Terminal C

Laguardia is a quiet hum of machines and voices. I am wrapped in the love of friends old and new. Having taken almost a week to decompress I felt human this morning.

I have this friend who is like an annoying brother. He farts, we talk about poop, and eat pints of ice cream. Having been friends for more than a decade we can fall into silent companionship our minds comforted by proximity of acceptance.

I am going home to a new lover and a new business. My flexibility around physical intimacy is a swath a gray, the eleventh color.

New York has been transcendent. I met a few artists and have been inspired to push even harder against the status quo's expectations.

Years ago I was at church and told he pastor: I think it's better to have low expectations, that way I have more room for joy. 

In this vein when I feel unmet expectations placed upon me, I start to rage. I am dedicated unwaveringly to the discipline of yes.

The conundrum is maintaining momentum and that I don't feel like apologizing for having add. People are entropic or spastic, myself included.