I'm currently lying in one of those little pods in the Alaska Airlines Lounge at JFK three feet away from Bevan's little pod feeling a whole lot sad that this vacation is over but also incredibly lucky that it happened at all.
There's so much that took place in the last five days and I haven't had time to write about hardly any of it but I have hope that my life in San Francisco will be gentle enough in the coming weeks that I'll get the chance to.
For instance, we were hosted at Nancy Grossman's loft in Brooklyn today and even though this incredible woman's work has been featured in museums around the world for lunch this afternoon she made polenta without garlic because B told her that I don't very much care for garlic.
I want to write about that.
And I want to write about running into my close college friend Jason in Union Square while I was shopping for art on Friday afternoon despite the fact that neither of us should have been in Union Square on Friday afternoon and that the ten million other people who were on the island of Manhattan at that time should have prevented us from crossing paths.
Yes, I would like to write about, too.
But one has to live in order to write and sometimes you can't do both and right now I feel like livin' because there's just so damn much of it to do.