SLO 2

Naturally alone again

It feels like I was abducted by aliens and plopped down, my eyes looking at rolling hills with a few cows grazing on top, while my back is turned to the coast and the town of Pismo Beach. I’ve yet to go, though the name seems familiar, as if I’ve heard it throughout my childhood in shows or movies. The name itself sounds like one of those iconic, cool beach towns: “Hey, brah, I’m headed down to Pismo to catch some rays.”

Sounds cool. Sounds chill. Sounds like I want to go to Pismo Beach.

The mornings are colder than I expected. I’ve become so used to a beam of sunlight in the mornings; the San Diegan in me is spoiled. But there’s something to say about these gloomy, chilly mornings when I look out the window—well, in my case, my van door—and see fog rolling over the hills, tossing on a pair of jeans rather than shorts.

I’m trying to slow down the mornings. If I can take my time, I’ll make myself some breakfast, pour a glass of cold brew, stretch my arms out, and breathe maybe once or twice. Most of my work until next week is remote, so I’ll spend a few hours today at this coffee shop—the one I mentioned yesterday (SLO 1). Beyond that, I have no clue. If the sun decides to make an appearance, maybe I’ll head to Pismo Beach, you know, hit the devil’s lettuce and catch some rays, brah.