Pretty Vacant
"What's the matter with you?" asked Sparky, "You look... vacant."
"Gee, thanks," I replied.
In retrospect, I think the look on my face he was attempting to describe was the one that said, dear god, please don't make me go back to America... I don't think I can bear it.
I've been home for three weeks, exactly the right length of time for things to begin to seem normal to me. This is home. This is where my heart is, and where, at the moment, my cat is. I've been away for enough time for memories of living in that armpit of California they call San Jose to begin to fade. Enough time for Jack to seem like someone I once knew in a fairy tale.
What was I thinking?
Oh, right. The job. That's why I moved there. It's the only reason, and a pretty powerful one at that.
"Gee, thanks," I replied.
In retrospect, I think the look on my face he was attempting to describe was the one that said, dear god, please don't make me go back to America... I don't think I can bear it.
I've been home for three weeks, exactly the right length of time for things to begin to seem normal to me. This is home. This is where my heart is, and where, at the moment, my cat is. I've been away for enough time for memories of living in that armpit of California they call San Jose to begin to fade. Enough time for Jack to seem like someone I once knew in a fairy tale.
What was I thinking?
Oh, right. The job. That's why I moved there. It's the only reason, and a pretty powerful one at that.
2 Comments:
Armpit of California? Excuse me? Been up to Richmond lately?
You just need a little Perry Como ("I left my heart...in San Francisco")
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