| Stockman Syndrome. |
[Nov. 2nd, 2010|08:09 pm] |
New York City in the Fall: Nothing like it. It started out a bit warmer than usual, but the last week has been crispy bliss. It's invigorating to walk home in the middle of the night and feel my lungs burn from something besides tobacco and tar; they burn from the sharp air. To go from a stage full of hot lights and damp bodies to an open city and cold night air is enough to burn the adrenaline permanently into my veins... it's no wonder I never sleep. My life is full of moments that shock the senses.
I used to have a roommate, but she split and now I live alone. I hated it at first. When it's time to return home after a day full of adventures, it's comforting to have someone to share the day with. Maybe they'll agree that your day sounded awesome, or maybe they have some insight about what you could have done to make it better. Maybe they'll call you out on being an asshole for not giving up your seat on the subway to that woman who was carrying her groceries, but hey. You had a long day, too. She didn't seem like she was struggling too much.
I would have helped if she started dropping shit.
But I've learned to love living by myself. I don't have to worry about cleaning up my messes until I want to, and I can eat whatever I want without feeling like I should have asked my roommate if she wanted some. There was typically more of a chance of the roommate making a face at me and telling me I should eat something else, but hey, at least I asked. I also don't have to worry about keeping my roommate up at night with my bouts of insomnia. Granted, she was pretty good at helping me through that, but I know she hated it. I'm pretty sure she loved sleep more than she loved me.
My friends think I should start looking for a new roommate. As if I've had enough time to enjoy living by myself and could use an extra pair of eyes to make sure my front door gets locked. But I like living on the edge. What's wrong with leaving my door unlocked? If someone wants to steal my shit, let 'em. Except my vinyl collection. Fuckers will be hunted down if they touch it.
I suppose, though, I still hold out for the chance that my old roommate will come back. Not out of desperation or anything, but you never know what'll happen when she gets those Hollywood stars out of her eyes. New York has a draw that is pretty hard to fight; leaving it for Berkeley was like heroin withdrawal. It's one habit that I don't think I'll ever kick, and I don't think she can, either.
New York, I mean. Not Heroin.
Until then, I'll keep leaving my door unlocked. You never know who might turn up. |
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![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif) velvetroom |
[Nov. 2nd, 2010|07:12 pm] |
The St. Jimmy is the spark in the night. |
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[Nov. 2nd, 2010|04:34 pm] |
CONTACT POST.
Comments are screened. Get at me. |
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