the art of boredom
Month
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you’re in new york fucking city. everyone wants to be here. and you’re here.
something’s always happening. you get to meet a ton of new people on a regular basis, and they all have a lot of stories to share. super photogenic. you keep discovering new places. it’s beautiful. nothing feels better than walking around the city after a long day, and realizing you really are lucky to be here.
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everyone is living their own reality show. it’s all about what you do and what you are, not who you are (personal qualities) and how you got here. it’s all about this and that invite only parties, being on ‘the list’, name dropping, and one upping others. you find yourself wondering if the person next to you on the train is judging you by your shoes, and the way you dress. you also question wether the same person next to you has a better apartment/job.
staying in is a luxury, and cooking/eating at home is a hassle. your seamless order history gets longer and longer. you constantly complain about not having enough free time to go to this and that, and do this and that. your next vacation can’t come any sooner. you say you’re tired of new york. but you don’t know where to go.
rent is hella $$$. the amount i paid in east village per month pays 3 months of my studio in chicago. jesus fucking christ.
no proper mexican restaurants.