New York, New York
I’m back in the land of line-cutters and horn-honkers, cement and shopping. Sigh. It was just so beautiful. Stella definitely needed to get her groove back––as the sweet male couple I met at lunch the day I left pointed out––and she did. I didn’t realize how bad I needed to leave until I came back. Three-week leaves should be mandatory.
And speaking of leaves they’re all soft and orangey now. As we flew over them, it looked like fabric, bushy green yellow and orange fabric. Now that I’ve been here a few days, escape fantasies are already percolating. First thing I noticed walking in my house was that it smelled like pesticides. We’ve had a new rash of roaches and the building’s going crazy. After reading all those lymphoma stats last week though about the links—very strong ones, according to the American Lymphoma Foundation’s pooling of research—it’s a little ookie. But every other apartment building will be just as bad, no? The only solution I see is a house near organic farms. Shit.
Anyway, T is bouncing on my mini tramp, the marathon is tomorrow and it’s almost as warm as Maui. And now I’ve got to get back to work on the proposal, on getting some work that pays now. Saw Capote last night and he wrote, “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.” I would like to be the exception.
