I’ve got some news to share. Maybe. Yeah, I think I do. We’ll see. It looks possible. But then again I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But why not? I really want this.

I am moving back to San Francisco. I think. I’m trying. We’ll see. I’ve started looking at my options.

I’ve applied for a slew of jobs in the Bay Area with the hopes of returning to my most cherished place in the country. San Mateo, CA. OK, OK, I’m joking. Sort-of.

As you can perhaps tell, I’m not sure how to feel about this. I’ve dreamed of the day I’d return to that glorious city by the bay ever since I set foot in Chicago, 4 long, cold/hot, miserable years ago. So much negative has happened to me here in Chicago that I’m feeling like Kris Kristofferson in that movie with Barbra, where he’s a washed up rock star doing drugs, well, not exactly like that but close.

My life is a blur of inactivity, sadness and grey. The color of the sky here, not my hair. Not yet. My hair is still a luxurious dirty blonde that sparkles in golden hues when the sun hits it just right, when the right product is in it and its styled just so. No, the grey I mention is the grey that has descended on my life since I moved here. Lets add up the reasons shall we?

I moved to Chicago in the middle of January, a week after a small snowstorm. I really think the weather people were exaggerating when they called it a “blizzard”. It was really just a light 8″-14″ dusting. I lived in a temporary hotel for close to a month while I searched for my glorious first apartment,that fell into the rare-est of real estate lore, that called “location. location, location”. I was literally in the center of it all. Within 1 block, you could buy crack, speed, pot, cocaine, heroin, hire a hooker, watch the gang bangers in their drive-bys, follow the drunks from seedy lounge to seedy lounge, witness a murder in your alleyway and pay an exorbitant amount of rent. My apartment was within 1/2 a block of seven section-eight low-income residential facilities and a mere mile from the center of Chicago’s many north side homeless shelters. I thought it was a great find.

From this central location, I quickly fell into the best, in crowd.

Why I was just reminiscing with my roommate about this the other day. Shortly after arrival, she invited me to a birthday dinner attended by the majority of this new group of friends I was so lucky to have. The party was quite fun, drinks were had, food was consumed, and laughs and stories were shared around the large group of 18-20 people. When it came time for the bill to be settles, each person at the table, carefully itemized their ordered selection, submitted their portion (including tip% and tax) and passed the bill onward to the next. When the bill came to me, I threw in $40.00 without looking at my bill and passed it on. I got up from the table and walked out.

Time flies when you’re…

Summer of my second year. July 3rd to be exact, I received a telephone call from my new boss to inform me they were letting me go. “Well thank you,” I said. As he attempted to further discuss his reasons, I said, “I guess this means I don’t have to listen to you any further” and hung up the telephone. I was free for the summer.

Skip ahead a few weeks, months, whatever, the summer was a blur. The cowboy, no longer enjoying my comfortable income and happy go-lucky attitude, and actually being needed for emotional support decides he’s not that in love with me after all and dumps me.

The next two years are filled with dead-end jobs earning less and less with each passing year.

I’ve been beaten, bruised, fired, and heartbroken for the last 2 years. I could easily relate all of this to my childhood’s painful memories with the blink of an eye. I find myself struggling to not cry myself to sleep every night. Struggling to not accelerate into the car that just cut me off with the wave of a finger. Struggling to keep a positive attitude. Struggling to have a reason to get out of bed, go to the gym and keep myself a productive member of society.

I dream of sliding off the grid, of becoming a hermit. As long as I have enough money to keep the lights on and the cable Internet paid for, I can picture myself happy. I’ve slipped into a lifestyle of internet based friendships with little-to-no actual contact with live, breathing, feeling, people, unless its for a quick little sexual fling devoid of emotions and interest beyond the passionate, sweaty embraced required to get the job done, so that I can walk home in a deadened state, feeling nothing, expecting nothing, wanting nothing, but to get home, shower and curl up on the couch with my dog and spend another night staring at the television, waiting for the end.

Now that I’ve filled all of your minds with the glamorous life I’ve led since moving to Chicago, I’d like to tell you a secret. I kind of don’t like Chicago.

I wonder at the people that do. I wonder and stare at the happy people on the train, the happy people enjoying the city and all it has to offer. I’m not saying that Chicago doesn’t have a huge amount to offer; I’m merely saying that what it has to offer hasn’t ever been offered to me.

This morning, lying in bed, I started remembering my life in San Francisco. It wasn’t all roses and happiness either, but I honestly don’t remember ever feeling like this about San Francisco. My biggest complaint with SF was the cost of living. It’s fucking expensive to live there. FUCKING EXPENSIVE. But, I started thinking about what I miss about living there and the list is long. When I compared it to the list of what I’d miss living here… (extremely short list), the answer is a no-brainer.

When I leave Chicago, and I will soon, I’ll miss my roommate. Probably a shockingly huge amount, given the little digs we give each other and the petty insignificant arguments we share. I’ve never lived with someone for 3 years before her. (family excepted) I’ll miss KoKo, her dog. I’ll miss the architecture of Chicago. There is just something about living in a big old brick building that you cannot enjoy in San Francisco, land of earthquakes. But looking at the day-to-day stuff about Chicago, I couldn’t find a single thing about Chicago that I would miss. There is no restaurant I would happily sticker the back of my car with like the In-N-Out currently plastered on the hatch.

From the day I set foot in San Francisco at age 16 on a trip to visit my oldest brother, it felt like home. I think its time to stop running away and go home.