I can’t sleep, and it’s not for lack of a comfortable couch. I haven’t done anything all day, except venture as far east as I could to hang over a fence and stare at the East River with my friend Robyn. The air’s been thick and wet all day, probably playing a minor role in my lethargy.

At the same time I haven’t stopped to collect or consider my three weeks here and that I’m already out in a week. And that I missed the debut show of the Young Sea, the new band of some of my best friends. I heard it went well.

I can see why people love this city. It’s real. It’s beautifully flawed. Flawed all over the place. People try to stand straighter than their spines are built for. That makes no sense but it does in my head. But it doesn’t take long to feel at home here. Whereas usually I wonder why the hell everyone is in such a hurry, I’ve found myself being the one rushing past people on the streets.
I can’t believe the idiots who run the wrong way around the quarry in central park. The sign says counter-clockwise. Stupid tourists.

Staying here has been fun and my friend Cindy who at some point had the lapse in judgment to agree to house me here has been amazing. All her friends have also been awesome. I don’t even think I’ve really gotten yelled at once (at least for real) and I’m sure I’ve deserved it for something (not that I would know what it is), considering how often I am yelled at for something petty at home. There was a party here last night, cramming 20 people into a small 2 bedroom apt was a good time. The roommates here are constantly in flux. There is Keith now, after Aaron left. Soon there will be Aya and Max? or something. Who knows.
They’ll be cool I’m sure. Everyone has been so far, that takes the time to stop. Not sure if only a week left is really long enough for me. I could stay here longer….but I’m not out quite yet, and chances are there will be some sort of opportunity I’ll be pursuing here at least temporarily in the nearish future.
And also I can’t complain about the fact that in a week, with the cooperation of some good swell, I should be surfing for the first time in more than two years. I don’t think anything else has ever made me feel more at peace than sitting out in the ocean when it’s glassy smooth, waiting for a nice little three foot wave to roll through, and if it doesn’t I just stare at the horizon keeping my balance straddling the surfboard. The only thing that comes close is getting lost in the trees on a mountain in a few feet of fluffy white powder. ‘Tis not that season.