"You're freaking out, aren't you?" I said.
"I'm right on the edge." she said.
It's not really very surprising that she went right over that edge, in retrospect.
But in other ways it feels like a lifetime ago. Sometimes I wish I could wake up, and this whole California ordeal would turn out to be a long and lengthy dream, and I'd be back in my cozy apartment, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, the cat purring contentendly on the arm of the couch, and everything just the way it was. I am far from home.
But a decision looms in the future. Shall I stay here, or admit defeat and go home? It's still up in the air.
Four months. Four short months. Has it really been that long?
But today, the roses outside my house are in a riot of bloom - there are two bushes, one a delicate orange like a Pacific sunset, and the other a vivid and majestic purple. The sky is clear blue, clearer than sapphires, clearer than her eyes. The air is warm, and scented with Spring.
