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Sunday, October 14, 2007

Dear San Francisco

Dear San Francisco,

I passed by Appleton tonight and remembered when I almost wanted to move here back in 2001. I came pretty damn close, wanting to whisk away my old life and start anew, not realizing how entangled and incestuous you can be if you try. You're a seductive city. When you're on, it's like one big happy lovefest. It's hugs and kisses and gayness and cupcakes for everyone. I'm amazed that you get swarms of people packing readings in so tightly during Litquake that people are out the door. I love that I can walk down Mission and run into Samhita. You have way more varieties of beef jerky than I'm used to, and a vodka bottle in the shape of a gun that I wanted to buy just for the bottle. I love that you breed cute boys like pets and that even the straight people here are at least a little queer. I love (when I don't hate) that everyone is about 2, or possibly 1, degrees of separation from another. I love that people are not in such a hurry all the time, even though I still am.

You have some of the most creative people I know, whose books I devour. You have two publishers I'm honored to publish work with. You have Hideo Wakamatsu, where I'm about to buy an orange sherbert-colored suitcase. You made me exclaim about the sun today at least 20 times.

But I usually limit my time with you to 4 days, because there is always that point where you just make me homesick. Where the whole "BART stops running at midnight" thing makes me feel trapped, reminding me that the feeling I hate the most is not being able to be independent. You make me miss my middle-of-the-night subway rides, my perhaps irrational feeling of rock-solid safety at any time of the day or night. I notice your flaws much too easily, get impatient with anything that's not like home, get antsy and fidgety because point A and point B are so, so far. When I have to be in cars more than once a month, it's just not good for a girl with major car phobia.

I know Jackson calls you the Yay Area, but when I reach that point, I sortof have no idea why. I realize how much I miss my home in all its messy, overcrowded, often ho-hum, early waking glory. Don't get me wrong, I'm having a wonderful time here. I'm nominally on vacation even though I'm lugging work with me. I get to sleep next to someone who makes me feel all kinds of emotions I thought were best forgotten. You're fun, SF, when you're not pouring buckets, but for me, you'll never be NYC, and the more time I spend with you, the more I realize the truth of that.

xo,
Rachel

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