We're going back to New York next month. She wants to see everything I saw, except maybe she wants the not so dirty version. I'm excited to see my friends again. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun, or felt so light, and alive. It'll be interesting to have her there with me. I'm sure that the days will be beautiful sharing all of the sights, and food. The nights on the other hand, ehh not so much beauty? I guess that's why we got a hotel, but I sure as hell ain't gonna spend a single night there. Oh, if only that were true. The guilt of leaving her always gets the best of me.

I love Canadian music. They're very hot shit in my Ipod right now. All the New Pornographers people, all the Broken Social Scene people, all of Spencer Krug's projects, Chromeo, and I'm forgetting others. Sum 41, they're great.

I've been real paranoid about walking outside lately because of all of the ice on the ground. The snow melts, and freezes over. Either that, or the snow mixes with rain, and the snow hardens up. I hate falling over. It's totally embarrassing, and painful. I think I worry more about the latter. It takes me forever to walk to the train now. I'm always late which is good because I'm in no hurry to get there.

I listened to Forum today, and I'm really behind on those podcasts. They had on Eric Maisel, a creativity coach from San Francisco, and he was promoting his book about writing in San Francisco. I fucking took that damn place for granted. It is a great community for writers to flourish. There are so many talented people to learn from, and discuss your work with. Even though SF is such a nurturing environment, because there are so many writers makes it hard to break out there. It fucked me up because the people that I thought were talented were better than me, but I shouldn't think that because everyone is different. No, what really messed me up was thinking that these great writers didn't give a fuck about my work, and though there are always exceptions, for the most part I think/thought that to be true. OK, really now, I didn't give enough of a fuck about my work OR the work of others, published, or just my classmates, that was my real problem. I don't know. I have a real difficult time expressing myself which is a horrible trait to have if you want to be involved in the arts.

Here Mr. Maisel, I'm abandoning my writing too early.