No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn

In the last three weeks: Was offered – and accepted – a position as an editor for my mentor’s publishing company in New York; found an apartment in Brooklyn, in Bay Ridge, at the very end of the R Line; interviewed John Travolta; quit the current job; drove from DC to NYC with two feral cats (rescued from the Turks & Caicos) scratching away in the back; was serenaded, spontaneously, by a mariachi band wearing leather biker jackets, while traveling on the aforementioned R Line.

I’ve been chewing antacids and slugging Pepto-Bismol like there’s no tomorrow.

A lot of the uncertainty has been eliminated, though. From here on out it’s a logistics issue; which always turns me into a sort of penny-ante Patton, complete with muttering about timetables and contingencies and probable failure rates.