We got home late last night, after a 12 hour delay, most of which was spent in the JetBlue Terminal at JFK. (On a side note — if you ever have to be stuck in an airport for an unknown period of time, keep your fingers crossed that it is the incredibly swanky and plush Terminal 5 at JFK.)
Despite our comfortable waiting accomodations, I nonetheless had to have a good cry in the bathroom about not being able to get home to Veronica sooner. In the last 7 days, I've only spent 2 of them with her — the most I've ever been away from her. It was like having several apendages severed from my being. It was like leaving my bloodied and still pumping heart in an entirely different state. It caused me a constant sense of nagging dread and worry, despite being in some of the most fantastic situations I've ever been in.
She was absolutely safe and well-taken care of and even quite happy — with her grandmother at my sister-in-law's house, with her cousins to play with — but I still had a hard time nonetheless. We got home so late last night that we had to wait until this morning to pick her up, and it's been nothing but a sweet reunion ever since. She's napping now and for the first time in a week I'm free from that persistent feeling of anxiety.
Now that we are home from this trip, I have nothing on my agenda except to write, write, write. My deadline to finish the book is early March, just over a month from now. I have no worries about accomplishing this, but I still need to really buckle down in order to get it done.
That said, off I go to get some work done.
Here's a photo of me on Houston St., just before setting off to meet my editor and agent for drinks. You can see the whole New York album here. Although we saw a ton of friends, apparently I pretty much only took photos of the snow.