It was important for both of us to go to SF, but it was not really fun. Even seeing friends was tinged with bitterness because our time together was way too short, and on top of that, there were a bunch of folks we didn't even manage to see. Oh well, you can't be in two places at once, and there are only so many hours in the day and add your own clichéd adage here.

And then, seeing those friends, we realized how good it is (for us) not to live there anymore. Most of the people we know are doing the same thing they were doing 10 years ago, and that is slightly sad? I felt as though most of the men who are now fathers had clipped their own wings and had lost some of their brio. I suppose this is a natural result of getting older, but it still bummed me out. I should state that a few friends still have their old fire, and I love them for it. But not everyone has been able to sustain that same youthful enthusiasm. Does "settling down" have to mean "dying a little"?

Clearly, there is something wrong with me, not with them.

My parents were about the same. That is to say, both sweet and thoughtful, and totally bat-shit insane. My father seemed really tired. My mother just runs him into the ground with her constant tango classes, walks, trips to the gym, movie- and opera-going, travel, and general manic, frenetic activity. This activity is the result of both her need to constantly distract herself so she doesn't have to deal with her feelings and depression, and her view that the clock is ticking and she needs to do all the things she always wanted to do before she (or he) dies. We were just exhausted being around that energy, and we are 30 years younger!

While upstairs in my old bedroom, on a day when my parents were off doing something thoroughly energy-sapping, I found some old letters of mine. There were so many, helpfully grouped by author (I was organized like that as a teenager), and I read quite a few. Funny how dependent I was on letters, pre-Internet, and they were all illustrated, contained photos and made me remember how tough it was at that age. I wanted to bring all the letters home, but there was only enough room in the suitcase for a stack of love letters from my high school boyfriend (including his "I'm in rehab now so we can only be friends" one) and some old photos.

I must have disturbed something in the universe with that trip down memory lane because I've since received 3 messages from old high school friends, and I'm very happy to be back in touch with them.

There's always a silver lining.

I was told I had an Italian doppelganger. I'm not sure she looks like me (or that I look like her) but I'm taking it as a compliment.

Got back from SF early this morning/late last night and am just wrapping my brain around everything that needs doing. It's a lot.

I've been in San Francisco since Tuesday afternoon. It feels like I've been gone from New York for at least a month, the pace is so different here.

Today we saw three really good friends of ours, and it was as if no time at all had passed. I can't tell if that's one of those Hotel California weirdnesses about this place, or an indication of the type of friendships we've maintained over the years. Either way, it's pretty nice to be able to call someone up (someone you haven't talked to in months), tell them you're in town and have them be totally psyched to see you. Two of our friends opened up some Blue Bottle Coffee-affiliated cafes in the city so we just cruised down to one of them, got free cappuccinos and hung out. I could have fallen through a hole in the space-time continuum and woken up in 1990--I was surrounded by the smell of coffee and two-stroke oil from old scooters, Curtis Mayfield on the soundtrack, TA and our friend just talking shit while traffic rumbled by on Folsom Street.

Amazing.

It would be so easy to move back here, like slipping into a warm bath. But that would also be the peril of moving back--slipping into complacency, stagnation masked by the comfort of familiarity.

My older sister wrote this on her blog about the whole fiasco with our younger sister. The only thing I disagree with is being called "the good one." I think I'm more of the Hopeless Optimist, or possibly I am even more deluded that my younger sister. The Deluded One.

I was explaining to a friend of mine the other day that for a while I thought I could embody Michael J. Fox' s character in Back to the Future, when he's in the past trying to fix things so that the family members on his Polaroid stop disappearing? I kinda felt somewhere inside of me that I could bring my younger sister back into sharp focus--back to who she really is at her core--if I just focused my attention on doing good, on trying to live without anger or recrimination. But what I forgot is that my younger sister hasn't had a core for a long time, so how could I or anyone else expect her to come back? Come back to what? She has suffered from low self-esteem for years, and has made bad decision after bad decision as a result, the email she sent merely the latest example.

I can't work with that.

Anyway, I'm sure I am going to need to resume the Search For A Therapist Who Isn't A Fucking Moron as I cope with these things. It definitely helps to have one sister who is not a freak and whom I love to pieces, many wonderful, amazing, supportive friends, and of course TA. I am so grateful for what I have.

My younger sister finally returned one of my emails, and she included my parents and my older sister. It is her official fuck off email to our entire family.

She has 2-3 years to live and she doesn't want to "dilly dally" with her time. She isn't up for visiting now, or ever.

Guess I'll see her at her funeral? If I'm even invited?

These days, I'm that type of broke that forces you to come up with creative excuses for why you can't meet people for dinner. It's annoying, I don't like it, but whatever. It's life.

TA and I were discussing this current recession with someone who was asking if it's been difficult for us, freelancing. And TA replied that technically, it's the 3rd recession he and I have lived through, so at this point, we know exactly where to trim fat and where to tighten belts. It's not quite our university years, thank god, where a splurge was defined as an avocado to go with our rice + beans, but there are sacrifices being made, and we're even considering moving someplace smaller and cheaper.

We're headed to SF in a week, and I've headed my mother off at the pass by emailing her our schedule. That woman has boundary issues and if you don't tell her which days you're busy, you find yourself house-bound and trapped, making chit-chat with people you don't give a shit about, who--surprise!--have just popped by to say hi. Needless to say, she absolutely *hates* my scheduling--what narcissistic megalomaniac likes to be told they're not in control?

I'm actually looking forward to seeing her and my father, as bat-shit crazy as they are. And I don't know why she gives me so much grief about my time since she and he are social butterflies who are never, ever home. Monday night, it's Italian class; Tuesday night, it's Tango. Thursday is their Portuguese class (oh yes, they're now learning Portuguese which brings their polyglotic total to 6. Six languages that they speak like natives! Amazing.) Fridays they go to the opera.

I am gutted that I probably won't see my YoungerSister while I'm out there. No one has heard from her in months--phone messages go unanswered, same with email and text messages. My mother pointed out that it's been about 10 months since she was diagnosed with brain cancer, and she is likely in bad shape, perhaps not even able to write, or possibly even talk. I tried contacting her to let her know I would be in SF, and haven't heard back from her. What makes me even sadder is that a couple of her friends have contacted me recently through Facebook, wanting to get in touch with her, and I don't know what to tell them. Not to mention the fact that everyone keeps asking me how my sister's doing, and all I can say is, "I don't know. I haven't heard from her." It's just fucked up de chez fucked up, and all I can do is try to focus on the good things in my life because if I don't, I just end up crying about my dying baby sister.

Shit.

Ridiculous Howl-oween dog parade in Brooklyn Heights. I didn't get a shot of the very clever, winning costume (Phantom of the Opera) but here's a pretty silly pumpkin dog.

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