I was pulled into the air by a supernatural blast of wind as I was walking across Prince Street this afternoon. One minute I was exiting the Apple Store and the next I was flying over the streets of Soho, swooping high and low across town and through today’s moody upper west side sky. I was cradled in the air — my feet couldn’t have touched the ground even if I wanted to come back down. I was searing through clouds, propelled by forces of wind way stronger than my might… just powerless and weightless, drifting where the breeze took me.

Bullshit. I walked determined through the streets today, pushing ahead and charging against those violent currents and gusts… ain’t no New York winds strong enough to push me anywhere. I can withstand whatever rough forces this city hurls at me, that’s for damn sure. Shit man, I’m still here, aren’t I?

Forgive the shameless pretense of this post, cuz I know I’m being self-praising and making about as much sense as Charo (I love that bitch better than bad sex, ya’ll). See, I’m working on getting back to good up in here, realizing myself, remember my spirit and all that shit (Oprah would be so proud of my ass — but would she buy me a car?), so this kind of fucking pomposity just kinda goes along with the territory. You know how we do.

… AND ALSO? I stopped into the hospital afterwork tonight to see him. It was way past visiting hours and I didn’t even know what his deal was, I’d only heard he was there, and I wanted to drop off some flowers and attention. Been a long time since I’d been to the hospital, and as hard as I fought it, I couldn’t help but have a tiny surreal moment standing in that elevator again. I got over myself and found his room. Bron was ok, he looked thinner and tired, all embarassed at not being his usual gorgeous self. We chitchatted about stuff, he bitched about his senile roommate, I filled him in on drama @ work, then I climbed onto the windowsill and fixed his broken blinds so he could see the church lights better (he flirted with me, checking out my ass while I did it, and it was cute). He was worried about his test results, worried that they’d found something too soon — that maybe his situation was too advanced to be an early stage of anything. I don’t really know what I said but there was lots of chuckling and teasing and lots of me saying, “Stop trying to get up, just rest”. I’m glad I saw him, and I think he’s gonna be ok. He can withstand these howling New York City winds too.

And I’m just kidding about the Charo-love equation… I don’t even have bad sex.