The failure of cell technology spelled sushi for one tonight. And while company would have been nice, the relative calm of my Hell’s Kitchen apartment is a welcome refuge.
And that’s really all I need for tonight: refuge, rest, and maybe a bowl of ice cream.
I’m not dealing with, say, Rwanda size discord. The volume of the city isn’t that unbearable. I am getting some sleep and some exercise and I’m eating pretty well.
Yeah, my Grandmother’s in the hospital. Yeah, I have to figure out Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years with The Family. Work, record, marathon, blah blah blah … You’ve heard it all before.
No, I think it’s the fall. I mean, it’s called The Fall for a reason, right?
It’s been beautiful all week: crisp, cool, clear skies. Nearly sweater weather. It’s been great. But it’s so obviously autumn. The sun is gone by seven. The leaves are gone from the tree in my backyard. I’ve hauled out my corduroy coat. You know: all the signs.
Fall, for me — for all of us I imagine — is assessment time. The frivolity of summer ends. It’s Get Serious time. I always take stock of what’s going on in the fall. How am I doing? Am I making any progress? Am I growing up in any way? Am I a better man? And, well, at this moment a) I was kinda’ getting into the frivolity and b) I’m not so sure how I’m doing. The usual mile markers aren’t seeming so salient.
And you know what? Ice cream as a pick me up? Not what it used to be.