What I do not understand is how anyone manages—or why anyone bothers—to drive in New York City. To label the experience pandemonium is to give demons a bad name. In the last few weeks, I have driven from New York to Western Maryland to Central Maryland to Sarasota, Florida and back; the hour I spent yesterday navigating my rental car around the West Side was worse than all the rest put together.

So I am home, and three weeks of missed work and other obligations are hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles. Today, much to Goblin's dismay, I vacuumed the apartment and scrubbed the floors. I also worked some on a web site for my brother and sister-in-law, who just bought a wonderful restaurant in Baltimore. Goblin was indifferent to that activity.

Tonight will be my second attempt to see Far From Heaven. The first attempt, in Florida, was aborted when I got up to vomit during two early scenes, and Rob (who had already seen it) determined that what I had missed was crucial to my understanding of what was to come. So we left.

Sometimes I feel like I was out vomiting during the crucial moments in my childhood when the People In Charge explained what life was going to be like. I have been playing catch-up ever since.