Last night, every single damn person stared at me like a deer in headlights when I said I lived in Boston. Okay, I get it. I was born in NYC, I grew up in a suburb for a bit, my parents are true new yorkers, I even went to Fordham for a semester. So NYC is in my blood. And I moved to Boston. I wanted to make my own roots, I wanted my own identity, I wanted to make my own friends, my own interests, my own experiences without the influence of people around me. That’s just how I am as a person, I like to just do me, on my own.
But I think I realized after my lease is over, I’m going to move back to NYC. I have a plan. I’m going to build up my internship/whatever experience in event planning and hopefully land an amazing job. I had a lot of great networking opportunities last night. And I’ll do that in Boston, which I consider my starter city, since it’s a little less bourgeoisie and cut-throat. And then once that happens, I’ll move. And that’s my plan. That’s my plan and that’s what I’m going to stick to. Boston for now. Build my experience in Event/Wedding planning. Move to NYC and do my thing. Boy or no boy. It isn’t going to matter. (even though I am really sad about that situation and woke up to a ‘3am call????’ from said boy). Ugh. Something about crying past midnight with your dad makes you call the person you think you may love. Happy Friday everyone.
I’m going to go to the Met and MoMa and gain some culture and forget about everything. Let’s forget about our illnesses. Let’s just look to the future. Positive like a g’damn proton (my dads a chemist so we say that sometimes haha)