a sense of adventure, now.

a few things have gotten in my way in the last ten days - some beer, and lots of cigarettes, ridiculous humidity and night where it was warm enough to sit on the porch and watch the neighborhood. a new semester with new classes and professors who remember me from semesters entirely previous. work, and taking care of a very traumatized cat.

also some thinking.

but here's what i have to say about california.

i (admittedly, and you may groan) went out there with an achin' in my heart. a wound that wasn't quite open anymore, at least most of the time, but one that was there nonetheless. when he hugged me hello and kissed me on the forehead, i looked down at it and knew what was going to happen.

slowly, we were going to pick at that scab, throughout the week. in turns, probably, and at random moments. until it hemorrhaged all over the two of us, and we could clean it up, make some jokes, and i could begin to heal.

it didn't happen that way at all. we didn't look at it, or talk about it. i made a few comments here and there, jabs. 'i have terrible taste in men,' i said. 'i have carefully constructed blindspots when it comes to you.' but mostly i spent the week being annoyed - with the rain, the lack of fresh air, the cold, the fact that he was too selfish to stop playing video games to take me to the beach, or to the grocery store. but nothing was really different and i hadn't expected it much. his hair, shorter. mine, longer. everything smelled the same and looked the same, except the way i felt.

at 7 am, i stood in line on the walkway, waiting to get on the plane and put the poor cat down where he could pant and drool in relative still. the phone rang, and he wanted to make sure that everything had gone okay since i'd grabbed his hand through the open window and said the only thing i could make come out - 'miss you.'

'hey,' he said, when i was about to hang up. paused. 'take care of yourself.' i hung up the phone and started crying - no problem. crying on airplanes is old hat anymore. the attendants smiled graciously while wondering if i was going to cause problems. the man next to me looked over and said, 'are you sad? why are you sad? don't you want to leave?'

how to explain that i did want to leave, and that was why i was crying? something i had considered interminable was over, and i was crying for the loss of my hope, for the loss of california, that summer, that dream. my pigtails, red lips. how to explain that i was sure that i would never be that girl again. 'you can always come back.'

i cried because i knew i couldn't come back, not to this california. i cried about the depth, the intricate layers of my self delusion. how delicate i was, how high i built those walls.

i looked down at that wound and noticed it wasn't really a wound at all. the entire time, it has just been a scar. a permanent one, certainly. white, and bubbled and textured. one i'd never forget. but a scar - something healed. i was intact, i had my self esteem, and my realizations.

i think i have been for a while.

so, a man. a man with no perimeter. comfort zones, yes. i get that. everyone has comfort zones, you know? even i am uncomfortable taking off my clothes in front of strangers, if the lights are on. but no walls, no razor wire, no landmines, tripwires, guard dogs, spotlights. a man with a sense of adventure, a man who can see playgrounds.

i'm no longer terrified of being involved with someone. i'm not carrying him anymore.