I was going to write something clever for the title of this post,
So instead I'll approach this as I do every other topic -
bluntly & honestly.
I moved to New York.
That red piece of mildly poisonous fruit that Carrie Bradshaw is always breaking up with and getting back together with and cheating on and stuff.
Or was that Aidan?
I'm afraid my life doesn't exist outside of Sex and the City metaphors at the moment.
My first few days in NYC have consisted of a lot of me asking people what they think of NYC.
[[And running around like w chicken with my head cut off whilst attempting to figure out my life and all. But you know - that's supplementary to my incessant over-analyzation of my setting. As usual.]]
Turns out, most NYC residents hate NYC.
And love it.
And hate it.
Then love it more.
I've obviously made a lot of progress with this psychoanalysis of the city thing.
How do I feel about it?
Well, as a 4, going on 5, day resident of the city, I feel as if I have a pretty good grasp on my emotions.
I feel like a schizophrenic maniac.
One moment my head is spinning and my smile's a proverbial mile wide, and the next I'm seriously contemplating how to arrange a life for myself without humans.
Mostly, though, I'm in this strange in-between state: Half aware of my emotions, half aware that if I'm fully aware, they'll prove too overwhelming to handle.
So here I stay- in a strange amped-up, self-induced haze.
Simultaneously striving to ignore and negotiate the energy and the egos around me.
Photos by Joey