The title was “ENGLISH-speaking Babysitter.” Fuck you too, New York parents.
Sometimes I worry that my roomates think I’m going crazy because 1am is when I tend to do my crazy organizing shit, aka I just sit in my room going “wow… WOW” over and over as I realize that there are more organizations in the Bronx that charge for SAT classes than ones that don’t.
Sometimes I just want to send screenshots like this to people I have to meet with that day and be like “yeahh I’m just gonna stay in bed and watch Breaking Bad. Wanna join?”
Places I’m most likely to be in according to facebook.
So I got to go home early because my manager drastically miscalculate the weather (as did I). I’m kind of terrified for Saturday because he blows so hot and cold, and him being nice today might lead to him screaming at me on Saturday. Fun times! So instead of worrying too much I’m just sitting in my room trying to enjoy the next hour or so while I wait for Soo-Young to get here.
And it’s funny, because I haven’t felt like I’ve had a “room” in a long time. My room in Ohio stopped being my room not when I went to college, not when I stayed in New York the summer after freshman year, but when I couldn’t sleep there after my accident, when I was afraid that I’d never get better, when the surgeons who promised I’d be able to walk by March made me stay on crutches longer and scheduled more surgeries for me. I was so shattered and paralyzed, and only began to get better when I moved out. The two apartments I subsequently stayed in never felt like homes to me, probably because by then I was working full-time on the campaign so it’s not like I ever had time to BE there.
When I finally came back to New York I got my East Village apartment. And I loved it. I love the East Village, and I don’t think I’ll ever live in such a great location ever again. But I never decorated the walls. I was on a twin sized bed. And the apartment itself was tiny. Throw in the super loud party neighbors and the fact that everybody else there was NYU and.. well.. yeah. It was a place for me to sleep. Towards the end it was a place for me to work. But it wasn’t home.
Now I’m here in Crown Heights. I recognize how far away from everything I am, but in a way I kind of like it. I have my “New York inspiration” hanging above my bed; even if it’s Manhattan centered, it reminds me of how much I’ve wanted to live in the city. I have a poster compiled of all the lit we distributed for the 2010 midterm elections. A watercolor one of my adopted Jewish grandmothers at the pool painted for me, and Mel’s photo from High School remind me of how lucky I am for the people I have in my life. I even finally hung up the photo I bought from a friend’s NARAL fundraiser. I even found room for my bike. I’m typing this now sitting on my comfy chair that I splurged for, looking out towards my window which has (in my opinion) the best view of the entire apartment. This year has been intense and not necessarily the best, but I finally have my refuge and my place to run to. My boss might make me miserable and I might have a crazy fall coming ahead, but I am a lucky, lucky girl.
In denial about having to move in the next two weeks. I’m stoked to live in Brooklyn, but can’t my stuff just magically get there on its own?
So I just got a new computer because of reasons and instead of doing things I should be doing I immediately went to facebook and saw this newly-tagged picture from when one of my best friends recently came to New York, and I just want her to come back right now.
And by that I mean I’m talking to advisors right now.
Someone please help me. What do I do???
Just finished the Divergent series.
Me no like ending.
Hunger Games a million times better.
w/e i’m done talking to this guy i have better things to do like watch bobs burgers on netflix and watch paint dry
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