Ready To Dream Again

I pull my sunglasses over my eyes, slip on my headphones, fold my hands on my lap, and fall asleep prior to takeoff. Three hours and 1300 miles later, I wake as we touch down at LaGuardia. An hour more, and I am at work high above Times Square.

Still, I have yet to arrive. Some part of me remains somewhere in the clouds between Miami and New York.

I am home now just over 24 hours, but don’t really have any footing. It is an unusual circumstance to go straight from the VMAs straight into the work week, let alone from Miami, let alone into RNC-ravaged New York City. And so I try and work. Jonathan and I are constructing a VMA ’04: Behind The Scenes flipbook right now. But I am easily distracted by television, New York magazine, Rolling Stone, The Eyewitness Guide To Australia — anything really.

So after a long day between MIA and LGA, West 56th, 1515 and East 96th, I traipsed down to Second and 9th for darling Krissa’s birthday party. The little firecracker and her gaggle of most attractive, intelligent, articulate and talented friends (a.k.a. ‘The Tribe’) were full on energized. I, sadly, was not. So I had a plate of spinach (hey, works for Popeye), a coupla’ beers, and called it a day. A looong mutha’ f***in’ day.

It was a relief to be home in New York, even if the skies above, abuzz with police helicopters, feel like L.A. The air is dryer here, and lighter. The breeze is cooler, unlike Miami’s convection oven vibe. And it was a relief to collapse into my own bed in my own in apartment last night, even if my slumber was all too brief.

As Mike said, I am ready to dream again.

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