Thursday, February 24, 2011
On the train from NYC to Syracuse, I found myself humming Kenny Roger's "The Gambler" to rest my wary mind after a world wind of spastic travel. Since I departed last week, nothing that I imagined would meet the reality of my Madison, Chicago, NYC, Connecticut, Syracuse romp. It may take me a while to get my mind refocused on having two feet in my home.
In short, I'm fried.
But, I've been fried before. And I have to know when to hold. Know when to fold. Know when to walk away. Know when to run.
That is why I'm going to sleep on a bed that doesn't feel like a plank that is resting on the highways of tractor trailers. That is what my hotel the last two nights was like.
Have a great Thursday. I'm heading to the library.