Saying goodbye to people is unfun. As of right now, I don’t have any photos of my going away party last night but I’m sure the ones of my disposable cameras will be…humiliating, to say the least.
Anyways, Matt Schwartz: I <3 you!
For five months, I scoured the internet for exciting things about New York. For apartments, for jobs, for views and companies and restaurants. For night clubs and festivals. I grew up semi-near the city but didn’t even like it until two years ago; two weeks from tomorrow, it’ll be my home.
A little less than a month ago, I stopped searching. I started listening to all my pre-California-getting-stoked-to-move-out-west playlists and remembered the thrill of crossing the country for school, love, new people, whatever it was that brought me here. It began to hit me: me moving to Brooklyn doesn’t just mean I get a new start. It means I have to finish something, and finishing is far more frightening that beginnings.
I can’t stop crying; all I want is to be done with moving but then, if I’m done with moving, that means all my stuff is gone. And that means I’m gone, too. It hurts so badly to have everything I want in two places so far from one another.
Guess what? One of my best friends in the world, Miss Olivia Senecal, is doing infinitely better health-wise. She went to the doctor and finally received some great news. In her own words, “I can drive and fuck, world, look the fuck out.”