Once a week, I told myself. One blog per week. 52 blogs over the course of a year isn’t such a tall task. Yet here I am, week three of The Last Year Ever, writing my first blog of 2012 and my first since last October. Pathetic!
Honestly, I don’t have much to say. I didn’t watch the GOP debate, which was apparently the most disturbing thing since war and famine. The college basketball games were boring, and the moment has passed from the 49ers’ big win last weekend. So I’m left with…itchy fingertips and an empty slate.
I could complain. But I won’t. Because who cares that I still don’t have a real job? Nobody wants to hear about these stupid companies not accepting my stupid resume and not giving me a stupid 40k/year job. I even got rejected from an unpaid internship! But we’re not complaining.
Instead, we’re going to briefly discuss the perks of living at home. Obviously, there’s free rent, free food and pure comfort (for now, anyway…Mom’s getting restless!). The weather here is great. This “winter” we are having is ridiculous. I was walking around in a T-shirt, shorts and sandals the other day.
The real beauty of living at home is the beauty itself. Look, I spent 66 wonderful days in the Mediterranean this summer. I saw Gaudi’s incredible architecture, the picteresque hillsides of Italy and rooftops of Croatia and beaches of Greece. But there’s something about Walnut Creek, CA that I just can’t let go of.
Don’t get me wrong, I can live somewhere else. In fact, I hope to live in a different region…maybe in another country…for a certain amount of time in my future. I want to experience that. Yet, San Francisco and all it’s little suburb cretins will always be the greatest place in the world.
If you haven’t seen a sun set from Grizzly Peak, off of Fish Ranch Road, you haven’t seen the most dazzling, colorful display of nature in the world. The perfect meeting of concrete and ocean.
If you’ve never hiked Mt. Diablo, you’ve never seen some of the most luscious 30 mile stretches of Earth in any direction you choose. If you’ve never been into the city itself, you are missing a Mecca of culture, music, food and art, wrapped in a somewhat foggy, warm foil.
And if you’ve never trekked back to Walnut Creek, CA after a long semester in the icy bliss of Pullman, WA or a week of reunion frenzy in the gasping altitude of Breckenridge, CO, or a Spring Break trip to the unforgettable diversity of New Orleans, LA…well then, you’ve never turned the corner at Hawthorne Drive, passed fire station number four and breathed in the sweetness of the warm air as it rolls over your outstretched arm as you rumble back to number 972.
I may – no, I will – move on one day. But you can bet your life that when I’m in a grown-up groove one day, I’ll be squatting right back here in the Bay Area, where the biggest daily problem seems to be whether to walk the dogs to the neighborhood park or up in the hills.
It’s a rough life in Walnut Creek, CA. You won’t hear me complaining about living at home with Mom and Dad after college.