I flew to Pittsburgh by way of Detroit. In Detroit I had to pass between two terminals using a very odd tunnel. From far away it just looked like it was poorly lit, but when I reached it I realized that it was actually the home of extraordinary color-shifting lights and music. I thought it was all right until halfway through the tunnel it switched from soothing blue-greens and relaxing music to an intense flashing of red, yellow and blue. That broke my brain a little. Fortunately I was able to recover with the help of the world's most transcendent french fries. (For the record, I had never even heard of Fuddruckers before this incident, but apparently there are some in Massachusetts. Who knew?)

I arrived in Pittsburgh and was welcomed by friends that I hadn't seen in ages. I was introduced to Ikea and resisted the temptation to buy a large stuffed dragon. We went to see Doogal, which you should not under any circumstances do no matter how much you like Jon Stewart or any other of the voice actors. You go in there hoping that it will be so bad it's funny, but aside from a couple of scenes, it was pretty much just so bad that it was... bad. We drove through the city, a spread-out city of hills and trees and rivers and steel and lights. We had pancakes for dinner and relaxed with TV and internet. I left my life behind and was content.

I could go on for a while about all the things we did while I was there... riding the incline, going ice skating, visiting the Andy Warhol Museum (and discovering that Henry Darger is officially the Scariest Artist Ever). But what was most wonderful was being with people with whom I could relax, for whom an afternoon of reading and watching TV was sufficient entertainment. These are people with whom I lived comfortably for years, and it was comforting to realize upon seeing them again that things were not so different as I had feared. During the days I spent in Pittsburgh I felt a peace that I haven't experienced for a long time. As I lay in the living room drinking in the sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay like someone dying of thirst, I began at last to feel quenched, with both good reading and pleasant, relaxing company, somewhere where I had nothing to prove, somewhere far, far away from my daily life and all its searing memories.

Of course here I am, back here yet again, but if I can remember that feeling for just a little while then I think I will be okay after all.