Have a good time. Or at least pretend you are, please, for my sake.

After spending an entire year counting the tiles on the ceiling of my childhood bedroom (there are no tiles, it's just ceiling), I find myself in the Big Apple. Living alone is a wake up call. What do you mean my dad won't pick me up from the train at 11 p.m. after visiting a friend in the city? I have to get myself home? Fricking bats. I can't wait for a year of getting lost, crying on the subway, and just Ubering instead. You know what they say - if you can make rent here, you can make rent anywhere. If the musings of a 23 year old fighting against her arrested development are amusing to you, then you're in the right place. Either way, I won't ask you to stay, that'd be far too embarrasing!