Hello East Village

Back in Manhattan after a tortuous journey. I may have had the aggravating know-it-all world traveller on the way to London, but he was trumped by the 250lb sweating, nervous flyer wedged in the centre seat next to me on the way back. My bag was almost last off the carousel, cabs were in short supply and, oof, I'm just glad to be home. And I'm embracing the heat. Frankly, after wet, chilly, dull London, hot & humid is A Good Thing.

Feeling more than a little embarrassed about my emotional flip out on Saturday. I suspect that my ex-bofriend's snake-like behaviour last year affected me more deeply than I had realised. It's chastening to realise that there is more of my mother in me than I had suspected: her emotional upsets are usually triggered by behaviour that connects to something bad that happened a good while ago, regardless if there is a valid reason in the present for flipping or no.

And there I was thinking I was relatively uncomplicated because I very, very rarely flip. Tantrums are so boring. I have no idea how men put up with girls who throw paddys all the times. Oh well. Regardless, my self-esteem is still bruised & battered from the weekend's revelations. Perhaps I'll feel better after a good night's sleep.