Tomorrow I'm off to New York to sleep in a swanky hotel, have beer, see a play, then drive back to Baltimore late, late. Then work, then something or other, then more work. I have a plan for a party but I am not sure if I should go through with it. I've finished Into the Wild. I felt like crying when I finished it; not sad, not depressed, just like crying was what I should do today. Odd. Time for a romance novel, I think.
Life is odd just now; I can't decide if it's really fun and exciting or really stressful and disappointing. I keep planning to write things, say things; but there is never time. Yet what fills that time is by and large worthwhile. I think.