Nostalgic. The last few weekends, I've been trekking to the Upper West Side of Manhattan to visit a relative who's in rehab at Phoenix House on 74th Street. I haven't been up there in ages, and it reminds me of a past life when I used to spend a lot of time in that neighborhood. They're mostly bad memories, but those can be the most poignant.
Elitist. I went to a birthday party for a three-legged cat last night. How many people in the world can say that?
Frustrated. It's taking forever to get this damn book of mine finished. I keep finding little things I want to tweak, especially in the way the pages are laid out. Even in this futuristic era of DIY, print on demand, and e-publishing -- it's still a bitch to pump a book out, even a short (170-page) one.
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