Remembering Another Life
Recently I came across some old journal entries and notes from when I was interning in New York City after college. They alternated between being funny and heart-wrenching. At first I delighted in seeing early threads of what would become my writing style on the blog (including finding a note that said “what would a one-night stand contract be?”), but as I continued reading I felt a familiar sadness surfacing deep inside.
I’m sure the year I lived in Manhattan was a key time in becoming who I am now, but it can be hard to see that as a good thing through the thick film of memories from that time: hating my job, fucking guys I barely remember now, regularly eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for dinner, cutting myself, crying every night, and trying to convince myself that this was the best year of my life.
What a fucking idiot.
