First things first: I'm alive! Without electricity, adequate cell service and in possession of a fridge full of slowly rotting, incredibly expensive produce, but my apartment is dry and I have all my limbs, so I came out a winner.
New York is in shambles, depending on what neighborhood you're in. That black box up there is the view from my window — and likely the one we'll have for the next week, but further uptown, groceries are in full service, things are up and running, and by this time tomorrow might look pretty normal. With everything below 39th street dark as night, my morning was spent eating PB&Js while contemplating climbing down ten flights of stairs to brave the outdoors, while my afternoon consisted of picking up medicine at a fully-lit Duane Reade and eating at a diner with things like lights and heat and food that isn't spoiled. It's weird, and it's history in the making, but mostly? Just very, truly bizarre.
I've spent the day hopping between various sources of free internet — a couch in the middle of an uptown Equinox served as my illness-ridden office for a few hours — and trying to focus on getting work done despite being super sick. Add to it that I'm boarding a plane for Iceland in exactly 24 hours and, well, you can imagine how confusing, odd, and scramble-city these past few hours have been.
I had planned on posting some grandiose "TO ICELAND, I GO!" post, but considering that JFK's opening hours and IcelandAir's aircraft locations seem to be determining that as we speak, I'll just leave this as a "I won't be updating this until the internet's back, or I am." So, see you in a week, homies. And I'd die before not updating this Twitter thing, so if you're wondering what continent or state of mind I'm in, I'd direct all inquires that-a-way.
'Til my deadlines or death do I part,