pwndcake

In that weird space between consciousness and sleep, my ever turning thoughts coughed up a metaphor about California of all places.

Imagine an everlasting gobstopper that fills your mouth with the taste of chocolate and caramel, and makes you feel like the first time you fell in love. Now dip it in ammonia and turpentine. That's Los Angeles to me.

Then I fell asleep, and dreamed I was in Orange County. I was at my grandparents house, and they were dead. The family was divvying up the loot from their lifetime of acquisitions - again. Only in my dream it went much smoother than it did in real life. My relatives got along. My uncles and aunts smiled, and talked to each other without a trace of bitterness or anger. I went for a walk, under a gorgeous blue sky, and over brilliant green lawns. Across the street was a huge tract home. The kind you'll find in Irvine, or Mission Viejo, and (as I've come to learn) all over Columbus, Ohio. I knocked on the door, and offered the owner $800k for his house. He agreed, and knocked off an extra $20k if I'd sell him my car.

Then it hit me that was my only way back to Oregon.

It didn't stop me. I wrote the guy a check, breathed in the fresh, clean air of my dream California, and called my mom to tell her we were moving into our new home.