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Sunday, September 7, 1997
Ah, honey, I figured I had to change this page eventually. Chad is known to have read that previous letter to him, and in the meantime a lot of things are known to have changed here.
I have been away, on vacation. In heaven. And how can I thank the heaven-bearer enough, except to say thank you, Maggy, for the one vacation I've ever had that was close to being perfect. PERFECT, dare I say, though I will always hesitate to use such a superlative.
I have never been good at taking vacations. It makes me feel completely out of the water. Or underwater. Nowhere I go do I feel comfortable or at home until I have been there for months or even years. And growing up I can remember making efforts to make home feel more like a permanent place. There was the 9:14pm train I heard one night. And for every night after that I waited for the sound of the train to come at 9:14, so I could know that something in this world could be counted on, and that something would always be there no matter what.
But your house was different. And this time, this vacation I remember all the funny things that happened, and all the laughing, and I'd like to forget the crying but maybe we are getting too old to keep trying to forget those things.
Suddenly so much to do around here. Is it too early to say that I'm going home? By "too early" I mean is it possible that people at my place of work are reading this tonight, and with these words scooping the fact that I shall announce my resignation tomorrow, and that I landed a swell, swell job back in Manhattan? Are you guys reading this? I doubt it, you all work too damn hard.
Bah, why do I never start writing stuff like this until very near to my bedtime? Now I am tired, and kind of anxious. Doubt if there will be much sleep tonight. Or for the next several nights. Or weeks. The plan is to be back in New York by around the first of next month. Of course, plans often fail. But things appear to be working so far.
Looks like I picked up a sore throat in heaven. Thought it had passed, but here it is, gumming things up and making me feel kind of sodden. It is not real problem, just kind of annoying. And sticky.
Friday night, the strangest thing happened. I laid down in bed and shut my eyes and then suddenly said right out-loud "I have to barf." And I did. I leapt from the bed and into the bathroom and I barfed and barfed and barfed, having not felt nauseous or sick, and afterwards feeling just fine, fine, thank you. No dizziness, no volatile tummy. Just a clean, swift puke. And after it was over I shouted "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? WHY AM I BARFING?"
Domino's strikes again. The last time I got really, really sick it was from a Domino's pizza in New York. 3 days of total pain during which every heave-ho reeked of sausage and pepperoni.
But anyway... Time to wake up. Time to get back to work tomorrow, time to start packing my boxes, time to call some friends and let them know I'm coming home, that I am leaving this town. Someone needs to organize a parade. There should be speeches and dancing girls and high school bands and network television coverage and merchandising.
To Chad, With a Big, Hearty Laugh
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