So far, this week has been both similar and completely different than what I expected. It has been similar to what I expected in that things come at me that are unexpected and new. It is tough, it's hot, there are long hours, but I am rolling with what is thrown at me because my conscious mind knew that such is the life of a New York work-a-holic. I am challenged mentally, emotionally, and socially, and even physically if you count lugging around my shit from airport to my apartment from Diana's apartment to my apartment, my bike up the stairs, etc. I haven't started crying yet, which tells me that subconsciously, I am at least somewhat prepared for this.
I kind of like my new little box of a room. Once I got my stuff from the Greenwald's apartment, I was much more adept at organizing, and I have managed to make everything fit in a small space. It excites me that I am making this work. It also excites me that even in my 8x8 space, I still can stretch my legs out on my full sized bed at night. Having such a small space also means that I MUST keep it organized. When it is organized it looks like a masterpiece; a few little things here and there out of place makes it look like someone's junk closet. So, I keep it organized.
The hardest part for me is the exercise factor. Last night I tried to go riding after work, attempting to navigate the not-so-well-planned East River Park to Central Park. An hour after leaving, after nearly getting killed on the Williamsburg Bridge by crazy fixed-gearers, reaching several dead-end where I missed turns, and riding through about 40 blocks of rush hour traffic including the entrance to the Tunnel, I finally made it to the park, and realized that if I didn't turn around and get home very soon, it would both get dark and rain on me. I was finally in a comfortable riding environment, and the natural environment was kicking me out. I took the much more well designed Hudson River Park path on the West side downtown, crossing at 14th to cut off as much time as possible. At 14th and 6th Ave., in the middle of crazy Meatpacking traffic, 8:30 at night and stormy, I gave up. I did the unthinkable and took my white, carbon-soled beauties down to the subway tube, and comfortably sat on the L for 15 minutes, emerging in the middle of a thunderstorm at Graham Ave., a block and a half from my apartment.
My two hour ordeal gained me a grand total of 14 miles and 14 tons of frustration. On the bright side, now I know how and when NOT to get to Central Park. I think I am going to have to give up trying to ride after work. I am either going to have to get up early, or switch to running during the week. Not exercising is, of course, not an option. Working in a place without windows makes me crazy enough, doing it without a daily endorphin boost would kill me (actually, kill the people who have to talk to the bitch that I will become).
Tonight, I stood out on the stoop. I just stared down the street, taking in my view, from the stoop. Today I rode my bike through Greenpoint, Long Island City, and Roosevelt Island, all places that I have never been. I successfully navigated the Queensboro Bridge. I started my second internship, and I loved it. I went to the Laundromat and did my laundry. While walking back, I did a second round of stooping with a bunch of neighbors that live two houses over. It's almost like I am a New Yorker.