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Back from London, where the rain and the wind blew into my hair, sent leaves scattering through the side streets of Notting Hill, and into the pews of empty churches. Flew into New York with a terrible cold chasing me, put myself promptly into bed, trying not to obsess about the events of the past week. And now there is no escape from the real world, from this future that awaits.

My new roommate is a journo, who's had a book out, and got into a furious discussion on Judith Miller (of Valerie Plame fame), who she termed as a "Thin Chick with a Serious Wardrobe" (room mate is also a Thin Chick, but without a Serious Wardrobe) and other discussions on what is age-appropriate dating. She's also dating a guy who's having an affair with someone in his office, and who's getting a divorce that's going to trial because his wife is having an affair with her Brazilian personal trainer. Welcome to New York.