Idyllwild

I’m at the tippy tippy top floor of an old gingerbread tippy tippy top house. Using dial-up.

James picked me up and dropped me off at the airport yesterday morning and after the typically boring layover in San Jose my ass landed in untypically clear (hardly any smog) Ontario.

What am I doing here? There’s no one in the house this morning except for myself and a talkative orange tail-less cat named Bradshaw. My step-mother went to Orange County for a few days but I’ve no idea where my father is.

I don’t have my first appointment at the hosptial until tomorrow so a hike would be nice this afternoon, as I do not really feel like going into town to see any old friends. After finishing this cup of coffee I’ll have to walk down 4 flights of stairs to get another cup. Maybe a hike would be redundant.

The time it takes to schlep downstairs and pour more coffee should be enough time for a page to load on this computer though. Hard to believe that’s all we used to have for years isn’t it? Dial-up I mean, not schlepping.

It’s beauritful here in the trees, surrounded by mountain tops. The air is crsip and clean, since Idyllwild is at a 6000 foot elevation. My daughter will be here for dinner tonight and my old pals and former business friends (same thing) live in town as well.

The sun is bright and the azure sky blue and cloudless. It’s 8:30 am and I can hear occasional bits of a guy down the road singing opera. Yesterday afternoon one of the neighbors rode by. On her horse. This is a small secluded resort mountain town of artists, oddballs, retirees, tree-huggers, the over-educated and the out of place. It’s a reason I lived here for more than 10 years and fit in so very well.

So why am I still crying and craving the darkness?

~miss r

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