I woke up today somehow bereft of the knowledge that I have lived in Minneapolis – and happily, this – for over three years. My first thoughts were of walking with a girlfriend around Lake Murray (sacrilege! we have so many fabulous lakes here!) and then absconding with her to a flick at the Grossmont Center Trolley theater (which is apparently, according to an internet search, now closed)… and driving around later I craved a cozy dinner at the clock-tree restaurant whose name I can never remember, the scrumptious little place on Park Avenue in University Heights with the big clock and tree outside (looked it up – Parkhouse Eatery).
I wonder how long this will continue, these days of floating in ambiguity where time hasn’t passed. Will I be 50, having lived outside of San Diego for over 20 years, and still have days where I wake up and think I’m there? Where the palate of my mind and tongue yearn only for San Diego’s flavor? Is the place so weaved into my self and soul that it can never be extricated?
I think I want it to be.