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2003-05-08 2:18 p.m.


Apropos of nothing, here is a picture of my new haircut.

I wrote this while sitting on the steps in front of Trisha's house a few weeks ago, waiting for her to come home to meet me for dinner. It is, as yet, unfinished.

Summer in San Jose means winter in San Francisco. I have lived in this city for two years now, and it still does not feel like home. At least not more than my office floor or my car or any hotel anywhere ever has. Sunshine might change my mind, but there is none to be found. The wind blows leaves in my face and I have to press my little hands into the little pockets of my little pants to keep warm. I hate it.

Writing about it, talking about, even complaining about it...they all don't help me to feel better. I have even tried changing my mindset, finding the positive in the cold, grey everyday of "The City". But, no matter how I look at it, it still carries with it the joy of a recent cancer diagnosis; the peace and comfort of a sinking ship. The damp eight–bit grayscale sky, the endless recycling of scarves from boutiques to second–hand shops, the stupid wool hats in August.


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