World

In my dream world, I don't even live in Los Angeles.

I live in the Elliot Building in Downtown Sacramento, in a fourth floor loft with windows that face the Memorial Auditorium, where I saw Muppets On Ice. I walk the dogs all the way to Mckinley Park and back everyday. I date a guy who works in politics or law, who holds my hand during dinner at Mikuni or Ernestos. And we discuss today's Howard Stern.

I make Northern California my Maine, a central character and muse like Stephen King has. Under stars I can see, I feel like I'm worth something. Fifteen miles away from my parents I feel I have an identity that I don't have to explain. In my perfect world, my nieces and nephews know my name, not where I work or what I do.

I have a nice life. Frills come every so often but that's what keeps them frills. I have electronic window shades and a Nissan Juke. And I laugh, too. I'm not always the funny one. Driving is a pleasure down highway 50 to Folsom Lake, not the nightmare of the 405.

After 11 years, I'm ready to feel my breath again. I'm ready to sleep and ready to wake up. In my ideal world, I'm back home.


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