Last night I experienced a startling epiphanic moment. It feels right, it feels...true. Without getting too detailed, it involves the French Culinary Institute, me, a restaurant, and a conjoined antique bookshop. I can see the vision, the floor plan, the decor, the menu so clearly, it is almost as if the idea already existed full-blown, and was waiting for me to notice.

Since I arrived in New York I have been without purpose. Perhaps not entirely without -- it is always an admirable goal to pay one's rent on time, and one that is not always attainable. Long term plans have not factored into my life, aside from a vague sense of "Doing Something Interesting Someday." This may very well be the "Something" for which I wait.

A small stumbling block: my plan rests wholely on the possibility of financial aid. Twenty-five thousand dollars is a concept so imaginary to me, they may as well ask me to pay in Santa Clauses. I refuse to let such a small detail deter me, not when I suddenly burn with such enthusiasm. Mark my words - in a few short years, I shall be the toast of the town.