I'm fairly exhausted.

Weekend was good. Left Saturday morning, grabbed breakfast at a place in the Valley, ran by the abandoned refinery in ***** where we found a piece of guerilla art to take home (win!) and managed to set off some very loud alarms. Tooled around at the Santa Barbara Mission, grabbed dinner at Stearn's Wharf, headed over the the concert which was not well advertised, so it was almost more of a private show. The opening band was -amazing-, I was quite pleased.

Sunday found us driving up PCH to stop in Cambria to see Nit Wit Ridge, then up to Hearst Castle for a late afternoon tour.

Realized, between a conversation PD and I had on the bus down from the castle and a blog post I stumbled across this morning, that part of love, for me, is the comfortability to show my happiness and confidence with sincerity. I often put on a tough girl front, or at least I try, but, as PD notes, I'm quite soft and squishy inside. I play confident so much, so easily, because it's what I do to survive.

And I'm more than willing to talk about my discomforts, my embarassments, my unhappy truths with near anyone without needing any level of trust or comfort with them... but when it comes to self-worth, happiness, dreams... I can't. I need that safety. That trust.

Probably means more than my surface thoughts on the matter.