Awash.

What was supposed to be daily seems to be monthly. And for that, dear reader(s), I apologize.

Living in New York has instilled in me a great desire to live in the woods. I had the same feeling while living in Chicago, but because Chicago is My Baby and I dote on it , it wasn't quite as acute. But, as That One Guy's Law describes, if something gets, like, real big and extreme on one end, then it's going to get real big and extreme on the other, and, uh . . . well. Yeah. New York is crowded and dirty and now I want to live in a fucking hollowed-out tree.

I've also been fortunate enough to escape the city a couple of times this month, which always leaves me not wanting to go back. A few weeks ago I managed up to Hollis, New Hampshire with my friend Jared. My first real experience with the beauty that is The Northeast. I kayaked on a lake smothered in fog at midnight. Got to experience the wonder that is Andy's Summer Playhouse (that wonder is: children and teens making great theatre against a backdrop of great tradition and gobs of love). I looked at trees and - dare I say - stars. Not Broadway stars, sthilly! Burning gas stars. Real burning gas!

And yesterday I hopped a train to Poughkeepsie. Vassar College. It was a little strange being on a college campus again, sleeping on a rubber mattress in a dorm room, but the place is beautiful and the air was saturated with dew. I wanted to just stand there and breathe in and breathe in and breathe in and pass out, drunk with fresh air. It was hard to leave.

Back in Brooklyn today, where I sit with my shades closed so I can imagine that if I were to open them, I'd see a huge lake with trees and various woodland creatures flying/running/hopping about.