lessons in, on, and around escapism.

It's snowing in Brooklyn.

How fancy is that?

So... I have a weird feeling in my stomach. I can't pinpoint what, exactly it is; or how, exactly to deal with it. But I feel like I need to go soon. From New York, I mean. And move somewhere far, far away. I've always felt like I came here because this is where you come when you move off of Long Island (if you're of my alternative persuasion, of course)... and now I'm pretty sure it's time to move on. New York is not built for someone like me. It turns people inside out and makes it hard to relate to them in ways that are unspoken and important. It amazes me how standing in the midst of 40 or so people crammed into a subway car elbow-to-elbow feels more lonely than sitting alone in my apartment organizing my itunes. And sure, you know, everyone here feels the same way... but it's not something I can do forever; I can hardly wrap my brain around doing it for now.

As a child I remember holding on to things too long. Letting my emotions run the gamut on my insides; carving out little pieces of my circulatory system so that every heartbeat was a reminder of the joy/pain/sadness/contentedness I felt on a daily basis. And I thought that when I moved away from that godforsaken mass of gated communities that I would blossom into something or someone a little less like the dictionary definition of a person and a little more like joan of arc. But leaving the walls of my hometown behind proved more difficult than I thought, and I never quite managed to move out of the home inside my heart. But I've made it thus far, soon to be 25. And you know I've never needed a savior; I just require company. In exchange for unconditional love and the insurmountable ability to understand I would just like to talk.

But like I said, talking isn't bred in a city built like this. And that, I suppose, is out of my hands.

I'm tired.

I start my management training at work next week.
The descent begins.