Another busy week. I'm not sure why I seem to have less free time here in New York, than I do when I'm in San Francisco. Somehow, though, the time leaks away, and I reach the weekend feeling that I've done nothing all week except work, sleep and work out.

After my night out on the town with C on Saturday, where we'd unexpectedly ended up kissing on the dance floor, we didn't talk for the next few days, and both of us, I think, were pondering our next moves. Finally, I called him on Wednesday, and we chatted about nothing in particular for twenty minutes before I finally said, "should we talk about what happened on Saturday?" Deep intake of breath from C. "I knew that was coming." And somewhat inevitably, our talk left us both where we probably would have been without talking - in an undefined relationship, but both open to whatever comes of it. And we've agreed to go to Provincetown together for Labor Day weekend, sharing a King-Size bed. If anything is going to happen, it's likely to start up that weekend. There's nothing like traveling together if your goal is to get to know each other better. For myself, I know that I have feelings of affection for C, but I don't know if the dynamic spark is there for something more. He's a lovely person, but I could wish he wasn't quite so serious. I think he's wrestled all his life with feelings of self-worth, and now he's reached a certain level of self-confidence, he seems tightly wound, as if scared that being playful will wound his hard won dignity. He's a strikingly handsome, tall, intelligent, succesful man, and quite why he's struggled with self worth, I don't yet know. No doubt that's one of the things that will come out in those long sessions on the beach in Provincetown. Mind, I can think of at least one other man who, on the surface, has everything going for him, but still struggles for self-confidence.

Today was another hectic, stressful day at work, ending with a mad dash home to get ready for departing to the airport for my flight home to San Francisco for the weekend. As it turns out, I was ready early, and I had time to sit down in my building's lobby while waiting for my car service. Across the street, the cute, short, muscular latino construction worker was there as usual, only this time he'd taken off his shirt for the first time since I've been observing him. I surreptitiously watched the play of his muscles down his back as he worked.

One thing I love doing is having car service to and from the airport. My company pays for it, of course, but it makes me feel special and sophisticated to recline in the back seat of a town-car and slow down for once. It's funny that the only time I really slow down a lot is when traveling. It's the only time when I manage to catch up with my emails. At the airport, I staked out a table at Starbucks, and indulged in some carrot cake. The bad thing about having my meals paid for is that it's too easy to buy things that are bad for me. Almost every day this week, I've had something sweet. Gonna ruin my girlish figure at this rate.

The feeling of comfort I felt at the airport continued upon boarding, when I found myself in business class, with nobody sitting next to me. I'd smuggled in my huge overnight bag, which exceeds American's carry-on luggage specifications by several inches. Flush with my little triumph, I started off a novel by Edith Wharton called "Sanctuary" which grabbed me on the very first page. And I accepted, for once, the glass of champagne that was offered by a harried, aging, blonde stewardess. Of course, something had to go wrong. And yes, one hour later, I'm still sitting here in the plane parked at the terminal, while they investigat a "mechanical."

Update. It's now two hours later, and we're all back in the terminal waiting for our replacement plane to be made ready. I was freezing in the air conditioned terminal building before I realized that since I was carrying my whole world in my huge carry-on, I could put on my chic little black Diesel sweatshirt. I haven't worn warm clothing since I was last in San Francisco. Anyway, I was supposed to be staying with Cecilia tonight, but since she has to get up early to train for the Aids marathon, I called her to say I'd stay in a cheap airport hotel for the night. That is if we ever actually get in the air.

The last ten days or so have been probably my best since arriving in New York six (gosh!) weeks ago. No depression to speak of during that time. Very different from the beginning of my last trip to San Francisco, where I felt out-of-sorts, and anxious. I have a full weekend lined up: hair cut on Saturday, followed by coffee with Heike. and, hopefully, meeting with V to discuss my screenplay. In the evening, I'm going, of course, to the movies with Brett. Sunday, working out with Cecilia, lunch and a party with K, a late afternoon erotic rendezvous with a sex buddy, then out, with S, to Fresh, a monthly tea-dance on Sunday evening. Should be fun. And of course I'll get back to New York even more exhausted than I am right now.