Thirty Second Floor Futility

This morning i stood on the 32nd floor of my hotel. It was six am and i had been there all night watching movies on the TV in the roof lounge. i have not been able to sleep unaided for two weeks. But i stood out there as the sky was changing from grey to blue and the traffic, worlds below, was beginning to wake. i watched the sun rise on my city. i thought about the future. How i am giving up on all this. Failing my dreams, and myself. How even though everyone tells me things to make me feel better about this, it feels the same. My mom said that i was not failing because i more than doubled the three months i wanted to be here. But, i am failing. i wanted to be here forever, but i am weak and i am stupid and despite all my attempts at nihilism, i need people now more than ever. Fuck my excuses. This is me being less than i ever wanted. i was supposed to be someone, something by now. But. This is me now.

i stood uptop my city as the sun streched it arms over the East River and tickled awake the Upper East Side. i smoked a cigarette and “Wonder Boys” played on that big TV, and i thought about my time here. How that song says “if i can make it there, i’ll make it anywhere.” And i was making it here. So what happened? Where is all that confidence i was supposed to get? Where these past 7 months go? No where.

Standing on the roof top i realized the dichotmy of the futility and the astonishment of life. Of the power of dreaming and the eventual and inevitable realization that even the best dreams end. Standing there i realized that there is a whole life ahead of me, but i wondered if that was a good thing or not.

Standing there i missed the way i felt before i moved, how i felt there was a new world and a new me somewhere. She got lost on the way.

32 floor above Manhattan and i couldn’t believe the sight below me. The river flowing proudly, the bridge alight like fire, the steets and the taxis, the people and the sounds. Life. i was a New Yorker once, and no matter what. No matter that i am failing and moving back, my heart will always be a New Yorker. i hope this city can forgive me for giving up on it because i’ll never forgive myself.

Oh, and i met Derek Jeter, but that is another entry.