I miss you.

I feel it today.



That tug, the longing for what I still view as home. Though we've braved it here for nearly six years.

I am missing walking outside in shorts and sandals for most of the year. I miss living so close to sandy beaches, missing those delicious sensations of sand underfoot. Sand that is maybe a little too warm. I miss the scent of the salt air as I walk along the surf, my feet digging in to the compated, wet sand as it bubbles and pops.

I Still think of distance as I might there - not in miles, but in time. Thirty minutes here, the store is ten minutes away. The freeways here, have a the to me. The 167. It's a tattle to some on the fact I am not from here.

Thinking on that a lot, I acknowledge this. I am not from Washington. This is not my first home. The sun does not shine here enough - I can handle the rain though. It's just water. But the lack of sunshine, and the cold of winter - it's a struggle. I long for the warmth of summer, of eighty degree days. Of that nostalgic feel of carefree days now replaced with responsibility and duty. I miss the diversity - the natural feel of hearing Spanish or Cambodian as I walk down the street. Here, everything is white. The Mexican food is bland, a watered down version of what I savored from home.

I have friends here - it's true. It took a long time to cultivate these relationships, and I am so grateful. But I still feel a nagging sense of not belonging here. I even heard it, in Sumner. "Little Sumner isn't ready for California You, Ness, haha"  Well fuck you, I'm still here. I fucking hate it, but I'm still here.

Things changed since we moved here.

Once I reveled in driving, taking on the freeways and streets of California with an eager, reckless abandon. With a radio and the windows down, anything was possible then. Now I rarely drive. I don't remember getting places when I go out sometimes.  I hide in my apartment, biding my time, hiding from the world. He sees it, and works his best to rally, but alas. I feel lost. I can't lift myself out of the hatred I feel for this state.

This mental health stuff never seemed a problem - not as present and in-your-face as it is here. It feels worse. There is therapy now, and drugs. A drug adventure in which my body is the playground - let me tell you, it's not fun. But I continue. Something has to help. The weed helps. A plant helps. A plant I experienced too much of before - ignorant of it, and left alone for years before now, better educated, now trusting of it's properties. It's a medication, not a recreational drug.

I say I hate it here. Mostly because of the severe struggles we've endured. We barely made rent this month. Every month it's something. It's always money. Where back home, we were both comfortably working. Here, I cannot work without risking childcare. Expensive childcare. But who wants to hire a mother? Your priorities might not be for the job. You can;t work all the hours they want. Constant worries. Grant it, my work then suddenly and rudely let me go - an insult I still remember with a bitter taste in my mouth. But I long to go back, despite my hate of office life.

I miss dad's porch. Sharing silence, or maybe I talk and he listens. His potted plants and semi groomed yard with it's lemon tree. His nasty old house stacked with clutter and chaos. Once I had a room there. It's my little sisters room now. I miss him, his rusty voice and that ever present cough. Doing car work - oil - in his driveway, rain or shine. His gentle encouragement.

I miss California. Sometimes, on a warm day here, I can look up and see a blue sky and am reminded of home, with it's palm trees and aromatic eucalyptus - neither native, but still a part of the environment. Here it's pines for days. Admittedly, I can see forest any time I want here, it was harder at home, but there's an allure to Long Beach I cannot find a match of yet.

I miss my friend Tom, a rare person who I can say I love. Not romantic love, but the rude affection friends share. We speak of everything, share terrible jokes and music. His wife is a treat. The last time I visited we shared a meal. I wish we could do it again.

The last time I was in California, someone was in hospital. I watched them pass. I had a terrible falling out with an aunt, left and was welcomed by another aunt. My dad was confused. We don't talk about it, but I still think of her - the one that yelled. The one I came down to help. I don't have her number anymore. I talk to no one in the family anymore. I miss them.

I wish I could visit again but on happier terms. Both times, someone died.