It's 2 a.m. PST and I'm on the plane heading to NY. (This was a last minute trip.) I love that I can blog on the plane. I hate that it's 2. I haven't slept but an hour, and we land in an hour, where it will not be 3 a.m., but 6 a.m., or the hour that people begin to ready for work. (Remind me to complain to American for its chatty flight attendants. Hellooo, this is a red-eye.)
Some know that I've been working on a collection of essays which originated from journal entries conceived when I was taking writing lessons. I suppose the rubber has hit the road because I'm performing some pieces from this on Saturday to a room full of (mostly) strangers. As I typed that last sentence my chest constricted. I'm scared. Don't let the improv and pole-dancing classes fool you -- I'm shy.
I can feel the plane descending. Now is a good time to try and sleep.