I got stronger medicine. It works. I finally, finally feel better -- my energy, enthusiasm, and motivation have all returned. Perhaps, even too, inspiration is making its way back in. It is almost spring. The pink jasmine is bursting into bloom. This past Sunday, we roto-tilled the front as we move forward on our plan to replace the lawn with a mediterranean meadow that will use less water, yet weeds are already making their way back -- the sun and nutritious earth promoting their rapid growth.
This week, I started laying down vocal tracks for the latest song we are working on for our album project. I have started my secret remix. I have started thinking about T.'s birthday and how quickly she has grown up. I visited my dear friend whose husband committed violent suicide the week before.
Tonight, I am in San Francisco. I am alone. As I flew up, I was mesmerized by the view of the earth below me. The mountains were craggy, sharp as garden rocks, the edges honed by shadows. I tried to identify the landscape as we flew but I do not think I was terribly successful. There were unfamiliar mountain ranges dotting the earth, dusted with snow so that they resembled a disastrous attept at cake -- lumpy and uneven, but delectible nonetheless with the promise of powdered sugar sweetness. As we approached Oakland, we were parellel with wisps of cloud in an otherwise clear cloud. Wisps of cloud that seemed to race us like ghosts.
After I arrived and checked into the hotel, I wandered the streets for a while. The tourists were so easy to identify -- I wondered if I seemed like a tourist. Although I am a native Californian, I am most certainly a southern Californian having spent my entire life living in Los Angeles. Yet, I did not have a map in my hand as I walked. On the other hand, I also did not walk with a real purpose or destination -- perhaps a dead giveway of my non-local status. I considered going out for a drink, a bite to eat. But I really cannot tolerate eating in a restaurant by myself. While I thoroughly enjoy good food, it is a pleasure I prefer to share with others, or at least privately with the distraction of reading material or my computer. . .so I didn't go out to eat which may be a bit of a tragedy as San Francisco is a foodie city. Although after walking around for an hour, and being solicited for money at least 10 times in that short period of time, I was happy to return to the hotel where I had an overpriced but delicious glass of wine and cesar salad with salmon.
I do value solitude. To be alone with my inner voice is a pleasure. I love to be able to visit with myself in that way. But at the end of the day, I sure wish H. was with me as the room is comfortable and luxurious, and would be better off shared.