I live here.

Somedays I just want to eat brownies. I just want to do nothing. I just want to sit on my sole chair in front of my lappy and surf the net.

Somedays I want to scream at the ceiling. I want so desperately to vent my frustration. I yell at the tiny cockroaches, then sit down and tell them my life story for the millionth fois.

Somedays I relish living in this great city. When it's raining. When it's sunny and beautiful. When I find something quirky like an american penny or a intricate doorframe.

Somedays I think I'm in love. Somedays I am depressed. Somedays I am beyond happy. I'm not perfect. I'm not always motivated. I try. I give. I take. over and over again. I am a hypocrite. I am a saint. I yearn for the country when I'm in the city. I yearn for the city when I'm in the country. I'm never satisfied. Usually curious. I hate asking for directions. I find smalltalk difficult. I am seen as stuck-up; rude; mean; gifted; intelligent; fascinating; too giving. I'm often insecure. Organized religion has messed with my mind. I talk about myself when I'm tense (brain freezes and I don't what else to say) and talk/ask about others when I'm relaxed (I want to know things and about people). Somedays I cry myself to sleep. Somedays I fall asleep snuggled and totally content. In the morning, I love the daylight flooding through my skylight. I love crepes and paninis and stinky cheese and creme fraiche and cooking lentils. My life here is a glorious mess of human imperfection and I LOVE IT.