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I am lying in my bed — a bouncy, purple raft in serious danger of being submerged in a sea of papers and dvds and box upon box of crap — drinking a very small bottle of very good champagne, toasting/celebrating/mourning the end of the most interesting five years of my life.  Fifteen minutes ago, I turned the key in my apartment door for the last time, because the way forward, as a wise old man with an uncommonly mouthy hat once said, is sometimes the way back.  So here I am.  Back in the lavender room with lace above the windows and stars on the ceiling.

This summer, I am going to be amazing.  Just you wait and see.

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