Sure, it's pretty, but it's not California

More often than not, I'm okay with living in Arizona. It's beautiful, temperate during most of the year, and reasonable to live here. Most times, it's just perfect for our lifestyle.
But then I go back to California for the weekend.
On Friday, as we crossed the border from Arizona into California, Brian looked at me and said, "Welcome home." Truer words have never been spoken. It is like coming home. I can feel my whole body relax and warm up with some happy fuzzies. I smell the difference in the air. The whole place just looks brighter to me. It's at those moments when I'm all, "Fuck this, I want to live here again!"
I manage to not get too angry; I really do. I'm happy in our house, with Sydney's school, and with our life in the desert. But holy cripes, I would love, love, love to be back in southern California.
And hanging out with my friends is no help. It just makes driving away on Sunday that much worse.
I mean, we all know what my end game is: to get back to California, by hook or by crook. Who knows how it'll happen, but I'm down.
As I said, I don't mind being in Arizona, but California is my home. And I miss living at home.