It is an aching kind of growing…

I’m still feeling kind of yucky today but also restless and bored with this whole rest and fluids thing. Ha, so I took my book and my blanket and walked to Dolores Park and read outside in the sun and spring air along with all the hipsters and couples with their dogs. It was nice and calm and oddly familiar. It reminded me of how I used to go to the beach whenever I was sick so I could nap outside and feel normal and healthy even when I had the sniffles. Funny how I find new ways to go back to my old rituals. Makes me feel like this place I’ve found for myself is actually starting to become a kind of home.

Huh. Imagine that.

I walked back along Dolores street instead of Church to take in some new sites. The houses there are ridiculously lovely but then, I feel like there are ridiculously lovely houses all over San Francisco. I found a coffee shop/wine bar that looks fun and college for yoga instructors. 

Started East of Eden by Steinbeck. It’s been a long time since I picked him up and reading him now is such a treat. His words and thoughts and the scenes he paints are so poetic and lovely. It’s like everything he says has such weight to it, every line is so packed.

Here’s a piece of it:

When a child frist catches adults out–when if first walks into his grave little head that adults do not have dinve intelligence, that their judgements are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just–his world falls into panic desolation. The god are fallen and all safely gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little;they crash and shatter ans ink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again, they never quite shine. And the child’s world is never whole again. It is an aching kind of growing. 


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