It's been... dissapointing. Waking up to an empty house instead of the riot of a hostel. Driving streets I could navigate with my eyes closed. Instead of the tuqouise of Australian oceans, I'm surrounded by the green of a California winter and the grey of a city plauged by too many humans.
my plane flying into California
I'm feeling that old pulse and pull of Los Angeles. This city feels like no other. Maybe it's the energy of a million dreams being born and carried and dying in an endless cycle, because this is the city of sleepwalkers in the land of the allmighty American dream. Maybe it's just the smog.
The first few days back were celebrations. My friend G was visiting from Texas - he arrived in LA the same day I did! - so there were lots of excuses to go out to bars and stay up late. It was absolutely wonderful to see Teeter and Chick again and "hug their faces off." I caught up with some of my other friends, constantly feeling like the annoying person who won't shut up, since every topic made me think of "this one time, in Australia..." Yeah, I'm that girl. But my lovely friends are good sports and insited they wanted to hear all about it. Or they finished my sentences for me, quoting this blog. :)
Chick, Teeter & I goofing off in our favorite local bar
It's amazing to be able to just pick up the phone and call people; I must've talked to my best friend 5 out of the 7 days I've been back. It's also lovely to have free (well, not hourly at least) internet, and as soon as my new MacBook Pro (that's right, what what!!) arrives, I'll be able to skype and blog to my little heart's content. I also cannot describe the joy of collapsing into my own beautiful, fluffy, cozy bed.
But at the same time, I am restless and lonely. I'm used to being surrounded by new people, constantly learning about other cultures, and although it's nice to be with people who just know me, my friends have jobs and lives that keep them busy. I have no teddy bear boy to squeeze. And after four months of living out of a backpack, my room in our small apartment feels overly decadent. I've cleaned out my drawers and closet, giving two suitcases full of clothes, shoes and bags to a women's shelter. I'm planning on purging my things similarly. All the stuff I used to take comfort in - just in case I ever need it someday - now feels suffocating.
Queensland from the air...
There's a dichotomy within me. I am that gypsy, the adventerous traveller who always has one eye on the horizon and will never be happy for long in one place. I crave more travel, new experiences, stretching my legs and my self. I am also a homebody, an American, who values stability and fantisizes about a home that's all her own, wrapping herself up in quilts and being content with a front door and a dog to warm her feet. I want the comfort of a paycheck and framed photos on the walls, with the excitement of a new sky beyond the window and the freedom to pick up and leave.
I don't know how to marry the two; I don't know what I want. And therein lies the problem.
As much as I love my friends here, I'm pretty sure I don't want to stay in LA. Denver and Austin and Hobart and Christchurch are calling. I could go back to Australia and possibly travel New Zealand and Asia. I could jump in the car and see my country, making a road trip hit list of the people I love most and hopefully getting back to my regional theatre roots. Both sound ridiculously and romatically appealing. But either way, how do I afford it? And how do I appease the nagging need for a home? What is my next step forward...?
Ah indecision, you old dog, you.
I am so grateful and happy for:
~ facebook chat
~ valentine's day cupcakes with old friends
~ ruthless purging