Separation Anxiety

Around midnight the other night my mother came into my room four times after she'd gone to bed, each time to tell me a new idea she'd had about my wedding. The last time it was about the cake and a sort of tulle veil she was envisioning going over it as a centerpiece, and after she told me, because it was dark and she wasn't wearing her contacts, she leaned in really close to my face to see my expression and said, "Do you like it, or is it dumb?"

I'm in San Francisco now; my first class is about to start, and thank God for the internet because it makes me feel connected to the world. It's an odd feeling, not knowing a single soul on campus and in fact not knowing anyone within a thirty-mile radius. I suppose this is what people like about New York: to total anonymity, the knowledge that you won't run into anyone you know.

I'm not sure I like that; I like being known. I miss San Diego, and I even rather miss Saratoga. I'll be back in Saratoga the day after tomorrow, and really there's no reason I should feel like this--I suppose, though, on a deeper level, I've been thinking about my marriage and thinking about how by its very nature it will create a sort of forced alteration of my sense of home. It's odd, that reshifting. And a good thing, but not without its little adjustments, I'm sure.