California Dreamt.

I've stopped writing the diary I've been keeping for five years.  To avoid feeling like a failure I'll write something other people can read.  I don't promise to be very interesting.

I've been in Berkeley for a month now, but I haven't noticed the weeks go past.  Considering how little I have to do I haven't been a very diligent correspondent.  Tomorrow I'll hopefully catch a bus to San Diego, eleven hours of thinking time away.  Then the real traveling will begin.  It's kind of a painful thought.  My bag is really heavy, filled with clothes from the $1 thrift store, and will be a literal drag through Mexico for two weeks.  Then I finally head to Santa Barbara, my surrogate home for nine months and apparently a haven for ironed-straight blond hair, rich kids and STIs.

Not to sound pessimistic.  I love California.  I love the grey freeway loops and the golden brown hills and American voices.  I intend to get good at swimming in Santa Barbara, since everyone here exercises except me.  And eat lots of fruit.