I'm on another mini-hiatus to DC starting tomorrow, and then I get back to New York and it's a quick and dirty blitz of Book Club, the Doctor Who finale, Pride, and a quasi-finalized party to toast the end of this past year. (I've clearly been watching too much Gossip Girl and feel the need to end every episode of my life with a large benefit, gala, or party in which every character is sort of ridiculously present.)
In the meantime, I'm frantically packing so that David and I don't have to do that when we get back, because I strongly suspect that that would be an emotionally fraught way to spend our last weekend in New York for a while. The only thing more depressing than packing up your life is realizing that you can pretty comfortably fit your life into two boxes, a suitcase, and a garment bag. And that both boxes are full of books. I want to leave New York and have people shake their heads and say, "oh, Ryan. He was well read but very, very poorly dressed." I think I'm on track.