of the gut and the heart

As I approach the California/Arizona border, a collective of saguaro cacti flags me from the mountainside near the freeway, turning their hands up at Vanta C as if trying to stop me. "Wait! You can't leave us; you've only just arrived!" they implore. As I continue to drive westward, they grow taller and more resigned to their despair, helplessly tossing up their arms as if to say, "Well, you seem to have made up your mind; nothing I can do to stop you. Fine, then. Go."

And all I can do is smile and wink and tell Ralgh to join me as I wave goodbye.

It happened in Austin. Like the past few months of my Vantasy, I listened to my gut, allowing it to tell me when it was time to leave a town and move on. Only this time, it said, "go home, Eva. It's time." And it was time. I had $1800 left, which would be even less after paying for gas from Texas to Portland. I didn't want to return and have to acquire credit card debt. I was ready to get back to work. I missed the structure of having a job, and the discipline involved in doing good work.

And I desperately missed my dear friend, Trina. I missed our Jazzercise, coffee, and quiche habit, but mostly I missed our time of talking for hours and hours. We have the ability to talk forever; we are thoroughly engaged in each others lives, but also gab about women's issues and existential philosophies.

So I began the drive home. Straight across New Mexico and Arizona, waving at cacti, turning right at LA and flying up I-5 toward Portland.