coming home

Wednesday, July 26, 2006; 1:06 p.m.

I sit at Northern Lights, finishing off Mildred Pierce and taking notes on a napkin. Between chapter turnings and the whir of nearby espresso machines, my mind wanders to last night, to my paper, to my messy schedule. I think of those deliciously comfortable sandals at DSW yesterday meanwhile knowing I should stop shopping. I thought the same then, before buying a pair of black, close-toed heels. I've got 29 perfectly good pairs of shoes at home. I've got about 11 pairs of sunglasses collecting dust on my bookshelf. I've got 15 or so hand and shoulder bags hanging languidly in my closet. I've got a problem.

I'm not a slave to brand names. I don't need expensive things, flashy things, class-conscious things. I just need things. New things. All the time. I've become desire driven and involuntarily self-indulgent.

I think of the disparities between monetarily delusional Westwood and barren, desperate Rialto/Colton. I'm carefree and comfortable in my parents' house, sleeping/dancing in my room and reading/chatting in the study. I lounge on the couch, watch tv and basically eat my parents out of a home. But once I step outside the house, soak in the town, soak in the people, I wonder how I ever lived there. I feel every street, every store, every house sucks the life out of me. I run errands for my parents when I'm home, leaving my neighborhood to pass dilapidated buildings and ratty metal fences. I pass apartments with broken windows and equally broken families. Dry, yellow grass half-heartedly pokes through the ground, hoping someone will think of them. Men pass by with sun-baked, orange skin and sweaty countenances while women stand in grocery lines in clothes too tight to conceal their post-pregnancy bellies. People drink to oblivion and devour STAR magazines, wishing their years had been different. Humidity waits to slap you around every corner as you make grandiose plans to save the deflating bubble of mighty dreams. I live in a town where you run for your life.

I'm afraid I don't belong there anymore. I've been tainted with bigger and better things. After living here, do we ever really go home?