on staying friends with an ex (namely, san francisco)

By this point in my fabulous, not-so-whirlwind six-day vacation alone to San Francisco, I had expected to want to come home and be missing my own bed and be ready for this whole vacation thing to be over because I am not very good at relaxing or being away from my own bed and my own house and my own things, all around me in my own house.

I like to travel–in theory. In theory, I am a worldly person who enjoys many exotic locations and flavors such as banana and the rare and elusive tropical kiwi and has so many adventures that you wish you could write them down and memorize them and pretend that they were yours because you’re just so jealous. In truth, I like lying down a lot and not smelling like airplanes or hotel towels. Hotel towels smell weird to me.

If I could visit any place in the world and still be back in time for
dinner, I would absolutely be the most well-traveled person you have
ever met in your whole life. If it only cost a quarter. But as it turns
out, it still takes effort to get places, and money and time and I
think I have mentioned to you how much I enjoy my own bed and there’s
also lots of changes of clothes and my cat and day two, sometimes,
three, is where I start to overcome that first flush of excitement that
comes, I’m convinced, from the cortisol released when you are stressed
(it poisons your brain). That’s when I start to long seriously for
home, stop caring so much about doing anything trip related (“The Taj
Mahal? Eh, I’ll see it next time. You go without me.”) and everything
goes downhill.

This time, it’s four days in, two to go, and I am starting to be sad
that I have so little time left, that the bulk of it is behind me and
the tail end is in front of me and things are ending. I don’t like
endings. I don’t like saying wait, hey, is this the last time I’m going
to see you? Should I hug you goodbye? Is this it? I mean, I’ll be back
soon! But I don’t want to say goodbye to you, because a month is so far

There is some nostalgia, here and there, still. But not for the city.
It’s all for the people who say we miss you, and we’re glad you’re so
happy where you are and doing what you’re doing, but we really wish you
could be that happy here. Can’t you come back and be that happy here? 
That gives me pause, but it is something of a relief that it’s not even
a question, right now. This has been a perfect vacation, and this is
still a very great city, and I am going to be very sad to leave and
very glad to come back next month for BlogHer, but I think San
Francisco and I are just friends, now.

2 Replies to “on staying friends with an ex (namely, san francisco)”

  1. That hotel towel smell is from the laundry, I’ve noticed at most hotels the towels smell a little like burning rubber from some ancient washing machine. Hate that smell.

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