No, although I did throw a plate through the window and have been finding shards of glass everywhere, even, once, in my dinner. My incredible restlessness and desperation to get out of the confines of this flat must have been some mild psychic disturbance projection emanating from the next-door couple who managed to snag that most rare of New York commodities, a lovely garden flat in a brownstone, on this very block, below market value, from the owners. Trying not to be so sour on life nor feel that some sort of rut is writ far into the future. I'm starting to miss chunks. Lots of escapist speed-reading lately.
Life feels scarily stuck.
Went to lots of performances last week when Heather was in town. Hers at Joe's Pub, then Ann Magnusun at PS 122. This neighborhood is getting to me. I'm even beginnng to wonder if this building is cursed. It seems like everyone who leaves does so in a personal meltdown.