I'm heading back to Massachusetts. Sweaty humid goodness...yeehaw.

Kick me in the arse if you will, but I'm starting to wonder what the hell I'm doing out there.

I know I couldn't live in Santa Cruz anymore. I know I love Boston, and it's good that I live there, and I don't regret it in the slightest. But...

Hm. I need coffee.

Ahhh California. I am beginning to realize that even if I never come back to reside in this state, it will always, always be home. And despite my all too frequent complaints about Santa Cruz, it has an insurmountable charm. Sitting in the Poet and Patriot yesterday afternoon I realized that, while Boston may be the US capitol of Irish pubs, the Poet blows them all away. I fear I may never find a pub as great as that one. Le sigh.

Everything is the same, and yet slightly, almost imperceptibly not. I feel at home and yet displaced. It's strange, but I'm still happy to be here. I got my tasty nachos, I saw my favorite Zachary's peeps, I got to drink beer in the Rush Inn and complain about the fact that it's being overrun by hipsters, and the weather...oh, the weather. It's fantastic.

But I'm tired and hungover, and I have to get ready to eat excellent Chinese food tonight (once you've eaten at the O'mei, no other Chinese food will satisfy you, I promise you that). I don't care what I say, I heart Santa Cruz. We just have a very volatile relationship.

I'm heading out to Santa Cruz tomorrow YAY!! Four whole days of normal California weather (where it stops raining when spring is over), and bars I can still smoke in (in Santa Cruz they know when laws are meant to be broken), and Mexican food! Real, live Mexican food!!! And Kathy! And Kim! And Mikey! Oh my!

In the meantime, I've been trying to write, but I'm wondering if maybe I just have to hang up my hat (er, pen?) and realize once and for all I'm not really a writer. I guess I'll have four whole days to ponder this, too.

From the joys of unemployment to the wonders of overemployment. The fun never ends. I've been working my arse off, but it's really not bad. After the first 10 hours you can't even feel your feet anymore, so it doesn't really matter that they hurt. And the delirium from lack of a sleep makes trying to give water to 13 people simulataneously feel like a very strange but entertaining game.

Actually, I'm really pretty happy with it all. I've met some very cool people, I'm making pretty good money, and my addiction to espresso is strong and healthy once again. Oh yeah, and I have a crush, which is always fun. I haven't had a crush on anyone interesting in along time. I forgot how exciting and silly they are, with all the giddiness and the flirting and the telling your friends how very, very cool Super Person X is (yeah, I'm stealing that from Crystal. Thanks Crystal.). Hee hee hee. I feel like a 15 year old. It's great.

The only thing that is stupid in my life right now is that I'm supposed to be in a field with thousands of people listening to Radiohead. Field Day Fest was cancelled, the bastards. They cancelled it on Wednesday. I was supposed to go see the Matthew Barney show at the Guggenheim, too, but no Field Day, no trip to New York. Stupid stupid.

Even that's really ok, though. At least now I have a few days to recuperate and sit on the couch watching old episodes of Sex and the City. And I get to hang out with Crystal. And I get to sleep.

New reviews should be up soon. For now, I'm going to go drink more coffee and read the paper. I heart Saturday mornings.