I feel the need and urge to write.  I have thoughts and opinions circling my head daily and nightly.  But it’s almost too much and I can’t type fast enough or I can’t think of my funny comment I had yesterday that I should’ve written out.  I’ve reached a bit of a place where I feel pressured to write.  Pressured to entertain anyone who might stumble across this and want to read about my experiences here in New York.  Pressured to do more and be a better transplant.  Pressured to succeed in a certain fashion in order to make my family and friends back home proud of me.  And the truth is I’d love to write about it.  I even have time to write about it.  My problem is I don’t know how to write about it.  It’s different than being blocked.  I’m unsure how I used to just sit and begin typing and the thoughts and words would just pour out of me.  Not poetically by any means, or even grammatically correct.  But nonetheless I’d write SOMETHING.  I’d get it out of my head so I could sleep or focus on one thing without being distracted by the 43 other things floating around up there in my noggin. It’s not quite a passionless thing, it’s not a mad or angry or sad thing.  It’s not a muse thing even.  I have random stuff I can write about.  But then I get bored with it.  I GET BORED with myself.  I’m boring.  I don’t have a fun life.  I get up and laze around the house until I have to go to work.  To a job I could do ANYWHERE, it has nothing to do with being in New York.  I’ve lost something here.  I’ve lost my “will” somehow or my fight or my fierce.  I’ve lost my drive and motivation.  I do not pity myself or have pity parties (at least not often…) but I don’t…DO anything.  And the answer is not “well then go DO something” I want it to be something I enjoy.  Something that makes me feel like getting up in the morning.  I want live not survive.  I want to enjoy not just get by.  I want to look forward to something, not just be content with the present.  I understand I have things others don’t.  A job that guarantees money every time I work for them.  I have a roof over my head and a/c unit for when it’s too hot, and a silver pole thing that I can’t control…that heats up the room when it is cold.  I have clothes on my back, and in drawers for whenever I want to or have to change into different clothes on my back (and the rest of my body too)  I have food.  well, ish.  I steal food sometimes.  I do it to survive.  It’s going to be thrown out by me, or eaten by me and sometimes I chose the latter.  I choose the latter because I want to survive.  I have running water and I can change the temperature of it and bathe in a hot soothing bath or shower or cool off when it’s too humid and gross outside.  I have a little laptop and I can access the internet and tv and movies and friends and family via the web.  I have books to read, and an education under my belt.  I have people in my life who love me, and I even live with some of them.

But we always want more.  Well…*I* do.  I want something that’s beyond these things I should be thankful for because people in other countries, and right here in this city don’t have them.  But I’ve become accustomed to these things.  I struggle to keep these things and I don’t want to struggle anymore.  I don’t want to wonder if I will eat today, or if there is toilet paper in the house.  I don’t want to worry about gaining weight and not fitting into work clothes anymore.  I just want to to do something, and have something that is for me–that I enjoy.  I miss doing plays.  I want to audition and book TV shows and movies.  I want to sing.  I want to dance.  And it is not as simple as saying “well…then GO audition!!”  Because I don’t have the luxury to not work and just audition.  I don’t have the luxury of the city or state giving me a check weekly so I can sit on my ass and do nothing because I don’t have to do anything.  I don’t have the luxury of a magic food card the city provides to me with money on it monthly to buy food because I gross too much at work.  Forget that 30% or more of my check is taken out for taxes, and 30 dollars a week for health insurance, and 30 dollars a week for a train card.  Some people may think grossing almost 400 dollars a week is good, some people would even say the maybe 230-250 dollars I DO bring home is also good.  Some people don’t talk about money because they don’t want to brag or whatever.  Some people think “it’s just money, I’ll make more of it”  While I get up and think about the prescriptions I need to take everyday, the food I won’t eat, the phone I will try to keep turned on, the electric bill I need to pitch in on , the internet bill, the laundry bill etc. Some people make $10,000 a month.  I didn’t gross that last year.  It’s perspective.  It’s MY perspective.  And it is just NOT as simple as “well…what do you WANT to do?…well….go do it!!”  I have to survive and be responsible and I have no current luxuries.  And yes, my definition of a luxury is different than those on the trains asking for spare change and singing songs about being homeless, or holding up cardboard signs that say “pregnant and homeless, please help”  And often when I can, I give them the food I’ve just stolen for myself, or I give them any dollars I may have on me from the tips I might have made.  And it IS hard to know I have a five dollar bill in my wallet and that could possibly feed this woman and her growing child, but I have to do laundry or I won’t have clean clothes for work.  I have to watch out for myself before I can watch out for others.  I have to.  I have to.  I have to.  I must.

And I’m tired.  Not physically.  But mentally and a little emotionally.  I do get some good sleep physically, and that is nice.  And the person I get to curl up next to every night makes me feel happy and safe.  And if I could live there I might just be fine.  But it’s not like that.  He loves me, and I love him.  And my family and friends love me–but I need something for me that I love and enjoy.  It is a constant emptiness and starvation to my heart and soul to not be performing and earning money for it.  Yes, I want to make money doing something I enjoy–I think that’s a statement everyone can get behind.  And there are people that will encourage it, and people that will try to give me their version of “tough love” with well…what’s option C?  or D?  What’s your back up plan?  What are your other skills?  What ELSE can you do that you might enjoy?  I mean…I’m down to earth already, stop pulling me and pushing me down further.  I am grounded, I’ve earned things and I don’t think I’m asking too much than to DO SOMETHING I WANT TO DO THAT I ENJOY.  I don’t think have a goal or dream is terrible–I think it’s terrible when someone says “well…welcome to the real world” Well–I don’t want to LIVE in a world that is “real” because I hate how I’m in it.  Haven’t I paid some dues?  I mean if I haven’t can we get there so I can start LIVING.  Why is it so many people that don’t deserve the life I want–get to have it.  Yes yes, some people earned their way there, got it.  I’m talking about the downright mean and arrogant and terrible human beings that hurt people on purpose making money doing something they enjoy.  I don’t  care if “no one said life would be fair” WELL–what’s the point then?  Am I supposed to learn after a lifetime of trying that it was for nothing?  That any “lesson” I’ve supposedly learned is for my wellbeing as a person in general?  Well that’s all just bullshit now.  Any “experience” I’ve had that is supposed to have made me stronger and smarter just pisses me off more because the people that were apart of those experiences were those downright mean and arrogant and terrible human beings that now make money doing something they love.

When is it my turn?  What am I supposed to do?  I can’t just sit at home and not work and make money.  I have to survive.  But all I’m doing is losing, it seems.  Losing more of my youth, my patience, my laughter, my dreams, my drive.  I’m losing time.  I’m losing the good experiences and it all makes me tired.  And sad.  And I want to write.  And I want to sing.  And I want to act.  And I want to be paid enough money for all of it, so I can live–not just survive.  I need better directions.  A better map.  I need…I want…I must…