It's 5:40am, and I've been up for exactly 2 hours and 21 minutes now, thanks to jet lag from a glorious, almost-masochistic, trip to NYC. I've been vacillating between bouts of lying in my bed, wide-eyed, and fervently researching online and making phone calls to the States. In these wee hours of the morning, I've turned my office into a veritable war room, with giant sheets of paper stuck to the walls, filled with ideas and ventures, and way too many extra-sticky notes. What has become tangibly urgent in the past 24 hours, influenced by two blissful weeks in the States with B, is that there is not enough time to do everything that needs to be done. But I already knew that. And so, I am sitting here, at the crack ass of dawn, pacing and writing, and googling and tweeting, and twitching, trying to find my way through this chaotic web of "charging forward" I have so manically woven for myself. 

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