I walked through my home, barefoot and slightly uncertain. I thought of you, and us, and them ,and it, one huge
pronoun potpourri. I sat down to write and resigned myself to the fact that I would not. Instead focusing on
cool tiles beneath my feet and the non-ticking clock. Background noise, which not surprisingly was in the
background, competed for my attention. It was her son, Michael.

She,used to be my bestfriend, once. Now we could either take it or leave it. Hello, is usually met with a
sense of reasoning and wonderment. Did it really mean hello or did it mean 'I am quite pissed with where you  have
parked your car'? She knew what made me tick and I knew all of her vital information. I periodically
thought of throwing some sort of wrench into her perfectly ordered life: a changed password here, a cancellation
of e-bill pay there..hell, even cancelling her sparkletts water service..that *I* had set up. Alas, I was
not petty like that and chose instead to completely ignore her, in the end I discovered that hurt more.


He kept me up at night pondering philosophy and religion. I usually just complained to him about something
insignificant like her. I have a phone that  I can't use until 9 p.m. PST because well wireless service
sucks.It leaves me suppressing the urge to call him, it's midnight there you know? He'd kill me. Sometimes though I
just want to call him at irregular hours and explain things. anything. everything.nothing. thing things.

I want to voice to him my regrets and doubts. Speak to him of the drawbacks that could suspend a car. Spin
around until the dizziness and nausea has a feasible source. I want a reason to feel out of sorts that I can
take the blame for. Honestly I want control again. I missed home.


My hands smell like onions, probably due to the slicing of them earlier. Once again I remark silently about the
coolness of the floor beneath my wiggling toes. I grew tired of this climate, this adjustment, this coast, this
life. I finished preparing a meal and then realized it hadn't changed, California, I had. I sat down once more
to write, and realized I didn't write poetry anymore.