Float On

Her visit went quickly. One minute I was instructing her how to take the bus to my apartment, and the next I was alone again. She on a flight back home and I about to pay my toll to cross the Bay Bridge and drive back home to my apartment from the Oakland Airport.

She is rather ridiculous. One minute telling the DJ he can't DJ for shit because he won't play, "Push It." The next touristing at Pier 39, mockingly stirking the "Pensive" pose in front of the sea lions. First clinking saki shots to being bold, and much later helplessly (not to mention incorrectly) writing herself off as inherently flawed. And finally proclaiming love for a bridge without referring to either of the two that cross the San Francisco Bay.

She is rather amazing. She is hella wicked smart. And she can't help but leave you with your jaw wide open when she discusses what she wants to do with her life. She recalls entire episodes of Saturday Night Live that were aired before her birth. She conquers public transportation systems wherever she goes. And she clears the dance floor with her seductive gyrations. She cannot answer a question without bringing an entirely unique perspective to the issue. She is intense. And fearless. And caring.

I can't help but talk for an hour without taking a breath when she asks what's going on. And I can't lie when she asks how I am and the answer is NOT GOOD. I can't help but feel better because her advice is sound, and calming. I can't help but giggle like a little girl at her. And after a weekend with her, I can't help but be reminded of what I have accomplished. I can't help but be proud to be HERE.

But after this weekend I am also entirely sad that we never had the Sunday at Tryst with the Washington Post. Or that we will likely never again have another Wednesday night to wait for Manny & Olgas to never arrive while playing Klax on Sega Genesis without speaking for 3 hours. And that we will never again smoke cigarettes out of our apartment windows and talk about how we can't wait to tell our daughters (someday) about the amazing 3 years we spent together, just out of college, really figuring out life, in Washington, DC.

As I drove past My Sign, I realized that more than likely not, our future together consists soley of long weekends in San Francisco or Chicago. I smile and wipe away the tears that fall as I remember her telling me that it's OK to not feel like myself. Even HERE in this amazing place. Because I'm no longer who I was and personal growth is hardly comfortable.

I turn up the radio. There will be other weekends. More WELCOME signs. More suffocating hugs and countless good-bye air kisses. We will continue to go wherever the wind, the relationships, the job, or the MOXY takes us.

EMI and I will both float on alright.