Dear New York, You’re Exhausting

25 Feb Dear New York, You’re Exhausting

I love this city, I hate it sometimes, too. In an effort to keep track of my feelings about the Big Apple during my time here I try my best to chronicle them in a letter to this crazy place. Welcome to Dear New York–a series posted monthly on the anniversary of the date I moved here. 

I have this idea. I want to do a letter to New York, once a month. I read about something similar in the New York Times before I hit my paywall–isn’t that the worst–about a book of love letters to different parts of New York. I can’t guarantee that this will alway be a love letter but… we’re going to do this, once a month on my New York anniversary (which is the 22nd). You in?

Dear New York,

You make me tired in ways that I never knew I could be tired. My brain hurts. From all the pointless worrying, trying to write and not neglect my blog. From trying to be aware of everything going on so I’m not that naive girl that gets her phone or bag jacked. I actually quit worrying about that, I just pray over me and my stuff as I walk out the door. But still.

The other day, a train conductor–who I didn’t know was the actual conductor because he seemed like a crazy person–came out of the cubby where he is supposed to stay to ensure that the train doors open on time and that we don’t crash into another train, ranting and raving out how he hates his job. MTA doesn’t care about him or if we get to work on time. Really, sir? Can’t get anything past you, can we? Around this time, I think this is the preface to him pulling out a gun and look away to pray. NOT UP IN HERE, SIR, NOT UP IN HERE.

Why New York must you worry me so?

I will say, that with all your tiring shanagians, New York, you’ve increased my faith greatly. Never have I ever prayed so hard or so frequently.

My body hurts. Not only will I be mentally tough, but physically as well. Me and my pink suitcase–that is literally more than half my weight–have been ALL over New York. I’ve been trying to save money and take the train and whew, lawd, I’m going to have arms like Michelle Obama soon. I look like a bag lady all the time. I’m always carrying a million things, walking a million blocks.

You. Exhaust. Me.

I have a bed now though, so I suppose it’s cool. That’s the other thing, I never needed this much sleep before. Is this apart of getting old? I can barely keep my eyes open to type this and it’s 11:30pm. I’m also doing this after dinner with my roommate at Blockheads, it’s National Margarita Day, apparently.  I’m going to listen to my body and go to sleep soon but not before I wish us a happy one month anniversary.

We’re official now.

Tired but Yours,