So, I move out of my Upper West Side apartment tomorrow, and it’s killing me.
Yes, I hated my roommates, and I can’t believe I somehow accidentally ended up living with a Trump supporter… I hope he chokes on a Freedom Fry in his new apartment in New Jersey… actually, now he lives in New Jersey, so he’s basically already dead.
BUT STILL, despite how much I hated my roommates, I still feel like I’m losing something. I’m losing my neighborhood. My cafes I’ve come to love where the baristas know me by name. I love walking in and having someone scream out, “What article are you writing today?!?”
I’m going to miss my corner Bodega. Shoutout to the West 82nd Grocery! I’m even going to miss my gym, where the equipment was old and crappy, and there was no AC, and old gay men would jack off in the sauna. Classic Manhattan, I say! And again, despite the fact that I hate old gay men jerking off in public, something about losing that makes me sad. It’s like, who, besides the people in my neighborhood who also gym there, would ever believe that the basement of our gym is a 24/7 jerkfest? NOBODY!
And that’s community.
OH MY GOD. AM I GETTING OLD?
AM I STARTING TO LIKE THE IDEA OF…. SETTING DOWN ROOTS?
Sweet Jesus Kill Me.
But then again, I suppose 30 is right around the corner. Perhaps I should embrace the failing kidneys, trick hips, and arthritic knees,
Oh, god, all before I’m even 40 I’m sure…
Or perhaps I need to think of it this way – I’ve only been in NYC for 5 months. I’m still just a newborn New York baby. Maybe having to move to the Upper East Side isn’t an ending…maybe it’s just a beginning?
Maybe this first apartment was my “starter” apartment. Maybe I’ll actually like the Upper East Side? (cringes…) I mean, maybe, right? Maybe I’ll learn to love my new roommate and make a new best friend?
POINT IS – maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe this is the start. The start of a new adventure. The true beginning to my life in New York!
Let’s hope for the best?
~ The Dark Horse