I have been asked many times why I don't just live in New York already, I'm there so often. The only thing that keeps me from being there even more frequently than I already am is that the drive is just so damn boring by myself.
"But why don't you just move to New York? Why didn't you go to grad school (t)here? You love it so much. You are already here all the damn time anyway." I am constantly asked.
It's true. I love the fast-paced New York lifestyle. I love being able to stay out and drink 'til dawn and spending lazy afternoons wandering around NoLiTa window-shopping. I love that there are so many restaurants there that I could eat at a different one for each meal and still never hit them all.
But what I love most about New York is that for me, it's my place to run to when I want to leave the current place I'm living. There's a certain sense of escapism in running off to that city, eating and drinking way too much and sleeping way too little and shopping with abandon, repeating this cycle until it's time to finally return home, utterly wrung out and nearly broke. And it just feels so damn good.
The key words, however, are getting to finally return home. I couldn't do it in perpetua. The cycle would eventually kill me - and if that didn't, my parents would for running up the credit card bills. Besides, if I lived in New York, where would I run off to when it came to be just too much for me? Boston? It's not quite the same.
That, and the city is too dirty, and there aren't enough open green spaces. I was born in LA after all, where everybody has a lawn. (Shh, don't talk about the smog.)
All of that to say - yes, I am off again! With company this time, so my drive won't be so boring (even though I have this marked ability to just zone out). That's right, in the past month since I've moved to Cambridge, I have spent one weekend there. A tout à l'heure!
P.S. I know that I bruise unnaturally easily, and that once I'm bruised the damn things like to stick around for ages - but I have these small, but VERY purple thumb-sized bruises on my arms which could only have been incurred during the drunken blackout sex I had last weekend.. combine that with the bruises on my shins from my innate clumsiness, and for the first time ever I'm thankful that it's cold enough to wear jackets and pants because I look like an abuse victim. It is not attractive.
"But why don't you just move to New York? Why didn't you go to grad school (t)here? You love it so much. You are already here all the damn time anyway." I am constantly asked.
It's true. I love the fast-paced New York lifestyle. I love being able to stay out and drink 'til dawn and spending lazy afternoons wandering around NoLiTa window-shopping. I love that there are so many restaurants there that I could eat at a different one for each meal and still never hit them all.
But what I love most about New York is that for me, it's my place to run to when I want to leave the current place I'm living. There's a certain sense of escapism in running off to that city, eating and drinking way too much and sleeping way too little and shopping with abandon, repeating this cycle until it's time to finally return home, utterly wrung out and nearly broke. And it just feels so damn good.
The key words, however, are getting to finally return home. I couldn't do it in perpetua. The cycle would eventually kill me - and if that didn't, my parents would for running up the credit card bills. Besides, if I lived in New York, where would I run off to when it came to be just too much for me? Boston? It's not quite the same.
That, and the city is too dirty, and there aren't enough open green spaces. I was born in LA after all, where everybody has a lawn. (Shh, don't talk about the smog.)
All of that to say - yes, I am off again! With company this time, so my drive won't be so boring (even though I have this marked ability to just zone out). That's right, in the past month since I've moved to Cambridge, I have spent one weekend there. A tout à l'heure!
P.S. I know that I bruise unnaturally easily, and that once I'm bruised the damn things like to stick around for ages - but I have these small, but VERY purple thumb-sized bruises on my arms which could only have been incurred during the drunken blackout sex I had last weekend.. combine that with the bruises on my shins from my innate clumsiness, and for the first time ever I'm thankful that it's cold enough to wear jackets and pants because I look like an abuse victim. It is not attractive.
posted at 07:13
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