When I was in New Jersey for Easter, there was a huge traffic jam on Route 78. I was in the car with my mom, dad and brother. We were going to my cousin's house for a big extended family dinner. My dad drove, my mom sat in the passenger seat, and my brother and I were in the back. My sister and her two kids followed behind in my sister's car.

I met the charming and delightful Allison for a few drinks last night. And, as usual, I spilled way too many secrets. "Okay," I finally said, "enough blah blah blah about me me me. You owe me a secret or two."

By chance, I ran into Erick Saturday night at Union Pool. The place was crawling with Erick's friends, and every time Erick introduced me to one of them, he'd say, "This is Jamie. He was one of the first guys I met in New York. We used to be in a band together — the first band I was in in New York."

I ran into Libby on the subway today. She had her new baby slung around her neck as we stood waiting for the train. I shook the tiny thing's little hand and looked into its glassy eyes.

When Virgo suggested we meet for milkshakes, I didn't have a clue where to go.

"There's a place on St. Mark’s,” she said. “The Milkshake Factory' or something like that. I’ll meet you at seven-thirty."

Yesterday was one of the saddest, most surreal days of my entire life. And trust me, my life's been full of them. I went to my friend's funeral. I wanted to write something about it, about him, but all I hear is his voice asking, "Don't talk about it, okay?" I'm still too sad to write something, anyway. So here's something I wrote back in July of last year when he was still alive:

As I headed into work today, I stopped off at the coffee cart down the block from my office.

A friend at work owed me a dollar and gave me four quarters.

"Here's the dollar that I owe you."

Brian and I left Erick’s party rather early, but neither of us was quite ready to go home, and, since we were downtown, Brian suggested we visit New York Dolls. “For old time's sake.”

The train pulled out of platform 16 from Hoboken and carried me along snowy tracks to the little town where I used to live—the town where the mayor is the UPS driver. No, not "used to be" the UPS driver; he is the UPS driver.

I went in to the coffee shop near my old apartment this morning. I hadn't been there in a while and decided it would be nice to stop in for some brunch and say hello to some of the people who work there. They have a lot of new servers, but John, the cook, was still at it and he gave me a warm, "hello, how have you been?"

Billy’s Topless is long gone, and the girls who worked there — the handful I still talk to —  joke about the bagel shop that took its place. “Have you been?” one of them asked me recently.

"Do you remember that poem you wrote about ghosts?" asked Jaime-girl.

Was it a full moon last night? It can be so hard to tell sometimes. But it sure felt like it. Even when it dipped behind that building, I could still feel its light. It saturated my skin, until it glowed pale and green. I pushed open the door of the only restaurant in my neighborhood and traded the weight of the moon for the luminescence of red and white neon beer signs.

And so it begins. I have no photos or exciting tales of drunken exploits from New Year's Eve. That's because I stayed home alone and read a book. In fact, I didn't even notice that the clock had passed midnight until Jaime-girl called from San Diego to tell me so. "Happy New Year!"

I had no heat again this weekend. When Jaime-Girl called and heard that it was colder in my loft than it was in my refrigerator, she invited me over. She said she'd been out late with her friends and that Sarah had spent the night. "Come over," she said.

When the doors opened up on the subway this morning and a girl stepped in, her perfume washed over me like a heavy gas that, if it didn't suffocate me first, would surely cause the entire car to explode into a department store mushroom cloud.