I've made a lot of small mistakes these past few days, and it is enough to make my eye strain come back full force. I also think I have a case of plantar faschiitis flaring up.
In any case, I believe I have settled into my new home. It still feels like summer, but I have weekly events that call my attention and schedule away from the relentless question of Why Am I Here. I drive down La Brea four times every week, and am greeted by the Hollywood Sign from afar. It is surreal driving through mountains like they are old friends. I listen to podcasts while I work as an archivist understudy that talk about LA and I think to myself, "I know what that place looks like."
It is a strange feeling, to be somewhere other than where I was born and raised. This, because I did not think I would be anywhere else—I simply could not picture myself living any place else. And look here, now.