Scabilicious! Alysia gave me some advice on dressing the ice blade cut and it's healing. This girl should be a doctor. Lord knows she'd be good with kids' cuts and scrapes.
Now all I need to do is transport this leg out of the snow and into the tropics.
I finally called my travel agent today to book a trip to Seattle, San Fran, LA, Cabo, and Costa Rica. Fuck this fucking snow. I went skating Saturday night and it got a little rough. I ended up with a razor cut on my calf that went straight through my uni. Rumor has it there's still a blood stain embedded by the Zamboni in the ice. I want sun.
My count thus far lists four hometowns inhabited then disowned. Today I revisited the most recent—the one that could just as easily resurrect itself as a future comfort zone. Manhattan. I still have many ties and loose ends there, and made the trip up this morning to get my stix Rx. On the train ride up, I immersed myself into Jonathan Lethem’s latest book, Chronic City. So far, the Chronic part seems to refer to reefer. The City part seems to refer to the Upper East Side—a zone I rarely frequent due to the continuing lack of the 2 line, the long-planned, never realized east side subway. It felt good to be home, though. Natural. Like a human on pavement. I kept the trip quick. I was in Washington Square Park by 9:30, out by 10 and in Penn Station by 10:30. I think I subconsciously made it a morning trip to avoid the temptations that grow as the sun rises, sets, and the lights come on. No trouble today. Yet.
Men go crazy in congregation, they get better one by one.
