No. Sleep. Till Brooklyn.

I had a layover at JFK last night and reveled in the new JetBlue terminal which is PIMP. I dreamed about taking the route from Austin to New York with great frequency to toggle between homes and clients, slipping out for appointments with my kids to the Bronx Zoo or the MoMa. It seems feasible now and the future seems tangible now that my plan is unfolding. Bwah ha ha.

***

Back in frigid Boston. I park in the old mud lots near Fort Point Channel in S. Boston when I come into the home office on Fridays. Every time I walk over the channel on the Congress Street bridge I get the urge to hurl my laptop and blackberry into the water and start my life all over again. I don't do it mostly because the mercury in my electronics will hurt the fishes.

***

An old JoJo friend who sends me random cryptic text messages texted that she was to get married. Another virgin thrown to the vampires. Ho hum.

I'm learning how to say that I'd be happy either way with your love.

***

On the topic of JoJo's texting, my brother texted me a couple of weeks back that my dad's diabetes is out of control and that he's done permanent damage to his heart. He told me this, as I mentioned, over a text message. It shouldn't matter that I'm no longer part of the club, if your father is slowly killing himself, someone should pick up the phone and call me. In a passive aggressive maneuver, I texted back, "Is he in the hospital?" Lil Bro replies, "No. But he's downplaying the seriousness of his condition", to which I have nothing really to say. Is that horrible? I have to note that my parent's adult lives have been plagued with tribulations of their own doing and this is just par for the course. I've been so emotionally detached from them for so many years that I honestly don't really care that my dad is in poor health. People tell me that I'll regret not reaching out and at least attempting to have a relationship. Every time I make an attempt, I get trampled on. It's not worth the effort.

I know that I was warned, still it was not what I hoped.

Would I want my parents by my side while on my own deathbed? Not particularly. Will I regret the lapsed time between conversations and parental void? Possibly. In some dramatic hospital bed finale, I have a handful of friends I would choose to read my last rites and, appropriately, they'd be dressed in nun costumes.