Just wanted to do a quick update so that new visitors to this blog don’t think I’m obsessed with Justin Bieber or something.
It is finally sunnier and I don’t feel like I’m looking at everything through smoked glass anymore. The collective lifting of depression has caused an outbreak of parties, parties, parties, which has been really fun. There are lots of books coming out, lots of birthday parties, lots of general relief at not being water-logged.
And yet, I dunno. I don’t love Seattle but I don’t love anyplace else either.
Yesterday–our first over 70 degrees day in 271 days, but who’s counting–I was at Alki beach with a girlfriend.
Lying in the undiluted sunshine under kites like beautiful dragonflies, looking at the row of white-capped mountains and city skyscrapers across the sparkling water, I sat up and said “It’s so gorgeous here, but the beach itself sucks. It’s narrow with rocks and driftwood. But the view is staggering.”
“That’s Seattle,” my friend said. “Everything out there is stunning, but if you look at where you’re actually sitting, it’s falling apart. That’s why we’re moving to Florida.”
About half the people I’ve talked to recently are moving away after this past winter. It’s been nine months of cold wet slate grey. Not that I’m counting.
My problem is I want to live in more than one place:
Seattle, maybe sometimes, because you can get kickass writing done here and there are tons of people I love.
Los Angeles because it’s so magical and sunny and hip and noir (in retrospect).
And of course home in the Midwest. Because family is everything.
Some of my friends think it’s so doable for me to have three homes, but I feel like it’s challenging to maintain one.
Stay tuned, though.
