Ensconced now in beautiful Fort Greene Brooklyn, one of the best neighborhoods around; all brownstones and creole glory. It's Monday before election and everyone is a bit nervous, but possibly excitedly nervous. Butterflies before a big event.

I saw some theater and had a moment of gastric nirvana, talked pretty late into the night about the coming new world. Today I'm a bit more weary and my thighs are sore as hell -- an alleged outbreak of dirty dancing back at the party after depositing the sister on Saturday night -- but my thinking is that the only way is to move forward and push on through. Can't stop the machine or the machine breaks down.

While I'm certainly burning the candle from both ends (and melting through the middle) that's sort of the point here, elevating my existence, raising my game. There's just something so irreplaceable about the energy here. I feel confident, stronger, clearer. Gonna have to figure out how to visit a lot more often I think.

A fantastic journey so far.

• Emergency exit row is key. Sitting next to some guy haxing Python too. I was already sleepy and wanted to maximize that, but it was neat to fly along side a fellow traveler.
• Emerging into the new JetBlue terminal at JFK, it's a pretty grand entrance. They've taken over the old TWA terminal 5 and are doing Ildewild proud. It's futuristic, and seems like the kind of place you might go just for a drink (if you could). Second best way to arrive next to Grand Central.
• I love the early AM A-train to L; full of kids on their way to high school. The fusion of hip hop and hipsterdom is in full force with the 15 to 18 set, so expect more of that.
• As planned, I roll out at Lorimer, take in the remodled Kellog diner and massive amounts of new construction, laugh, jump into the natural food store for a Kambucha (gotta keep the immune system up) and walk over to Atlas, which has also gotten a facelift (and some italians), where there are almost as many WiFi hotspots as at my office.
• Here I will work away the day, hopefully picking up some keys soon enough to shower and maybe grab a nap before heading out into the all hallows night.

Woo!

As a followup to my Californication post below, I'd like to try and shed a more positive light on things. Clearly that kind of writing elicits a reaction -- hey, sex still sells, and it's some of the more honest blogging I've done of late -- but I think I may have given some people the wrong idea. Not that I don't appreciate all the ego-boosting, but I can't help but feel a little bit guilty, like when as a kid you'd fake or exaggerate an injury for attention.

So yes. Let's get down to brass tacks. In our last installment, I concluded that there was some serious Fear going on, and this was why my sex life was more or less dead. And yeah, the more I sit with that the more accurate it feels.

That's not particularly great in and of itself, but the first step to happy living is figuring out what you want. Then you have to get it, and that's another mountain to climb, but just getting some direction is a vital and necessary first start. I honestly feel better already.

When I survey the past couple years -- relatively sexless and workaholic -- they seem a cocoon. On the one hand maybe I've been gestating, and am preparing to emerge chrysalis-like in new glory. On the other hand, maybe I've been in hiding, retreating into the woods to bury my shame under a thousand layers of self-made silk. Or something.

Maybe it's both. More than anything else, I get the feeling I've been keeping myself under wraps, off the scene. It's not a new revelation, but every time it comes up it's with ring of truth. I think I've got a stronger way to say it, one that comes to mind with an anecdote:

I'm back in the Bay for a week. BadCAMP coming up, and business to conduct for our budding Cycling Empire. Also happy birthday Zacker. Good fun and a nice drive, so I'm content with all that.

Oft's the time I wonder about graphing my changes in mood and fortune, a little personalized stock ticker of the soul. Regular journal-writing is beyond me, and actually recounting the details of my daily life would be debilitatingly dreary. No one must know just how ho-hum my routine really is. Gotta preserve the mystery.

A numerical composite would be interesting, while (probably) allowing me to retain whatever shards of sex-appeal I can still muster. And what might such a life-market show? Finances flat but stable. Politics looking up and responsibility on the rise. Stress back down after peaking in August.

It's all well and dandy, and I'm especially happy that visible signs of over-stress -- e.g involuntary muscle-twitching -- are declining, but as things level out I worry muchly about the void, that it may just sit there gaping at me. Nature abhors a vacuum, and although I could really use a vaction, the kind of soul-emptying boredom that may be in the offing here seems dangerous.

The best answer seems like a long shot. Short-sellers are killing the Love index. The gut feeling: flat-lined.

This is starting to become a problem. Aphoristic wisdoms along the lines of "age is a state of mind" are cold comfort when contemplating a creeping case of cynicism. I really don't want to end up a jaded or pessimistic person. It's a shit way to live, but objectively that's the trend. Me no likey.