Road trips used to be my favorite thing. I dated someone in San Francisco when I lived in Los Angeles, and someone in Los Angeles when I lived north of San Francisco, so I've done a lot of driving up and down the state. I used to love the time spent in the car, blasting music and singing along, or just thinking. I suppose I still do. But right now is a weird time to have 6 hours to do nothing but think. A lot of my life is in limbo--I have a friend who's waiting to die, a relationship that's slowly recovering but can't be rushed, and another relationship that must stay relatively static by dint of geography. I wasn't even sure what to think about! I made a lot of phone calls, though, and that was great--I don't often have time to catch up with friends without someone screaming for my attention in the background. I also stopped by Barbie and Brian's to say hi, and ended up with a tin foil packet of freshly grilled tri-tip for dinner in the car. Mmmm!
I called George a little while ago and he is at the resort but he is feeling too awful to want company tonight. So I stopped by Kinko's to get a little computer fix before trucking on down to my hotel. Actually I've decided to see a movie downtown. I'm going to the Arlington, a theater I used to go to as a kid. It was magical then--a little Spanish village built along the walls on each side, and pinhole stars in the ceiling. I haven't been there in many years but it holds a lot of memories for me. They're showing The Dark Knight; not sure I'm into that but I really want the Arlington experience, and if it's moody and gloomy it might fit my mood tonight.
When I was maybe 5 years old on a family outing to the Arlington, perhaps to see Fantasia (my dad's favorite movie), I fell getting out of the car and split my chin wide open. My dad scooped me up and took me to the hospital where he worked. He draped my face and sewed me up himself. I remember the bright white of the hospital room and the fear of not being able to see much out of the eyeholes of the paper drape. I remember being reassured by my father's presence. It's one of the most vivid memories I have of him.
It's so weird to be in Santa Barbara alone tonight.