I just got back to my friends place that I'm staying at in Hollywood. It's a sketchy part of Hollywood, but quite near a lot of local history. Yesterday I walked past Paramount and found an art deco building that the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz had built. Today I walked up to Los Feliz, an area I used to live in. It had not changed much at all.
There was still the Chinese restaurant my Mom had the only Chinese meal she has ever relished. There was the pet store I used to get things at for my beloved Pywacket. The old fashioned movie theater, skylight bookstore, and in even the hole in the wall Mako Japanese restaurant I ate at a lot because it was good and cheap.
I've lived here longer than any other place I've been and yet it has never felt like home. I liked living in Santa Monica the best. I always had places to walk for everything from nature to shopping. I had apartments with views, all the comforts of home, yet, it always felt I could pick up at any time. That I was waiting for the right moment to just that.
Finally I am picking up, and I'm in the in-between. It feels somewhat like the stories of when a limb is cut off and a person feels like it is still there. All of my belongings are now scattered around the city and it has not fully registered they are no longer my own. There is no place to go back to. I can only go forward.
I enjoy each day. Cook myself wonderful foods. Remind myself to soak in the warmth that soon will not be consistently the norm each day. I'm saying goodbye to a dream that never materialized. A Hollywoodland that was and was not my home. A movie career that did not happen but gave me a glimpse into this world.