I once saw a woman wearing a t-shirt that said "I kind of love NY" and I regretted not going up to ask her where she got it ever since. My love/hate relationship with the city is going into its 3rd decade now, and every day a compelling case is made for the defense and the prosecution. Last Friday night I went to the MET and was reminded again of how lucky I felt to have access to this incredible place. I was tired after a busy week but made an effort to walk there in the cold (12 extra blocks after a subway snafu) to see an exhibit on Tibetan art. There on the basement floor way at the back of the museum it felt like being able to walk around inside a huge  life-sized art history book. 

 But towards the end of the visit I started to feel unwell. The ground underneath me felt weirdly uneven...was I going to pass out? Right here next to the 14th Century Buddhists mandala showing a map of the universe? I managed to make it outside and to the East side for a Chinese food pick up order. From then on it became a race against time to get home and into a warm bed before I collapsed. When you feel unwell, there's nowhere worse to be than in a crowd. And the crowds on the subways and in Grand Central Station are particularly aggressive in their displacement of space.   Along the way I called my mum who was in Toronto with my two brothers, their wives and some neighbours at a dinner party. I felt a pang of homesickness for Canada and family that was made more acute by my condition. The pangs turned out to be an oncoming stomach flu and by the time I had climbed aboard the Metro North I was buried inside my parka quietly moaning to myself, silently hating the organism that had infected me. As Manhattan faded behind me, I longed for wide uncluttered spaces free of discarded consumption, electric noise and the grinding gears of the city.