The funny thing about moving back to San Francisco has been the odd sensation that I don't know anything here any more. They have shut down, reopened and shut down (again) Dolores Park--two weeks before Pride. Huh? And there are condomonsterpieces lining Market Street and filling SoMa. Towers touting high-rise living threaten to throttle the freeway; we have a new bridge that was apparently broken before they opened it; more new technology has come to the city, only driving the prices ever higher. What to do?
Meanwhile, I have had my own collection of circumstances, woes, etc., and I am only barely starting to surface from all that. Ultimately, I would like to settle it all down and get back to my life--I have spent the last year agonizing over health issues and life-stuff and I am through. I just want to go back to work and toil away in ignominy for a little while. The kind of ignominy with a nice cubicle with a little bit of a view and coffee in a break room. Too much to ask? Perhaps. I can barely get ignored by online writing scabs, much less by a real firm with a real office.
We shall see what happens. But this is back. And up. And alive. More articles to come.
Namasté
