Tengo algo para decirte, pero no se si quieras escucharlo.

Someone wrote that to me on a post-it note in a dream I had last night, and I woke up really pleased that my brain had used the subjunctive.

I also dreamed about horses, cows, and chickens in the yards of my suburban neighborhood, a contest with a tricked out pickup truck as a prize, death on a highway, floods in back country roads: my cousins and I clung to trees so we wouldn't get swept away. I remember the feeling of being engulfed in the current. I remember the monsters swimming below the surface of John Josephs Pond.

The mist has been heavy all day, and now it is raining. I have packing to do and an airport to get to tomorrow. It is hard to leave New York, since my time here has felt really good--all work and energy and rest. Alix and I walked along Prospect Park late at night coming back from a movie and all I could smell was Christmas trees--it was the mulch. All of these weeks have smelled like Irish breakfast tea, grapefruit and Christmas trees, and they've tasted like dim sum and Guiness.

I do want to hear it, whatever you have to say. Let's have 2006.