Obviously, my last night in Prague was, as my Irish hippy classmate would say, a cracker. After dancing all night with my darling friends, I got back to their flat (and my luggage) in time for a 15 minute nap and a mad dash to the airport. My flight was boarding when I checked in, so not a moment too soon... or, definitely a moment too soon, depending on how you want to look at it; I can see good arguments on either side. The inevitable headache mounted through all 11+ hours of my flight from Zurich to Los Angeles, and by the time I got home, I can't say I had really slept for about two days, unless you include that precious 15 minutes, and a few brief interludes of fitful neck-wrenching on the plane. Sure, I felt a bit rough, but I'd never have traded a minute of my fun for a more pleasant flight, so I bucked-up and didn't feel sorry for myself, mostly because I was saving my energy to REALLY feel sorry for myself when the reality of being back in Los "Salt Mines" Angeles really came home to roost.
Waking up in Hollywood was a bit sad, as predicted. I love my peeps, and it's especially nice to be back in the company of my little monkey, whom I love to absolute pieces. My filthy little beast of a dog is awesome, and the Bourgeois Pig is still right where I left it, with almost everyone assembled just as I left them: on their barstools, plotting the revolution. There's comfort in it all, but I must say that I'm not really sure that comfort is what I'm after at this point. Looking up and down Franklin Avenue the other morning, I felt a sudden attack of that little prickling threat of tears behind my eyes and had to shake it off a bit.
While I was in Prague, I really saw, for the first time, how truly I'd been living as a progressively disengaged automaton, here in Los Angeles. It's going to sound pathetic to y'all, I'm sure, but over the past few years, I think I've just been sort of staggering lower and lower under the weight of all the logistics of my daily grind and it's attendant (my fucking car) horrors. While I was away, I realized that, contrary to what my never-good-enough, boot-strapping ethos keeps telling me, there's no real reason why I SHOULD be happy under the present circumstances, and, that being the case, why should I continue to endure them?
So, to sum it up, Hollywood has a lot in common with the headache I had on the plane, and Prague is calling, baby. I've got some hope for the future, but the now is kind of a bummer. Those of you who were sick of my Prague-enduced euphoria can settle down for some Los Angeles belly-aching, because I am pretty darned certain that I will be bringing some of that noise in the weeks to come.