Shit! It is a weird feeling to check out the Voice online, fucked up on Dayquil and some as yet undetermined virus that makes your throat sore and you very tired, and to come across someone you know writing this week's The Essay.
Izzy used to work at the Strand and I spent the day of the blackout with her and a couple other co-workers who have also moved on to better things, downing forties in Union Square. Coming across this article makes me realize how stangnant I have been here in New York, working the same job, creating nothing, and watching other people tackle their ambitions without any hesitation or self-doubt.
Can I tell you much I hate being in this ill condition? I have been awake for a grand total of maybe three hours today between naps and am going to take a shower, drink some Nyquil and go to bed, and hopefully wake up all well.