Breathing New Life

It’s amazing the way this city makes me feel reborn every time I discover a new restaurant or a new concert venue and most of all, new music.  New York City is definitely the center of the music universe, and in the last four years that I’ve lived here, I’ve never taken advantage of this until now. Now, I have more time and more money to spend at these places and discover the wonderful (and at times not-so-wonderful) music that this city has to offer.  Being at the Mercury Lounge or the Bowery Ballroom makes me feel as if I’m really living in the city for the very first time. I am experiencing something in the city that no one except the seasoned city mice know about — and I love this feeling of exclusivity. Bottom line though, I love music. I love exposing myself to the various types of music out there and to witness in person the way an artists interacts with his or her work and with the other artists on stage. It’s truly an experience that you cannot get elsewhere. It’s a combination of being at these small venues and experiencing this live music that truly breathes new life into me. These are the moments that make me wonder: How could I possibly ever quit this place? Even if only for a few years? I would not survive.

My Almost Lover

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Your fingertips across my skin 
The palm trees swaying in the wind 
Images
You sang me Spanish lullabies 
The sweetest sadness in your eyes 
Clever trick 

Well, I never want to see you unhappy 
I thought you’d want the same for me 

Goodbye, my almost lover 
Goodbye, my hopeless dream 
I’m trying not to think about you 
Can’t you just let me be? 
So long, my luckless romance 
My back is turned on you 
Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache 
Almost lovers always do 

We walked along a crowded street 
You took my hand and danced with me 
Images 
And when you left, you kissed my lips 
You told me you would never, ever forget 
These images 

Well, I’d never want to see you unhappy 
I thought you’d want the same for me 

Goodbye, my almost lover 
Goodbye, my hopeless dream 
I’m trying not to think about you 
Can’t you just let me be? 
So long, my luckless romance 
My back is turned on you 
Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache 
Almost lovers always do 

I cannot go to the ocean 
I cannot drive the streets at night 
I cannot wake up in the morning 
Without you on my mind 
So you’re gone and I’m haunted 
And I bet you are just fine 

Did I make it that easy
To walk right in and out of my life? 

Goodbye, my almost lover 
Goodbye, my hopeless dream 
I’m trying not to think about you 
Can’t you just let me be? 
So long, my luckless romance 
My back is turned on you 
Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache 
Almost lovers always do.

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Can’t help but think of Vicky every time I hear this song.  My favorite lyric is “did I make it that easy to walk in and out of my life?”  That’s one of the questions I asked for months.  She was, indeed, my luckless romance.  I’m over her, but I still think about her.  There’s no doubt about it.

Four Months In

I am almost four months into my job, and I already can’t stand it.  The last three weeks have been absolutely hellish for me, and if I were more of a free spirit, I would’ve packed my bags and headed for Australia already, without giving a shit to the consequences.  But no, I am too prudish and too scared to veer off-course and off “my plan” that I force myself to stay here and endure a situation that I never would have dreamed I’d be in while in college.  I killed myself studying for exams and writing papers for four years at one of the most elite institutions in this country only to find myself photocopying and re-photocopying documents, assembling binders, printing out documents without the least understanding of their contents, and last but not least, being degraded and demoralized for doing any of the aforementioned even slightly wrong.  These binders don’t match.  There’s a smudge on this photocopy. There’s a typo on this index.  The font is too small — enlarge it.  Everything has to be immaculate.  Nothing and nobody can be wrong. So what happens when the tools available to you are the ones that are slowing you down and leading you to mistakes? Nothing.  You get blamed for it. It doesn’t matter how it gets done — it just needs to get done. Well, unless I can somehow whip out a perfect software program from the depths of my colon, then I’m sorry, it can’t be done. And no matter how much you degrade and demoralize me, it just won’t matter. That’s not too much to understand, is it?  You glare at me when you think the slightest thing goes wrong, but in reality, you’ve mistaken and I’m actually right.  But you can’t admit that, so keep glaring. In a matter of time, you will have killed my spirit so much so that I just won’t care anyway. It’s only a matter of time.

How did I get here? I find myself asking this throughout the day. How can I do this for eight more months? How did I ever think I was able to do this for 2 years? I can’t do this for more than a year, but I find myself stuck in a hopeless situation. I want to travel, but I don’t have money. I’m working so that I can save up money and live even a fraction of a bohemian lifestyle. So if I don’t work for two years, I may never be able to save up enough to go traveling. But how in God’s name can I keep working here for two years if I already can’t stand it after four months? I hate myself for not having enough money.  I hate myself for being prudish and unable to be impulsive. I hate myself for not being able to just pick up and go — anywhere.  I hate myself for having chosen this position without fully realizing the extent of the degradation it would involve.

Did I really spend four years at a top university and go into $50,000 worth of debt just to be a professional binder maker?

I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.  It’s only a matter of time before I break, and I never thought I’d break over something like this.  This was only supposed to be a temporary job, something to help me earn money and get me on my feet, so that I could potentially see the world one day. Now it has become a living nightmare in which I have come to believe that I can do nothing right. I have run out of solutions to this problem, and I know that it’s only a matter of time before I break down and collapse. Perhaps I might even have the guts to pack my bags and go to Australia. Anywhere.

But no, it won’t happen for at least another eight months. Eight more months.