blisters. Just cluing you in, in case you ever bring wishful clothing on a trip and it tries to hurt you.
So, sandals. So, ugly feet. So, probably not Litcrawl, but I wanted to take some significant amount of time with my writing anyway. I don’t get to do that back in the desert; I get the general impression you’re not supposed to be a writer in SoCal, unless you plan on writing movie scripts. I may have been able to do quiz night at the bar and watch baseball and hang out with my writing group in San Francisco, but all of those things clash like chartreuse and puce in the desert. Or, if they don’t, they are certainly working hard to give me that impression. I’m grateful when I don’t have to give up one slice of me for another slice of me.
First thing’s first, though: Philz’s Coffee, and then another t-shirt. I donned my Stone Brewing Co t-shirt (insert of visual scream of “I’m from San Diego” here) and then headed out to find another Giants’ shirt. Might as well go back victorious. Along the way more books, mint coffee (you would think those things wouldn’t agree either, but they do), and a visit to the Tropisueno taqueria.
And now I’m back in base camp.
It’s an early start to the airport tomorrow, and I have miles to write before I sleep. The hotel room has no A/C, but if I sit relatively still then I don’t sweat. Back to the desert, but, as Dani Shapiro would tell me, that’s where it’s easier to write. Mebbe so. I’m hoping to learn that without giving up too many of my other slices. I’m hoping to learn that even though I’m not writing a movie script.
Slow Readings 