There’s something fun about going home. I’m back in New York for the first time since Thanksgiving of last year. I took a Frontier red-eye which is just wrong – I got no sleep on the plane because there were not one but two young kids crying nearly the entire time. When one would stop the other started. I feel slightly bad for the mothers when this happens, but really, these two didn’t seem to make much of an effort to stop the crying. And that’s just unacceptable. Not only that, but the one kid was old enough to know better and was just being a bit of a brat, and the mom kept saying that’s enough, you stop it now, I’ll give you something to cry about, and so on. But it was all talk.
Anyway, New York is humid. This we know. You forget when you live in Denver. Sure, it’s not as bad as Texas or Florida, but still. It’s bad. I come back here and all I think about is how the only things I miss are the food (had great Chinese last night) and the beach. And right now, I don’t even miss the City. They’re under high alert these days so I don’t think we’re even going to attempt to go in. And at first, I thought that would make me sad. But it doesn’t. It’s like getting over an ex-boyfriend – as time passes you don’t need to see it as much. You think about it, sure, and you wonder. But the feelings go away. At least that’s what I’ve been told. And it’s true with NYC. I’m really content with what I have now.