Coming home. Plan is still to die here.

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It’s been a year and a few months, making up my mind and unmaking––I left New York in May of 2018 for a stopover in Connecticut before moving to Seattle. Quickly realized, in a last minute turnaround out of a romantic comedy, that I had to come back. New York is rooted so deeply in me, it would be stupid to go anywhere else. I love everything about this city, even and especially the gross, trashy parts. I feel at home in a place very densely populated by aggressive, neurotic people. I am probably both of those things. I’ve wondered since college how so many misanthropes can stand to live on top of each other, but here we are. Back to late nights in the East Village, inevitably leading to a surge-price Uber to Brooklyn at four in the morning. And I am beyond happy to be back.

Despite having lived most of my life like the bitch on every reality show that says point blank she’s not there to make friends, I may actually attempt to socialize with new people and be a little nicer. This will be the last boring post about my feelings. Just an introduction to the shitshow, more for myself than anyone else––just so I have a starting place, easily accessed in the archives of my life. In the interest of providing context to one of millions of experiences in the greatest city on earth. Round II begins now.