I'm a chameleon.

Just spent a week in New York, then another in LA. It's bizarre how I can snap into any setting. In New York I was snappy and smart, juicing energy out of every street corner, singing Gypsy tunes in the back of cabs, deciding to become a Broadway director, an international microfinancier, a crime reporter. In LA, I was mellow, content, lazy. Happiness was taking my time on Santa Monica rather than bothering with the 10. Heaven was stopping in for a pound of Canter's to go, and friends who didn't care that I was late.

Back in SF now and finding myself somewhat impacted by all the travelling and reconnections. I've lost interest in all the nightlife I admit I came out here for. I'm unsubscribing from most of my partylists. I want to write something, finish something, spend time somewhere quiet doing it.

It's always tempting for me to see my attitudes reflected in the world around me, but this time it may just be me. Maybe it's the impending birthday.