I never thought

I never thought I'd miss my old job. However, today, I had a heartfelt desire to get into my Civic, drive through the Petaluma hills and go visit Alex Bunnell, one of my old clients. At first, he'd stand at the door and yell through it
"What do you want??."
"I wanna hang out with you, Alex."
"Go hang out with Patricia!"
"I will - later - but right now, I wanna hang out with you."
"Well, I'm busy."
(We're still yelling through the door, mind you.)
"What are you busy with, Alex? You just woke up, didn't you?"
He starts and sputters, as if wondering how in the world I could have come to possess this information.
"Pshyeah..."
"Ok, well Alex, let me in. We have a meeting and I don't want to stand out here for the whole thing."
"Give me a minute, John. I'm not wearing any pants."

He'd let me in, and I'd lecture him a little bit about the sorry state of his apartment. He'd blame his roommate, Jason, and begin doing the dishes. We'd talk about his check register, and I'd ask if he ever planned on shopping at Trader Joe's, like he said he wanted to months ago. Tired of arguing, I'd suggest we get in my car, and go grab some lunch. I would waver back and forth in my mind, regarding where to take him for lunch. I don't want to set a bad example and go for fast food, but I'm sure he only has $35 in his wallet and is probably saving all of that for soda and nachos at the bowling alley, which he will visit later that night. If we go somewhere healthier it will be more expensive and I will probably have to pay...in the end, I opt for Subway. We would take our sandwiches to Pioneer Park, and eat in the warm afternoon sun, talking of his latest argument with his girlfriend, Britney Spears' latest stunt and the newly elected president.

After lunch, I would drive him to San Rafael, so he could go bowling. Afterward, I would visit other clients and take a few to Trader Joe's. There is a Starbucks right next door, so I would probably grab a latte to sip, while they shopped. Then, after taking them home, I would cruise home, via the back roads so as to avoid traffic. By the time I got home, Ferial would probably be in the kitchen at the Treehouse, cooking some sort of Italian-inspired amazement. We would eat at the table, then kick back to watch TV. Perhaps I'd sip a cider, while petting the bunny with my foot...

So maybe it isn't work I miss at all. Perhaps the desire for my old job, is merely a vehichle, by which I desire my old life. Like a tortilla chip for the nacho cheese of nostalgia.