so what do we do with this? we make it sing.

i guess i should just be thankful that this is all i have to worry about,
whether i choose english literature or creative writing or art or cinema studies or
whatever.
i go to bed at night crying because i don't know myself,
after i realized that no one else could possibly know me until
i do.
yeah it's just college and i'm just 20 and it's just another day,
but not really.
not really because while i'm sitting in a classroom in a recently renovated building thanks to some generous, rich, asshole patron,
sitting and complaining about how my clothes fit,
someone is laying sprawled on the sidewalk because
it's just their only option.
and don't get me wrong,
i'm not an advocate for the homeless or a mother teresa
or anything that is outside of myself, really.
but it's made me think,
wrenched my eyes open as if they were clamped shut in cacophony.
it's not just a day, it's not just an option, and it's not
just life.
because if anything was ever just just
the world would cease to exist.
i realized the universe is composed of uncertainties,
of mistakes and unfulfilled experiences, of doubts and disaster,
failure.
options and hope squeezed in the spaces between disappointment and stagnant dreams,
they're there.
so while my life turns to shit and the world turns to shit and people act like shit,
the shit makes more sense.
and everything is revealed to be bullshit,
but not really.
and everyone's dying,
but not quite
yet.

like new york city, my mood has its ups and downs, changes in the flash of a second. one moment is never the same. it's weird, being back and trying to sort of time myself, learn to move to the rhythm of the city again. in the chaos of this week, i've found moments of peace. i'm starting to remember why i wanted to come back to nyc: it's life. i'm certainly not ready for everything it'll throw at me, but i'm sure as hell ready to have things thrown at me if it means that i'll finally wake up.