I -do not- want to talk about it, at all. So let's not. Instead the whole mess just makes me think about things, the sort of things I've had floating in my head. Changing careers, going back to school, leaving New York. A part of me feels that the latter may alleviate more than I realize. I'm a high strung nutjob, and this city doesn't help. All of the amazing things I focus on about how fantastic New York is, I barely take advantage of. All of the edginess and harshness and toughness has lost its appeal, I'm bored or overwhelmed by it. The perpetuation of the superficial, the constant fear of being alone, the nearness of strangers, the haunting 24/7 access to most anything terrible for the soul, just a subway stop away. I'm getting sick of it, I can tell. Watching the faces of others on the subway, instead of imagining all the interesting lives I was near, I see exhaustion. I see a beaten down people.
San Francisco was beautiful, and warm. It makes me want to see other places to determine if the glee in being there resides outside of just being "not New York." How much of this is me swallowing my pride? How much of this is a weird affection I've always felt for New York, as though my association with it is one of ther underpinnings of my own worth? How much of this is to show that I can "make it"?
Too much, I suspect.
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