Like Dead But...

I am not dead.  Moving and adjusting to another place can have that same effect, especially if I’m a regular blogger.  So, now at least you have an idea what I’m up to.



Finally, I’ve settled to the place that used to be my downtime spot – casa de mama and papa.  And there’s a reason why I call this my downtime, all the comforts of technology seemed all non-existent, even tapping on a wireless connection illegally (yeah, I get what I deserve).  While their place might seem a laidback suburb it is backyards away from the LA freeway, an irony waiting to happen.

Life revisited was an adventure.   I’m trying to get used to funky train smells and walking once again…ah, the L.A. essence.  What I would do not to miss it.

The difference with my former work is the location.  No airplane takeoffs to view, no wider spaces to enjoy, no spaces to park the car.  That’s right; I’m at the center of the urban heartland.  I walk among the maze of frantic strangers running to their own destinations.  Massive buildings spread about decently as to avoid cramping people into each other as they walk around.   Even more asshole drivers litter the streets.  So, basically the transition kinda made me like a country girl who’s moving to the city.  Not that it looked decadent but it’s enough to make me take another bath when I go home.  

The thing that made me pissed about this new arrangement is waking up early.  I am a woman, I need my beauty sleep.  And as an official commuter from the get go, I have to beat other thousand mixed collared workers for a coveted parking spot at the train station.  Plus a morning spare of energy for cramming around people, it has been a while since I was a part of the sea of humanity. So far, I have to adapt again to the soap opera only witnessed reliving the city life.  To recap the city didn’t fail.
On my first week, some idiot tried to prove he’s faster beating the train at the intersection.  The same id made me walk a mile to the next station in my fancy heels.   It fed the evening news.



Second week, an Asian woman was assaulted by a swindler named David.  She couldn’t speak English well, so, she demonstrated how she fought her attacker to our building manager.  She literally rolled around the floor struggling and fighting with one arm pulling out her own hair (like in Jim Carrey’s films); she is thrashing in her $500 dollar business suit.  Probably to add more impact she repeated it three times.  The day before I saw the con guy being led away in handcuffs.  He was let go later and no charges were filed.

On the fifth day, I learned that Ms. Building manager has a homeless guy friend across the street.  He has a sister who was also begging but on a different street.  

The first day, I saw that I was a few blocks away from my first job in the States.  Coincidence?  Well, more likely God is telling me to return the only bathroom key on the building’s third floor.

Thirteenth day, I saw the South’s version of the comedy place Ichiban Library.  Only one host was an alumnus of Ichiban.  They can bring the house down but not as much fun as the one in the bay area.

That’s how my new life fared so far.  Writing seemed Walden-ish at best, without the philosophy, without the pond, and without the peace.  It’s just pure reclusion and no source of technological output for updating.  Well, I’ll try my best to tap on a wireless signal.