I have loved every second of this trip. From the solitude and art classes to the sound of an uninhibited ocean and an electric car on an open road, I was free (aside from the obligatory call home) for six days in Southern California.
Oddly, the region in which I was conceived is a place of homecoming for me. The genes of two mentally ill people — one diagnosed, one susceptible to cult religion — somehow came together and the crazy DNA canceled itself out. Thankfully.
I’m at the airport and I don’t want to leave. Not a dread, but neither an excitement to get home. Here I am free. Home I am not. In my life I’ve never been free from crushing responsibilities of other peoples’ mental illness, pedophilia, torment, violence, needs.
This week has left me thirsty for freedom. I will take this trip again before I am choking and gasping for it.
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