When I was 16 I dreamed of moving to Seattle to pursue journalism, more specifically music-related writing. I longed to surround myself with like-minded, angst-ridden, punk rockers that shared my love for rebellion, baggy clothes, studded belts and loud music. Even though it was 2005, in my mind, Seattle was still ablaze with flannel, grunge, and grease. My mom repeatedly warned me that living in a cloudy, dreary environment would affect me greatly having grown up in sunny Arizona, but I repeatedly ignored her advice.
THIS STORY HAS A POINT.
Flash forward 6 years (crap I’m getting old). I now live in New York City and instead of rebellion and grease, I enjoy fur stoles, red lipstick and platform shoes. Like I promised, this story has a point. The point is, the sun has not shown for several days now and it’s making my soul weep. What I would give for a tickle of Vitamin D on my skin, a trace of a sunray in my eyes, or a hint of light. I’m suddenly drowning in what my friend Blair and I have pegged as “winter blues.” Spending my lunch break reading old issues of The New Yorker and glumly listening to songs such as:
Depressed; by Nirvana,
Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now; by the Smiths, or
Lonely Feeling; by The Greenhornes
probably isn’t helping my cause. I’m sure it just takes getting used to. The last thing I want to do is offend New York City.
I love New York City.
Xo
1 comment:
Abby, so love you and your blog...feel like we are keeping in touch...if I had a blog when I was your age, I think I would have said much the same things...you are my soul sista (daughter??)
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