Oh, dear friends, my terrible sense of timing strikes again. I went out to play on Friday night. It was a long, hard week last week, full of box factory madness, plus some hard news from a good friend, whose mother went to the emergency room with what we hoped was mere vertigo, but turned out to be a meanly aggressive form of cancer. There was a little midweek respite in a visit from a beloved friend from California and her boyfriend, but for the most part I felt sad, dissociative and spacy -- at least until Friday, when Wendy came to town to read from her book and knit with us over wine and cheese and brownies. We ate, we drank, we knitted, we laughed a lot, we bought yarn by the fistful. Not only did I get to meet Wendy, I also had the singular pleasure of hand-delivering to her a jar of apple butter and apricot-hazelnut jam, a gift from one of Bakerina Kitchens' best customers. After 2 1/2 years of exchanging wisenheimer blog commentary with each other, I finally met the fabulous Ann, who in turn introduced me to Cara, who is even hipper and sharper and funnier and kinder than her blog would indicate -- and her blog indicates a high level of all of the above, indeed. We finally peeled out of the store an hour after it closed. The earlier thunderstorms had stopped, and the night was warm and windy. I walked from the West Village to the N train on 8th and Broadway, a nice walk for a nice night. Fleet Week starts next week; in preparation for the merriment, the Empire State Building has been lit with its red, white and blue lights, of which I had a clear view the moment I hit Sixth Avenue, and I could hear the fireworks over the Hudson. I was on my way home to Lloyd, who sounded glad to hear me in a relaxed and happy mood when I called him. It was a minute of almost cinematic perfection, the moment where I know I am perfectly in my element, about as at home in my own city and my own skin as I could possibly be.
Now the new work week has started, and sad dissociative spaciness rules the day again. I'm really trying not to feel sloughy and despondent, and for most of the day I am succeeding, largely thanks to the superb crew of people with and for whom I work. The best part of working at LuthorCorp is the collection of kind, silly, closely-knit crew of people assembled in our office. I have often said that I want LuthorCorp to be the last office job I ever have, simply because I don't think I could find such a terrific office dynamic in any other place. Unfortunately, the work involves more than just hanging out with each other and hollering silly stuff over the walls. This is the way of the working life, I know, and I wouldn't dare complain about it. I just wish that it didn't have such a deleterious effect on my writing energies at the end of the day.
What does any of this have to do with my lousy sense of timing? Only this: Because Wendy and Cara and Ann were nice enough to give me a link in their accounts of the Point party, I am now getting a terrific number of new visitors, right at the moment where I've been wondering if I should take a little blogging rest, at least until LuthorCorp quiets down a bit. Timing, thy name is Bakerina. In the meantime...Welcome, new visitors to PTMYB. Have I mentioned that my archives run to December 2003, and once upon a time, I used to write like gangbusters? Please feel free to wander around and ask questions.