This week was Jackson's spring break. Originally, Jack and Jackson were going to come to New York with me at the beginning of March for the first leg of the book tour, but then I got a call from Jackson's school. He'd been out sick from school for ten days already this semester and they were concerned about us pulling him out yet again, even if it was for super-important educational reasons such as gaping at mummies and suits of armor at the Met and eating Ray's pizza. "We understand that families often take trips during the school year," they said, "but when a child has a certain number of absences, this puts up a red flag for the ..." I forget who it puts up a red flag for. Do they still have truant officers?
Jack was fine with not coming to New York with me, it's almost never a good time for him to leave his job, but Jackson was really disappointed. He loves New York. If he could live anywhere in the world besides our town he'd choose either Ventura (because that's where Toys R Us is, duh) or New York City. So Jack promised to take him to NYC for spring break. So they are there and I am here, talking to the dog and playing with action figures.
Some photos Jack has sent me from his phone this week:
Jackson playing chess in the park with a man named Cornbread
Jackson sitting in the dog run in Washington Square Park with a French bulldog on his lap
Jackson at opening day in Yankees Stadium
Jackson asleep on the subway
A half cheese/half pepperoni pizza
Whenever Jack's gone I normally revert to eating single-girl-style, e.g., cake for breakfast and dinner is a can of beer and anything I can microwave. But something's different this time. Along with my growing appreciation for privacy, I've developed a new and surprising nutritional maturity? I've been cooking. I've also gone to yoga five out of the last six days. Something is clearly Up With Me, and whatever it is, it feels right.
Although I woke myself up last night because I'd bitten my lip in my sleep. I have a night guard to prevent me from grinding my teeth, but apparently now I need a lip protector to keep me from chewing off my own face. Maybe I have a little anxiety about being alone at night, yes. Even with locked doors, an alarm system ready to blare itself raw at the slightest provocation, and a hair-trigger dog who barks at the sound of a garden snail wincing. However, I have to brave it for one more night, so I'd appreciate it that if you feel like coming over and trying to climb in my window? Call first. Otherwise we'll all have heart attacks and someone (I'm not saying who) will chew your face off.