Sat, 25 Feb 2012 13:59:07 -0500
My champagne flute runneth over. Or at least, it's full, and I've
been upgraded into business class on my flight back from New York to
SFO, which is really the same thing. Flying back a day and a half
earlier than I'd planned, because after my weekend at Jim &
Becca's in Minnesota for Febgiving, avoiding Nola the attack cat,
eating myself into a coma on cornbread pudding, gravy, and
fudge-striped-cookie "salad," and watching old movies, continuing on
east felt like the wrong direction: Away from my city, away from my
boy. Did I mention runneth over?
I usually love travel like this: To a city with an SRE office, but
with no real business purpose per se; vacation without having to take
vacation. (Especially when I'm upgraded.) I often love the change of
pace, the chance to not step entirely outside of my day job, and yet
hold only that one variable constant even as I temporarily modify the
others. And it has been lovely to see friends this week, to
eat and drink with those who have known me 10, 20 years, or more. And
the Swiss chard ice cream at wd~50! The White Negroni at Amor y
Amargo! The cobbled, twisting streets of the Village. The cellist
playing Bach's cello suites on the Highline. The recently-repatriated
Klimts at the Neue Galerie with Olivia and 8-month-old Audrey (whom I
negligently allowed to pull my scalding double espresso over onto
herself as she sat on my lap over Mohngugelhupf at Cafe Sabarsky)
(despite her screams, and the dagger-looks of the entire patronage,
she's fine). Cupcakes, pizza, or office Cheerios for breakfast, as I
please. The scalloped mirrors and blue carpets of my lovely SoHo
hotel. All great.
But -- I know, cry me a river -- I've had to talk myself out of a funk
for half this east-coast week. Get up and go to work, Heikkinen;
you can go home on Saturday. Turns out, I didn't really
want a change of pace just right now, now that I've just
started seeing this wonderful boy. I've missed the new flame, young
on paper but a coeval soul. So not a day after landing in New York, I
switched my return flight, and am now arcing home to him at 30,000
feet and 400 miles per hour, reading the book he gave me, with a
bottomless glass of champagne. I can't wait.
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