Homesick and Depressed
I'm so homesick. I mis John, I miss my friends, I miss my dogs, I miss my parents, and I just miss Boulder in the summer. I think about it and get a knot in my stomach. It doesn't help that things are going so terribly here, that I'm about a month out from being broke and having no plan for survival. I'm sad. This New York thing isn't going well. The experience is good, but I've hardly practiced my music in the past five months or written, and I can't remember the last time I was this stressed from spending $30 in a day. Josh and Robin saw my apartment two days ago. Josh last saw it when he helped me assemble my IKEA bed; Robin had never seen it. They both talked about how it just enough room and wasn't that small. They were trying to be nice, but it came off as so invalidating. I couldn't tell Robin off, but I looked at Josh in the eye and said, "That's easy to say when you don't have to live in it." I'm so miserable here. I have a twin-size bed and can't even work out without hitting everything in my room. I feel like I live in a cage. Josh and Robin have a GIGANTIC freaking apartment with so much light and space and gorgeous furniture. They are in a different world and it just pisses me off how they talk about things of which they have no idea. They live in luxury. They're on a trip to Spain, as I write. And not that the two of them don't deserve what they have: They've worked so hard and followed the rules to get to where they are. They're system people, and they've played the system to get what they want. I wish I worked well in any kind of system. Because I don't, I have no idea what I'm really worth; I lack the tools to measure my competence in just about anything. I can't even get a job.
I know a lot of people can't get a job right now. I know I'm not the only one feeling the economic burn. I just feel that all the people in my life are pretty fucking successful, and I'm just...not. I wantto be a writer and an editor? I am a writer and an editor? Really? How come I'm not writing and that I don't even know if I'm a good editor. How the hell am I supposed to get clients if I'm not even convinced I'm a good editor.
But then, I look at myself and realize that I don't actually think I'm good at anything, and it can't be true that I'm good at nothing.
I just want to move on with my life, in a positive direction. I want to go back to beer pong and duo dance parties with Quinn, late nights with John, and Saturday morning writing meetings with my father. I need to stop writing like this. It's making me cry.
Oh, and I went out with my roommates last night. I enjoyed myself, but they didn't. Guys hit on me; they didn't hit on my roommates. Then we went to this club and got free bottle service and there was a lot of dubstep and dancing and awesomeness, and I made the mistake of saying, "This music makes me want to do drugs" to my roommate Ellie, who's done way more drugs that I have and still does them. She didn't say anything. I felt so awkward and have still been thinking about it. I feel like an idiot. But, honestly, that place really makes you want to do drugs haha. It was an awesome place. My roommates are awkward. I hate going out with people who don't at least try to have a good time, especially when they choose the club. Neha doesn't like anything that a lot of people like, just on principle, which is idiotic. They want to go to Governor's Island today. I know that if I leave the apartment, I'll end up spending money. I don't want to leave.
I feel like I'm drowning. I just want to go home.
I know a lot of people can't get a job right now. I know I'm not the only one feeling the economic burn. I just feel that all the people in my life are pretty fucking successful, and I'm just...not. I wantto be a writer and an editor? I am a writer and an editor? Really? How come I'm not writing and that I don't even know if I'm a good editor. How the hell am I supposed to get clients if I'm not even convinced I'm a good editor.
But then, I look at myself and realize that I don't actually think I'm good at anything, and it can't be true that I'm good at nothing.
I just want to move on with my life, in a positive direction. I want to go back to beer pong and duo dance parties with Quinn, late nights with John, and Saturday morning writing meetings with my father. I need to stop writing like this. It's making me cry.
Oh, and I went out with my roommates last night. I enjoyed myself, but they didn't. Guys hit on me; they didn't hit on my roommates. Then we went to this club and got free bottle service and there was a lot of dubstep and dancing and awesomeness, and I made the mistake of saying, "This music makes me want to do drugs" to my roommate Ellie, who's done way more drugs that I have and still does them. She didn't say anything. I felt so awkward and have still been thinking about it. I feel like an idiot. But, honestly, that place really makes you want to do drugs haha. It was an awesome place. My roommates are awkward. I hate going out with people who don't at least try to have a good time, especially when they choose the club. Neha doesn't like anything that a lot of people like, just on principle, which is idiotic. They want to go to Governor's Island today. I know that if I leave the apartment, I'll end up spending money. I don't want to leave.
I feel like I'm drowning. I just want to go home.