2 months, 8 days.

Or something like that. What do I think? Did I make the right choice? I don't know the answer to those questions. Am I where I'm supposed to be? Yes. But, this is as awesome and harder than I expected at the same time. My job is the best job and the hardest job I've ever had. San Francisco has more fog than I ever saw in Oregon. More than anything (except my adoring family and awesome friends) I miss grass between the sidewalk and the curb. And good, hard rain. None of this misty bullshit, I want rain that almost hurts when it hits you in the face. I want to be soaking wet after the trip from my car to my apartment. I want to feel alone in the pounding of the rain, the presence of God in the solitude of a rainy night. Something familiar. Something horrendously mundane and boring and irritating like cold, hard rain. Not cold, hard cash. That's stupid. I want grandma's short ribs on a Sunday afternoon. Or spaghetti. Or the best overcooked roast you can imagine, with ketchup. Those are the things that can never be taken from me.