Everything Will Be O.K.
A year ago yesterday, I arrived at JFK, carrying two large suitcases, already sweating in the humidity, jobless and naive. I spent a day sweating more in trips to Target for a lamp, furious unpacking, shopping for a job interview dress, waiting for a boy to call me, and a walk down to the bay for a view of the Statue of Liberty to remember that I’d moved to New York City.
Well, I got the job and, as I have been fond of saying, for 8 MONTHS I spent every single Tuesday (plus four other days a week) at a tennis club. And then I got another job, and another place to live. And an A.C. unit, which was the most life-changing of all.
At the end of the month, I’ll move to my third apartment in the city (god-and-universe-willing).
Since moving here, I have lost: my virginity, my self-confidence, my cell phone. I have lost one of my best friends. I have called my mom in the middle of the night more times than I’m comfortable with. I have had a minor run-in with the police, had sex in a cheap motel, and been kicked out of an all-night diner. I’ve sprained my ankle twice, started wearing make-up regularly, and started wearing slutty clothes almost exclusively. I’ve also lost my sense of self and my sense of purpose. I’ve been officially dismissed from Hunter College.
But you know what? I regret nothing. Well, ok, I regret the sprained ankles. But when it comes down to it, I had someone to pick me up from the hospital. I had someone to talk to about my never-ending, and largely self-inflicted, boy problems. I lost one of my best friends, but I gained another. And then some. I’ve loved and lost and loved some more. And I was reinstated by committee to Hunter College’s student body.
Do I make the best life choices always? No. And I’ve certainly drunk gallons and gallons of tequila in the past year. But I’m not living a small life and not a careful one, it’s filled with adventures and chances and it makes me dance with joy as often as it makes me sob. And when I do cry at work, there’s someone around to offer jalapeño margaritas and guacamole. I’m not sure what I’m saying except that, as my anti-insomnia flow chart of life problems arrived at the other night, in big purple letters, Everything Will Be O.K.
July 20, 2011
Too much fiesta-ing.
I found myself at 5 am sitting up on a bed in a hospital on 68th and York doing the sniff-sniff-sigh, sniff-sniff-sigh subsiding sobs and telling my mom on the phone that yes, someone was coming to get me, could she please just talk to me? Could she just do that?
Let’s rewind to when the police found me sitting on a curb drunk and made me get in the ambulance, which was when I started crying because I told them I couldn’t afford the ambulance (I couldn’t, I can’t), and they told me they’d cuff me if I didn’t get in the ambulance and so I did.
Let’s rewind further to when my work schedule leads to me eating dinner at 5:30, then going out 7 hours later on an empty stomach and a getting-drunk mindset.
Let’s actually rewind even further to the habit I’ve been getting into lately of leaving clubs or bars alone when I decide I want to go home, sometimes telling the person I’m with and sometimes not, usually really early in the morning, and finding my own way home, stubbornly ignoring texts.
And back to the hospital, where I was crying, as I explained to my mom, because I was homesick, and I’d been homesick all day, and I was trying to call everyone I knew in NYC and no one was picking up, until someone did. And he was so nice about it when he came to get me—and the nurse asked him to sit somewhere while she “Asked me some personal questions,” and I said, “How personal?” and when he walked away she asked, “Has anyone hurt you tonight? Do you feel safe with him? Is he an ok person to take you home?” and I giggled, not because it’s funny but, you know.
We walked down the street with the sun coming up and I just kept saying, “Thank you, I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” and he kept saying, “It’s not embarrassing,” which was a lie. And he took me to an all night diner (I think I’ve ordered B.L.T.s at half the all night diners in the city by this point) and then let me crash on his couch and all’s well that ends well, I suppose, but they were real reasons I was crying and I’m tired of feeling like crying all the time and if this is what your twenties are like then bring on the crow’s feet and slowing metabolism of later years because I am so done.
July 19, 2011
"Long time no see!"
—
The lady at my Laundromat. ”Did you go on vacation?” she continued.
Nope. No, I did not.
May 24, 2011
Yesterday I came out of my room to get my morning bowl of granola and chocolate chips with peanut butter and my roommate was sitting at the kitchen table with three guys, two of whom I didn’t know. I said hey, he introduced us all, and while I washed a glass, he assured them that I was, “A little G.”
Proud Moments.
April 29, 2011
Across from me on the Subway home yesterday was a little girl, about 5. Somewhere between 36th St. and 59th St. she started making snorting noises, and then giggled. Her mom was trying to calm her down, but I couldn’t help smiling. And then I looked at her and giggled, and she looked at me and giggled, so I looked at her and giggled, so she looked at me and giggled, in one of those endless positive feedback mechanisms of giggling.
