South of Somewhere

It's just north of July in a sacred place, surrounded in solitude.
It's beauty like the scary starkness of a long dead desert at dusk.
It's lonely and heart break, but it's the sustenance that brings you to another day, which might be different.

Felt good to get home.
Felt good to feel slightly less alone, even if it's just the Ocean keeping me.

Mom says to be still and let myself be loved. I think it's the best advice I've heard in my life, for anyone, anywhere.

Haven't really talked to my left shoulder angel in almost a week, but I'm not taking it personally. There are many things needing painted and photographed, and I am neither.

Saturday morning I awoke with a revelation, "I need to get a bar gig, a server gig. Something that's not in the garden, in the mud, something that's not so lonesome."
A few days of July rain will make folks psychotic faster than four months of February around here.
We are greedy with our sun.
Personally, coming home from the busy city to quiet rain felt just right, thank you!
The creative static from the summer rain made the perfume of ocean park at night amplified, and the compulsion to communicate with living and breathing people overwhelmed and compelled me.
To be seen, to see, to chat with a lonely old stranger at a quiet bar and to reacquaint myself with the bartender there, an old friend- she once told me to stop being such a stranger in my own town, that she would be happy spending time with me even if it meant just watching me knit!
I talked about my plans to take on a few more hours, possibly behind a bar someplace, and what-d-ya know, by early Sunday morning, I had the promise to start training behind his bar this Tuesday!
Early Sunday morning was also filled with the bizzarre sensation of wanting my lonely bed back. I have a terrible weakness for EMT/Firefighters who want to protect me from the big mean DUI writing policemen. This one is ten years younger than the men I've been acquainted with, and knew much more about pouring concrete than acquainting himself with a woman, if you know what I mean.
It wasn't lonely.

It wasn't anywhere near that fantasy of being adored and talked to for months before being worshiped in naked glory like I will always hope for, but it wasn't lonely, and it wasn't not-fun, so that's good.

And I've secured another job, possibly with fantastic tips, and I'm pretty sure the bar will be around a while longer than my beloved Adelaide's.