saturday

On the 6 train, there were two men playing, respectively, a guitar and an accordian, and singing. They had no little change collecting bucket, just their voices and the instruments and the joy of singing. S tried to ignore it, because that's what you do on the subway when people make noise or talk or sing, but I turned and looked at them and let their music make me smile, because I liked it.

The thing about having a vegan roommate is that you get dragged to places like the vegan shoe store (zero items in which I can afford to buy, which makes the whole shopping excursion slightly pointless), where the guy behind the counter, with huge holes stretched in his ears, says, "Every man in my family goes bald in their twenties. Except me. I didn't get those genes. I got the gay."

The beauty of eating out in New York is that so much of the food is done so well (unfortunately, when done badly it is done so badly, too). I had a whole wheat bagel with tomato and cheese and veggie bacon for lunch and every bite was a joy. How badly that could have been done, but how well it turned out.

I meant to take a nice long walk afterwards, rambling toward school and then maybe succumbing to a subway, but it was so cold and blowy that when after three blocks I saw a subway, - I would have taken any subway line at that point - I ran directly for it.

where i am

I have a deep writer’s block right now. It isn’t that I have nothing to say but that I have nothing to say to the public at large. I feel like I need to be more protective of myself right now, so I can’t say anything of meaning.

But I am still here, still in New York, walking to school because I can’t afford a subway card, reading my textbooks in the library, haunting the atm at the bank to see if my loan money has arrived yet (the school promises it will be there… next Wednesday. We'll see if I can make it that long). I’m re-reading Third Culture Kids and seeing different things in it this time than I did five years ago. I’m procrastinating doing the reading for the human rights project I’m assigned to for the semester. I’m worrying about where I will be in six months. You know, the usual.

Thinking a lot. Mostly not happy-skippy-bloggy thinking.

silence

You know how sometimes silence is golden? This one isn't. This one is more like the silence of something broken.