confusion

Arrived safely in San Diego, minus the speeding ticket I got in Weatherford, Texas, for trying to pass a truck that was trying to pass another truck and narrowly avoiding being smashed by both of the trucks in question. Hello, $125 fine and a warning to get my driver's license changed over to Texas OR ELSE.

Yesterday was power sightseeing day as I showed Chuck around the Zoo, Gaslamp, and Balboa Park. Even managed to get over to Coronado to walk in the sand. Today we went to La Jolla for beach happiness but didn't stay long. The water was cold, but gorgeous, teal blue, and I was just settling into one of my favorite things in the world, a beach nap, when Chuck complained of back trouble and we made our way home so he'd be more comfortable. Le sigh.

San Diego makes me think. It makes me wonder who I am and what I'm supposed to be doing and where I'm supposed to be. It reminds me that as much as I love this place the time I spent here last year was hellish and lonely. Memories of Madison are conjured up. Feeling divided between two places but stuck in a third. Why does so much of my self-identification rest on where I am? Not that I want to settle for Texas, but can't I just find a place I can stay, and enjoy my time there? Why do I have to be so damn melodramatic about these kinds of things?

It might be this house, this place. I don't think you really can ever go home again. Not as the person you were, and there's no room for who you are now.

But I sure as hell don't want to go back to Texas.