So I can thank The McKittrick for bringing my brother back to NYC so many times, including last Halloween, so he was present to save me from the wreckage that my life was becoming. I had been assaulted by a person that I love very much just before the party, and my brother (in town for our usual Halloween frolic) saw what was happening in my life, sounded the alarm to my Dad and they basically “interventioned” me back to reality. And at the risk of sounding dramatic (who, ME?! Dramatic, nah!) it all came to a head at the McKittrick Halloween party. Fast forward to 2019, and all that came with it for me. Several years ago I briefly considered leaving NY, but, and I am not exaggerating here, I could not even comprehend the thought of leaving The Mckittrick (and all the peripheral relationships and arts experiences in my life as a result of the Hotel) so I stayed. MY life, while still far from perfect, was finally stabilizing, slowly but surely, and knowing what virtually everyone in my life in NYC is going through has been a sobering, perspective-aligning reality check for me. But I was still in touch with friends in NY, and as things worsened and I continued to see the City and the theatre/arts communities decimated I felt a distinct sense of guilt for not being there. I was living in a state of virtual self-isolation, consuming minimal mass media, and almost NO news. I was already out of NYC and in a relatively safe haven, among dear friends from a long-ago life, when 2020 dropped on the world like a lead balloon. My life took such a dramatic turn in 2019. I have been horribly nostalgic the past few months.
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