Late night blogging in Manhattan.

I'm finally out of the suburban scope on the outskirts of Philly and sitting decidedly alone in my hostel room in Manhattan. I don't know how to articulate all the thoughts that are buzzing through me - while sitting down to brunch with my friends and discussing the ins and outs of youths narcissism's, I felt this pounding pain in my gut, my head swelling and my lower eye lids ready to wash away all the mistakes I've made these last few years. It's not the realization that disturbs me but the fact that there is still an open wound, unwilling to heal itself until I full take action. I thought going to New York and discovering all the literature, people, yellow cabs and endless streets which go so far into the distance, you fear you're on the tip of a ledge- would help my new resolve make me mature, whole or together. It's not an overload or homesickness but the sickness that delving deep into your past and mind brings. I can talk the talk and give off reels of advice on anyone else in the same situation, stubborn and set in my thought processes but unable to let those same platitude's mend something faulty inside. All these statements and sirens, along with the humming of the air conditioning seems to be putting me into a weird mediative state. Earlier on, I was quite content with puffing away on Marlboro lights and discussing tantric sex moves on a bench', while laughing hysterically at the pigmentation of pigeons. But Snigger's, ironic jibes and the thrill of being wanted and noticed, just no longer seem to make sense; even the laughter drunk friends tends to irk me. The only way to to truly enjoy life is to be a part of it and that's what I full intend to do. Here's to New York and all it's idiosyncrasies!