I said goodbye to New York in the only way fit: a ride on the Coney Island Cyclone. Scared shitless of roller coasters my entire life, it only seemed right to send myself off in the most Brooklyn of ways.
(In other related news, goodbyes are hard, though I’ll opt to keep my romantic life out of the space of the Internet as much as possible.)
All things considered, I’m fairly settled in. It’s a bit of a shock to be back in Boston, but I suppose there’s no better way to get assimilated than crawling on your hands and knees redoing the floor of the bathroom. Cleaning is incredible therapy.
I can’t decide if I’m yet ready to be back in to academia, but I’m certainly cognizant of the fact that I’m not ready to be back in Boston. It feels unnatural to be torn away from what seems like my real life, though I suppose this really isn’t the case. I was sick of living two separate lives when I was in high school, and now, I’m entrenched in Boston versus Brooklyn. I wonder if I perpetuate this myself or if it’s just natural with the course that my life has taken, and will change once I’m out of school. (Maybe I’m just kidding myself and it’ll never change.)
I wish I were in a position to articulate what I’m truly feeling right now, but clearly, my writer’s gene is out in hiding, cowering from the amount of work with which it is about to be bombarded. I suppose I need to talk it out.
M
