In a rather last minute turn of events, I'm sitting in bed in a hotel room in San Francisco, elated to have returned to the fog-filtered golden light of my youth. I booked this trip last weekend on a total whim, after a text thread with the usual suspects reminded me that I have friends here. I also feel fairly confident that the delta variant and other personal plans will make travel west dicey the next few weeks, so I'm making hay while the sun shines.
So I worked all morning, and then left for the airport around one. I got to the airport in time to have a glass of wine and some burrata, which made me better able to survive the slight delay to my flight.
Then I landed in SFO, and even though it's been almost eighteen months since I've been here (the longest gap in my adult life by approximately fourteen months), it immediately felt just right. I took a Lyft into the city of sin, driving down streets that used to be my commute. I checked into one of the last hotels I'd stayed in here, and they welcomed me back as though I'd never left. I had dinner at a random place across the street, and I journaled and people watched and daydreamed of other lives and other times.
And now, I should sleep - in true fashion, even though I only planned this last weekend, I have managed to book almost every hour of the next three days, so I need to get some sleep so I can make it count. Goodnight!
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