I had no idea that a week in New York could be so good for my mental health. Normally I find Manhattan crushing and stressful, but this time, I actually spent very little time in the City I knew, and instead couch surfed around the streets of Brooklyn…trolling coffee shops, vintage stores, and every boutique my feet could carry me to. All I bought was the above T-Shirt for Dee…and an I Heart NY wallet to bribe her into forgiving me for taking a week to myself.
I spent the week with old friends, talking late into the night with Lindsey and Katie, hunkering down for hours in the corner of an Indian restaurant I once frequented in the village with Amy whom I once shared a room with, chowing down on greek food with my beloved cousins on Long Island, celebrating Sara’s 30th, and of course, communing with 200 other authors and writers, as well as agents, editors, publicists, and the like at the inaugural, phenomenal BlogHer Witers Conference courtesy of Penguin Books. Bloggers are good for the soul. Spending days surrounded by brilliant women and brutal honesty is cathartic for even the most closed off recluse (which is like basically ALL writers, right? I know I’m a fucking disaster).
Anyway, I gave myself permission to take a week off, and it turns out that sleeping on couches and lugging my bags around the Burroughs while sweating profusely was the most relaxing vacation I could have ever hoped for. I cried like a fool when I had to say goodbye to Sara and Sean again…the wounds are still fresh…I miss them horribly. I miss all of my New York friends…you guys are and always will be irreplaceable to me. I’m so grateful to have gotten to keep you. (And dammit, I’m going to convince some of you fuckers to move out here if it kills me. Mike, Lindsey…I’m looking at you.)
And it’s good to be home…both in my head, and in my house.