Alameda is very nice. It has beaches. It has architecture. But it isn’t Berkeley.
I want to live in Berkeley again. I want hills. I want the jumble of good and bad, tidy and messy. I want good breakfast. I want people who are awake. I want to go home.
It’s uncomfortable, feeling like this. I probably can’t go home. But I realized yesterday how much I want it. Useful, if not pleasant.