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Two and a half years ago I came to Minneapolis and slipped it on my body like a well worn patchwork jacket and have yet to take it off. Streets and Alleys run down my back like crazy seams, I trace my fingers across their frayed edges. Every winter I pull out my heavy jacket and pul it on - the hem brushing at my calfs and my hands slide into the pockets. An old receipt, a ticket stub, things I put there, things that are mine. A button, a bit of string, twenty-five cents and a penny. These are treasures I find. Every time I slip my hands into this city I find something new and something wonderful. A person, a club, a diner, a new side of things. When I came to Minneapolis, it took me in as one of its own. Since the first day Mike sat me down and drew out the grid of the city, the intersections of 494, 35W, 94, 694, 100, the crosstown, Uptown, Downtown, Frogtown, Dinkytown, my town.

I flew into San Francisco for the first time last month, and I have never seen the city from the air before, and never at night. It was nothing like flying into Sacramento, Minneapolis, or Green Bay - the cities I'm so used to seeing from high above. It was brilliant - nothing but light as we flew in, outlined only by the dark water that is the Pacific. It was completely foreign to me, but not at all scary. My mother was sure that the moment I set foot in San Francisco, the city - as a whole - was going to rape me, mug me, pound me into the ground and steal my money. Instead, I felt the same welcoming feel that Minneapolis offered me. Pockets of knicknacks, frayed seams and lose change. I fell into the rhythm of BART, Mission St, the traffic, the herds of people walking en masse down Powell, it was as comfortable as any piece of clothing.

I love cities. I love how they feel - alive as the people who are in them. They are tempermental, like pets, choosing who they like and who they don't.

I feel torn. I love this town and all it has to offer me, the safety I have in known it like I know the passages of my favorite book, and the knowledge that there is more for me to find. But the adventure of a new city eats away at me. New streets to learn, bus routs to memorize, strangers to meet. Minneapolis isn't holding me back, but rather I'm doing that myself. I need a new challenge and a new city. And, I think, it's time to move back to California. If only for a while.
Yesterday sucked.

I called Mike at work yesterday morning to fix my insurance and he said to come over that night and give him a check. I was all happy and yet, at the end of the day, promptly forgot until I was halfway making my dinner.

So I called Mike and it turned out that they were going to surprise me by taking me to the andy worhal exhibit - the one I really wanted to see.

Cue Meg feeling horrible, take one.

We agreed that I would still come over, so I went back to finishing my dinner. I took the skillet out of the oven with a hot pad, set it on the stove, transfered the meat to the cutting table, then - because I am brilliant (as mentioned in the title) I grabbed the handle of the skillet...with no hot pad...the one that's been in the oven for 20 minutes at 400°.

Cut Meg feeling horrible, take two - this time, with more feeling (read: screaming).

Now, I have never really burned my self before, but I knew I had to run cold water on it. The burn was pretty much on my whole left hand but I had no idea what to do AFTER I put it in cold water. So I filled a bowl, put my hand in it, and called my parents who are in Arizona at this moment. Why? Because who ELSE do you call when your hand is a mass of fiery pain and blisters?

Mom walked me through what I needed to do and Dad looked up first aid treatment. I then walked to the corner store (thank god it was cold outside) and got gauze for my hand. Let me tell you - the pain was CRAZY. ouch man.

I wasn't about to put any undue pressure on my hand, so I called Mike to ask if he could come over and pick up the check, but he said just to call him at work tomorrow and then I can come over another day, a day in which my hand is not oozing blister juice.

My hand feels A TON better today, but is still stiff and tender. I have a blister on the pad of my ring finger and a blister running down my thumb and across the pad of my wrist, and I think I have some along the outside of my pointer finger and maybe on my middle finger - but seeing how I can type this, it's not too horrible.

Going to work now - at least I was able to make eggs for breakfast.