so long . . .

well, summer is over. basically.

it was my last day of work at atlantique. maybe/probably forever, but who am i to say?

i'm really sad about it and i don't know why. i don't want to be sad. i want to be excited to move on. to move in to my waverly place apartment, start up my internship again, take some hopefully interesting classes, drink til i forget how to meander the winding west village streets on the way home from cubby on tuesday nights...

maybe it's because summer is over and it is my last real summer. for the rest of my life. ohmygod-don't think like that. that makes me want to vomit. i hate the word 'forever' so badly.

maybe it's because it is my only real daily contact with non-nyu/city kids. it's hard to relate to other people. it is. and right now, right at this moment, i'm wondering what it would be like if i chose to go to a state school in a small town upstate. would i be a sweatpant wearing, beer from a red plastic cup drinking, beer pong playing girl? would i be the kind of girl that was so stoked for her 21st birthday because it meant she could get in to boardy barn, the bar capital of trashy long island?

normally i don't care, because i'm not interested. but i feel like everything would be so much easier if that were me. i wouldn't be the weird one anymore. nyu and the west village ruined me, and i was already a little weird to begin with. i am a skirt wearing, wine drinking, glitter loving, publishing interning girl (hag).

i am a freak. one of the rare weird long island children who don't really belong here.

but i want to fit in. i feel like i am missing out and i wonder what it would be like and how much easier my life would be...

would i be a loser?
probably. but i'd be so cool...

books.

there are two bookshelves in my room. they stand on either side of the double set of windows, majestically framing the small yellow room. though the one on the righthand side was only acquired at the beginning of the season, it too is already filled with novels -- fiction, mostly. fantasy, classics, and young adult volumes that i either bought on sale at barnes and noble or got from my internship. most are in english, but an entire shelf is dedicated to French books -- 19th century classics and modern day novellas, or autobiographies of the struggling youth in the Parisian banlieues (suburbs).

what sort of twenty-one year old non-literature major has two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in her bedroom?

two bookshelves.

and yet, after glancing at each title, i find myself pathetic.

twenty-one years, two bookshelves.
is that all ?

realization n482929

i am drew barrymore in SHE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU.

a secondary character; a delusional, daydream-believer who has works for the city's gay newspaper, who fakes relationships in her head and hangs out with gays all day long and fixes other people's problems/sets other people up.

clearly someone cast drew in that role as a cruel joke (a wake-up call?), because at one point in our lives (early childhood), we looked very similar to the point where people asked if i was her.

drew found a guy in the end. how will bridget's story end? (how does she even want it to end?)

literary musings.

is the HOUSE OF NIGHT series really that good, or has the BLUE BLOODS series just lowered my expectations for a good YA vampire read that much? (sorry melissa de la cruz...you're still my idol.)

either way, VAMPIRE ACADEMY number 4 in 16 days.

5 things

me, according to my sister :

rather be v.2.0

Hotel Argo, Mykonos, Greece. At the pool bar, with the hot (I still say he is gay) bartender who gave us free not great strawberry drinks and played a lot of Britney Spears/Madonna.



Autumn in New York : soon enough, I suppose, but I've about had enough of highs in the 80s and all that sand at the beach :


Summer in Paris, a season I have yet to experience but am sure I would rather enjoy because it eliminates two of my least favorite Parisian things --- freezing cold sans heat, and Parisians.

Last but not least, I would rather be still sleeping. Because I'm sick of my job(s) and I have to work both of them today. The weekend is so close, but still so far away...

i had a dream that my little brother got shot in the back of the head and i was the only one with him, and i had to get him to the hospital and he died in my arms.

i woke up sobbing and it is only 5.30 in the morning and i feel so incredibly horrible right now that i am beside myself.

walking new york.

so every autumn, i am known to walk for oddly long distances around the city.

this year, i think i shall go north. christopher street to riverside park, peut-etre? maybe via the west side highway, maybe through the city herself.

2007 : we started at 6am and walked from c-street round the bottom tip of the island, all the way back up to union square (and back to the w.vill).

the pier at 6am :


south street seaport, many hours/miles later :


washington square park again, more miles/hours later, with new our baby, andy :



2008 : i walked from south street seaport to the metropolitan museum of art. and then didn't go inside. (i totally forgot that this ever happened until last night, when i mused "did i really do that!? am i crazy??")

a photo from that day, 2008 : a bench i rested near :

i like to look at other people's pictures of paris (especially paris in the sun, with sickeningly beautiful blue skies and the greenest grass and cartoon perfect clouds) on facebook because i am a masochist.

sigh.

i never mean to miss paris.

but sometimes i do.
oh i do...


to be drunkenly traipsing along the river at night, the eiffel tower sparkling and guiding me home to my horribly creepy apartment but adorably lovely bedroom...!

of course i am talking about the first two weeks of may 2008, and my last two weeks in paris.

if i could live those weeks over and over again (minus the finals, please), i would do it.


please someone speak french with me. i feel like i am losing my mind.

it's just that at night i've got nowhere to hide

"She said she usually cried at least once each day, not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful and life was so short." - Brian Andreas

i guess you never really get over deaths of loved ones. right after the fact, it's like an obsession and it's all you can think about. you learn to live with it, think about it less, but that doesn't stop it from hurting sometimes. and then you find something of that person's and it hits you again that it won't ever need to use it again, because they are not alive. or passing by a street every day. or reading an article about deaths from gang violence in the area. or anything, really.

oh well.

we carry on.