Leaving New York

I have no business posting this right now.

My Communicar arrives in seven hours. My flight leaves in nine. And yet, my bag remains unpacked, my load of fresh laundry remains in its duffel, and the only thing that’s made right now is my bed.

I am ambivilent, for some reason, about the whole thing right now: the trip, the triathlon, the work. Exactly what has cast my Q4 undertakings into the pale of shadowy doubt is unclear. Mortality? Reality? Revelation? Exhaustion? When am I not being myself?

It’s immaterial now. We persist. That’s how we find out who we really are.

I’ll meet you when I get there. Or when I get home. Whichever comes first.