Homesick for the Better Coast

"Tonight I'll sing my songs again,

I'll play the game and pretend.

But all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity

Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me.

Homeward bound,

I wish I was,

Homeward bound"

Me: All these L.A. people have a stick up their butts. They all think L.A. is the most amazing perfect place and they don't want people from anywhere else. They think L.A. is the center of the universe.

Friend: Um, they sound a lot like New Yorkers.

Me: Yeah, but the New Yorkers are right.

Today, I hung up a small framed copy of this New Yorker cover under a collage frame of pictures of Israel before hanging up lots of pictures of friends.

I am not going to get used to driving nor am I going to learn to like it. I miss being able to read on my commute. I miss being able to get where I'm going without having to look up directions. I miss that superiority New Yorkers get every time they see a tourist—that snide sort of writing off of someone who so clearly doesn't matter because he is not at home in the only place that matters. I miss feeling at home.

I've spent too much time pricing tickets to New York, but the truth is, I don't know that I will get there before December (guests are welcome in L.A., though). On each class syllabus I received, the first thing I looked for was when the last requirement for the class was due so I could figure out the earliest possible time I could leave for the better coast.

And yes, of course, this isn't easy. How could anyone possibly think it would be? But how long does it take before a new apartment and a new city and a new school and new friends (I haven't found many of these yet) become home?