The remains of the trip

My manic trip in LA was unbelievably depressing.  It started as the plane landed, with a tight feeling in my gut that stayed with me all weekend.  As I saw my old friends, my old home, my old haunts, my old stretch of beach, it just got tighter.  Don't get me wrong, I loved seeing everyone, and only wish I'd more time to spend with them.  But as I bid goodbye, with vague promises of coming again soon -- and petulant demands they come to London -- a sense of loss flooded over me.  It had been a good time in my life, a stable and comfortable time, and I missed it.

With 11 moves in 5 years, I realized I had no idea what "home" felt like any more.

Sunday, I drove from Los Angeles to San Diego, then flew to Sacramento, where my sister-in-law picked me up. Even though it was 9pm and I was exhausted, she wanted to go to a karaoke bar to play pool.  Fortunately I convinced her to take me to dinner instead.

In the morning, my mother woke me complaining about the "clutter" I left on the coffee table.  I pointed out I left the clutter there because I was sleeping on the sofa.  I was sleeping on the sofa because my sister was sleeping in the guest bed.  She had moved in a year ago after losing her job, which I could understand.  That she had moved her boyfriend in, as well, I was having a little trouble with.  That they were both now working but hadn't moved out, weren't paying rent, and weren't helping around the house was also a little frustrating.

After I made breakfast, my mother pointed to a large inflatable pool she had bought and gave me a small hand air pump.  "You're taking the piss," I said, forgetting that was a rather rude (and incomprehensible) thing to say in the States.  All week I found myself mentally translating from English to American, which was a funny feeling after spending so much time translating the other way.  Fortunately, her neighbor had a compressor.

I didn't actually spend much time with my mother -- after all, she was coming to London a week after I returned.  The timing was kind of odd; I had been planning on visting in May, for my nieces' birthdays, but work had postponed that trip.  With my breakup from Jess, she was kind enough to let me fly on her concessions one last time -- so this trip cost me US $300, and my next trip will probably cost me over US $1000.

But I did spend as much time with my nieces as possible, and they were wonderful.  They laughed, they cried, they screamed, they got mad at me, they forgave me, they drove me to the edge, and I loved it.  i can't possibly explain why, no matter how annoying they are, you love them anyway.  Actually, i feel that way about my entire family.

And I suppose they feel the same way about me.  Coming and going like a whirlwind, reorganizing my mother's house every time i'm there, winding everyone up and then disappearing for months on end.  They deal with my mood swings, and aren't surprised when they're the last ones to find out something about me.  And I know no matter what happens, they still love me.

So i left California even more depressed than I started, but resigned to my life in London.  After all, I had a job, and two more years to go before I qualified for 'indefinite leave to remain' -- if I left England now, I woudn't be able to move back.  And besides, while I was in the States, my offer on the flat in Reading was accepted, and I wa able to move in the next day.  But that's another story...