Is it really bad that I'm both a) watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy and b) deciding which episodes to watch based on the gory medical subplot? Like, I just read an episode summary and said, "Oh hell yeah, the guy who lit himself on fire!" Or, "I remember that kid who impaled himself on the tree."
I think I slept 10 hours in the past week. Even last night, in my hotel room, I couldn't seem to fall asleep. You know that hollow feeling you get in your stomach, and the ache you get in your legs, when you're just bone-weary tired? That's where I am right now. Physically and emotionally. But on the whole, I'm in a good place, despite the ridiculous exhaustion.
I am, without a doubt, ready to begin the next phase of my life. I have my gorgeous apartment with gorgeous furniture (mmm...IKEA), I'll have work. The whole world is on the verge of opening up for me. It's enough to make my head spin with all of it.
I really do love the city. Nowhere else makes me feel the way I do like New York - I walk down the street and feel fierce. I mean, at home, I wouldn't go out rocking a fire engine-red lipstick with giant sunglasses and a black fur tube scarf that looks uber-couture. But in New York? The sidewalk is my personal runway show. Marching down Madison Avenue with MIA on my iPod, smiling at all the cute boys who walk past and dutifully ignoring the catcalls and whistles. At the same time, I'm looking at everything, seeing everything, remembering everything and storing loads and loads of visual information in my head, to be inspired by later. The city is energizing, and I'm comforted by the fact that I didn't want to leave it. It means I'm making the right choice.
Really, it's not a bad life at all, is it?
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