This trip was phenomenal. I wish I had stayed longer because there’s so many people I didn’t get to see. Usually a lot of people are out of town, but this time just about everyone was ready to party.
I’ll be back in October, probably around Halloween, hopefully with Mrs. Lott. If we didn’t see each other, let’s definitely stay in touch. If you want, message me online somehow and we can exchange numbers. One thing I’ve really felt lately is that nothing beats face to face or a phone call. Texting and messaging doesn’t compare.
I’ve been missing Louisiana a lot lately. I guess I’m just getting old, but the comfort of seeing these old streets and old friends has made me deeply happy. California is lovely, but I’ve never felt like a true part of it. It feels like it could spit me out at any time and it has never accepted my natural redneck tendencies.
The instability of the Bay Area was never more obvious than when we moved to Oakland. I chose San Francisco, but that bitch likes richer men and it kicked me to the curb. So West Oakland it is. The thing about Oakland that makes me so anxious is how like New Orleans it is. I’m always reminded of home and it’s had this weird effect of increasing homes sickness.
It’s looking up in our neighborhood. Coal looks like it won’t be coming through and the awful recycling center seems like it is going to pass on as well. Mrs. Lott was smart when choosing our move.
But West Oakland isn’t home and it never will be. I’ve grown fond of it, but it’s not New Orleans. I’m careful of romanticizing it, though. It’s rough and dirty and cruel. It’s just where I’m from.
Seeing so many friends I haven’t seen in years was an eye opener. We each fell into easy conversation like no time had passed. I love these people and I always will. Even if I don’t see them. This is the biggest tragedy to me. Other than my wife and a couple of buddies like Josh Bluh, Josh Snow, Joaquin, and that Crusader Gene, I don’t really trust anyone (I know I’m missing a few names, don’t freak out). I have friends from high school I think might be willing to bury bodies with me here. Or at least drop them off the back of a boat in the swamp.
I’m over California, but I know Mrs. Lott loves it like I love Louisiana. So I’m stuck. It’s an awful choice to make. I wish I could figure out a way to live here in the fall and winter. I figure the best way out is for me to be a real deal writer, so I don’t have to live anywhere in particular.
Sometimes you just need a why to make magic happen. I guess it’s time to write that zombie book.