This Sunday started out OK, then kind of went to shit. A little rain in NYC, which is fine as we'd had sunny days the whole time. So we put our raincoats on, walked to breakfast and had a slow time in Brooklyn. We got to JFK to find our flight was delayed by three hours, got to LAX to find that my bag was lost, and didn't pick up the hire car and get to the hotel till 2 AM (LA time, so closer to 4 AM on New York time, which we had finally caught up on).
Good thing The Line is so damn lovely and my sister is the kindest / funniest person I know. I have managed not to lose my head with it all. With no clean clothes and no idea where my bag was, Monday was spent on the phone, in bed, and worrying. I drove us over to Silverlake for juices and a browse in my favourite stores which took my mind off things for a bit, and was able to shift my Mexico flight and stay on another night, in the hope that my bag would turn up. And it did. And I remembered how much I love this town, and the golden light and here I am on Tuesday, eating avocado on toast in CLEAN CLOTHES and readying to fly to Mexico tonight with all my beautiful stuff. I love my stuff. What a difference a day makes.
YEAR THREE.