Dear Chicago

We'll you'll never guess.
I'm in Venice, at my friend's place. I took the Amtrak up, as I'm still unable to drive (and my little cluncker would never make it anyway). I love train rides. I always bring lots of entertainment: books, movies, but I just end up listening to music and staring out the window thinking. Sometimes I write. The train car was overbright, which almost ruined the whole thing. There was less to see out the window. Much of the ride was spent staring at my own reflection (which always looks better in train windows, I think) and trying to find a comfortable position on my seat. My knee was begging for attention the whole way, trying to start a conversation with me:

"Hi. I'm here. Pay attention to me!"

"Ignoring you."

"Oh yeah, we'll how about I do THIS."

"OW."

"Yeah. Thought so. Bitch."

It's good to see Anthony and it's good to be out of San Diego, though I've got so much work do get done, it's ridiculous. I'll probably spend much of the weekend dilly-dallying online, pretending like I'm just about to get started on it, until the last minute when I have to. I'm like that with work most of the time. I'll check my e-mail some 300 times a day since, as I'm beginning to admit to myself, I'm pretty much an online addict. I've got to admit, I'm feeling a little surge of disappointment every time I see that zero in the New Messages line. She did write me back, if I hadn't mentioned, and I wrote her and asked for her number. It's not just that I'm up in LA and would love to see her, though that would be great if it worked out, it's also that I'd just like to talk to her. I can't explain the past 10 months via e-mail. Maybe I'm rushing things a little. We shall see. We shall see.

Wish me luck.