twenty-something

Usually massive blisters on my feet are signs of a good trip to New York.

As I sit here in JFK, preparing to fly back to Vermont, unshowered, exhausted, throat sore, I'm realizing that isn't always the case.

It's not that I had a bad time. It's just that -- with a few notable exceptions -- the trip feels like a bust. Most of what I'd hoped to do here in the city didn't happen. I ended up wanting to kill my host by the time this morning rolled around. And I think I've fallen ill (been feverish and sick since Sunday).

This vacation has officially kicked my ass. I want to go home and sleep for two days, but can't (I have a work meeting at 2 and a friend's birthday celebration this eve). The trip gave me what I thought needed, at least -- a getaway.

Here's hoping that future trips to the city -- of which there's bound to be one or two this summer -- are less bust and more blast.