San Francisco, CA: Muddy Waters Cafe, 24th and Valencia

I've been irritable since, get this, not long after my parents returned yesterday. This morning, my brother came by at 5:00 to take me to the airport, and I turned off any vestiges of mindfulness practice and said, "Sometimes you just want them to shut up!". He laughed, but I was irritable at everything and was just glad to get on my flight to find I had a whole row to myself. I slept on the plane, but my hours are still wonky from jetlag, and I don't even want to figure out how flying to the West Coast will keep things wonky. Hopefully it'll make things all better.

It's been, what?, nine months since I left San Francisco. I've been cycling through emotions of being back. My adopted city, but no attachment to it, no sentimentality. My first emotion was revulsion. I hate San Francisco. Dreary, cold San Francisco. The jacket that I didn't need at 5:00 in the morning in New Jersey was now not enough in the middle of the day in San Francisco. I had a headache. I arrived at 9:00, and had over 10 hours to kill before my cousin and uncle's flight arrived. I sleptwalk through the airport figuring out what to do.

Things started looking up two hours later when I got the rental car my cousin had booked, and was heading towards San Francisco and the sun started coming out. What did I want to do? Where did I want to go?

I know this city, it's still my home. I drove north on 101, got off at Cesar Chavez, got into the wrong lane (the one that went to my last apartment here), got into the right lane and headed towards the Mission.

What happened? Where did all this parking come from?! Ample parking in the Mission and I got a burrito at Papalote. Good choice, since it's just around the corner from this coffeeshop, Muddy Waters. Oh, how I miss having options to Starbucks! Coffee so good.

I feel much better. Everything so familiar. Not weird at all, and not that I belong here.

I think I'll go catch Bride and Prejudice at 1:30, just to feast my eyes on the magnificent beauty of Aishwarya Rai. Then maybe a haircut on Irving Street. Not one of those cheap $10 places either. I wish I had learned 20 years ago that for my indistinct features and appearance, I should not be paying less than $20 for a haircut. Get someone who has some idea what they're doing.

Then maybe some walking meditation along Seacliffs. Ocean Beach? Golden Gate Park? Where else should I go to get my fix of being back. But knowing my uncle, instead of leaving tomorrow, we'll be here until Sunday. Breathe.