New York

23:35 EST, 07 April 2003

Last night, I emerged from the subterranean train platform into the glory of Grand Central Station. What a breathtaking structure. The soaring heights to the constellations above, the grandly arching windows, the golden orb of the information kiosk clock, the marble everywhere, the lovers kissing hello or goodbye, the watch-checking commuters brushing past the stupified clumsy-walking tourists as they look to the ceiling, the families with FAO bags and tired kids, the loungers waiting for a train or a friend or a coin in their cup. I wonder if anyone else was like me: a regular with a newcomer's awe on every visit. Thank you, Jackie O.

I submerged myself in the subway, re-emerging at 86th Street. I inhaled deeply, crisp, cold, pretzel-scented air--and I felt myself expanding even as my lungs reached maximum capacity. I was filling and filling with the life of this city, with the streets and the avenues, the buskers and the grande dames, uptown and downtown, the swirling smells of street vendor's hot take-away, the couples bundled and swift-striding, the jaywalking, the horns honking, the swarms of yellow taxis outnumbering the darker cars, the mounted policemen, the park, the pizza-by-the-slice shops, the Village, the skyscraper canyons stretching upwards above the rivers of people who carved them... I inhaled New York and I knew, as I always do, this is my place.

I was smiling as I got to Kristen's apartment. Gleefully, we embraced, words tumbling over each other in merry interruptions. Sometimes you just can't communicate fast enough to say all the things you want to say or explain all the happiness you have to share. We drank wine and got ready to go out and finally, stepped out into the rosy-cheeked night.

How did I do with the drinking plan? Pretty well, all told. I drank half a bottle of wine at Kristen's. At her friend Alex's apt. I drank half a strong Stoli & diet Ginger Ale. I put that drink down several times. At the bar I sipped rum & diet Cokes. I probably had 4 the whole night. I definitely took breaks, although I was less vigilant as the night wore on. Thankfully, I was talking a lot at the bar and therefore my mouth was otherwise engaged. We got home, I fell asleep. Memory intact. Good job, could do better. But good job. Therapist will be proud, at least.

Train ride home: I check my phone for last night's missed calls. Well, well, well: a missed call from a strange number in the 310 area code at 2:30am PST. Booty call? I think so. But from whom? I did not recognise the number so, balls out, I called it. Ring, ring, ring...voicemail. Piyush. I am a fucking goddess, I swear to God. I left a message, of course. Hee hee hee. I've won the prize, but I still don't know if I want to collect it.