Follow the Lighted Promenade

And with a bow, I take my leave. Another end of another year. They are flowing like water now. There's a bittersweetness to this that I find ultimately very poetic. Anything to add a few lines to the book of longing. I'm leaving in a few days, and will crisscross the country listening to jazz. I've lain and ached for travel, for Patricia...but I've also been so comfortable alone, in my room, dozing to the drone of fans. Writing has again burst like a rocket, like a blurry dream. My novel is progressing very well. I have longing, but no complaints. I got to see a few old friends over the past few weeks (Jeremy, Jeremy, Herbie) - this is becoming increasingly rare; we're like ships. And now that I'm moving to Chicago, it may be ever more rare. Or not. Who knows?