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I feel like taking fitness classes is a way for a new New Yorker to feel better about themselves but is also an excuse to get out of the house because you have no friends.  Those two things compliment each other quite well.  Anyway, these classes are a socially acceptable thing to do by your lonesome and it usually provides some sort of positive reinforcement while participating, such as,  mantras that are spoken out loud while kicking at an imaginary door or just the overwhelming sense of accomplishment when you don't pass out after a Bikram yoga class.  There's nothing wrong with this. I'm doing it right now.  But I do see a pattern in my "friends" (read: friends that I haven't spoken to in six years since graduating but are somehow massively active in my feed on Facebook) they get obsessed with one various form of physical fitness, ride that obsession pretty hard for about two years and then get married/get fat/start a new obsession.  But maybe that's just us trying to figure out what the fuck we're doing with our lives and if there's even a point to all of it?

The hardest thing is getting started.

Quitting is quite easy.

For April

I moved to Brooklyn, New York on November 15th with the help of my family and friends, specifically my boyfriend, Brad and my mom and her boyfriend, Doug.

I got a job. Well, two jobs actually.  La Lanterna Di Vitorrio was the first, which was a fucking disaster. No training, long hours, paid under the table sort of thing...yeah. no.  Quit that one by not showing up for a shift. Classic. It was the easiest option.  I work at Carmine's on 44th street now.  I deal with a ton of tourists and foreigners and exceptional weirdos every day.  That description is also used to describe my coworkers.  Like any job, I get along with a few fellow employees and pretty much despise the rest.  A busser told me the other day that the zits on my chin disgusted him. WHO FUCKING SAYS THAT????????? Anyway, I make decent money.  Sometimes it's really hard.

New York is really hard.  It's really hard for me today.  And the past few days.  But maybe it's not supposed to be easy.  Maybe I'm supposed to work through this.  I know if Brad were reading this, he'd give me some line about how nothing is "suppose" to be, yadda yadda yadda. I love him. Gail says, "Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness." I have to work through it. I may still feel this way every once in a while and I might change my mind about New York.  But I need to give it more of a chance. I deserve that.

I don't want this to change me for the worse.  I don't want to become a hardened New Yorker. I like me. New York will only change me for the better because that's only what I'll allow.

This is my journal. This is for my thoughts. and Fears, and depressions, and happiness. and love. and loneliness. and shortcomings. and triumphs. This is for me.