"I was afraid to be alone, but now I'm scared that's how I like be."
~ Azure Ray
Okay so for all one of you who reads this, I thought It’s well time I update. So update I will. I could tell you about the rest of Australia (not much there) or my sweet trip to Spain with Levi, or my life since July and I will, at some point, but at present, I’m really not in the mood. I’d rather tell you what’s up right now. Now. It’s 10:44pm on a Friday night, and I’m in my house, alone, blogging. And there’s no place I’d rather be. And fuck you if you think there is some other place I should be. I can’t deal with other people caring what I do with my time anymore. Life is short, so I do what I want. I already spent my obligatory $25 on 2 overpriced glasses of Manhattan wine tonight. I talked to other people. That’s what we’re supposed to do on a Friday night, right? Right? So you can take some satisfaction in that. And now I’m home, and happy that no one else is. I realized that I’m happiest when I’m alone. I walked home from the train tonight, with the good ol’ ipod going loud enough in my ears that I couldn’t hear anything else, and it was fucking great. Big old half moon glaring out between stark, bare sticks of branches. Seeing but not hearing all the other jerks in Greenpoint. Priceless. I haven’t done that in a long time. I guess I’ve been too afraid of getting mugged in Brooklyn if I couldn’t hear what went on around me. A valid fear that I’m a little bit over at the moment. At least in Greenpoint. At least on a Friday at 10:30pm. I miss that shit. I guess I stopped doing it at some point in college when I realized how much faster biking was than walking. But biking takes too much concentration to be able to do what I like to do when walking around in the much too cold outdoors. Thinking. Jamming. Perceiving. So I’m done with that at the moment, too. Especially after recently being hit by a car. Again. I do love being so fucking alone in the midst of so many people and so much noise. Which kind of explains why I’m so okay with my slow but steady evolution into a recluse in the most populous city in the country. People love to make a lady feel guilty about such an evolution, too. “You’re in New York City. You should be out, meeting people, blah blah blah.” I don’t see why I can’t enjoy the city by myself. It’s pretty. That’s all I really need. That and the feeling of invisibility, which can really be a reality here. I’m just another asshole trying to get on the goddam train at rush hour here, and no one else cares whether I do or not, as long as they do, and I like that. I also make damn good company. For myself. This doesn't make me arrogant, it just makes sense. I make jokes to myself that I obviously think are funny. Myself agrees that I have impeccable taste in music, and rarely disagrees on much else with me. It works. Back to the point, which is that I don’t see the point in spending money in bars, poisoning my body and talking shit to people. I absolutely can’t do it anymore. And yeah, I do have a boyfriend, which I suppose eliminates half the motivation that most people possess to participate in the activity. But seriously. Life is short. I have better things to do. I need to become fluent in Spanish. I need to finish my story. I need to develop my skills a pianist. I need to read. All that beyond getting into grad school and establishing my career. And I really want to not care what you think. But it’s hard not to.
Okay so for all one of you who reads this, I thought It’s well time I update. So update I will. I could tell you about the rest of Australia (not much there) or my sweet trip to Spain with Levi, or my life since July and I will, at some point, but at present, I’m really not in the mood. I’d rather tell you what’s up right now. Now. It’s 10:44pm on a Friday night, and I’m in my house, alone, blogging. And there’s no place I’d rather be. And fuck you if you think there is some other place I should be. I can’t deal with other people caring what I do with my time anymore. Life is short, so I do what I want. I already spent my obligatory $25 on 2 overpriced glasses of Manhattan wine tonight. I talked to other people. That’s what we’re supposed to do on a Friday night, right? Right? So you can take some satisfaction in that. And now I’m home, and happy that no one else is. I realized that I’m happiest when I’m alone. I walked home from the train tonight, with the good ol’ ipod going loud enough in my ears that I couldn’t hear anything else, and it was fucking great. Big old half moon glaring out between stark, bare sticks of branches. Seeing but not hearing all the other jerks in Greenpoint. Priceless. I haven’t done that in a long time. I guess I’ve been too afraid of getting mugged in Brooklyn if I couldn’t hear what went on around me. A valid fear that I’m a little bit over at the moment. At least in Greenpoint. At least on a Friday at 10:30pm. I miss that shit. I guess I stopped doing it at some point in college when I realized how much faster biking was than walking. But biking takes too much concentration to be able to do what I like to do when walking around in the much too cold outdoors. Thinking. Jamming. Perceiving. So I’m done with that at the moment, too. Especially after recently being hit by a car. Again. I do love being so fucking alone in the midst of so many people and so much noise. Which kind of explains why I’m so okay with my slow but steady evolution into a recluse in the most populous city in the country. People love to make a lady feel guilty about such an evolution, too. “You’re in New York City. You should be out, meeting people, blah blah blah.” I don’t see why I can’t enjoy the city by myself. It’s pretty. That’s all I really need. That and the feeling of invisibility, which can really be a reality here. I’m just another asshole trying to get on the goddam train at rush hour here, and no one else cares whether I do or not, as long as they do, and I like that. I also make damn good company. For myself. This doesn't make me arrogant, it just makes sense. I make jokes to myself that I obviously think are funny. Myself agrees that I have impeccable taste in music, and rarely disagrees on much else with me. It works. Back to the point, which is that I don’t see the point in spending money in bars, poisoning my body and talking shit to people. I absolutely can’t do it anymore. And yeah, I do have a boyfriend, which I suppose eliminates half the motivation that most people possess to participate in the activity. But seriously. Life is short. I have better things to do. I need to become fluent in Spanish. I need to finish my story. I need to develop my skills a pianist. I need to read. All that beyond getting into grad school and establishing my career. And I really want to not care what you think. But it’s hard not to.