shh. new york. please. ow.

dear new york.

i know. i know. it’s almost six in the morning. what am i doing up? well, it’s not because i just woke up. it’s because i just got home. you see, new york, i think if i lived here, i’d look much older. i think i’d have amazing friendships, but i’d have a hard time getting my life accomplished. let me explain los angeles to you. we all have a lot of shit going on. and we need to finish that shit. it makes us go home before two in the morning. sometimes it makes us go home before one in the morning. but you, new york, you’re like, “one in the morning is when you’re night is getting started. and aren’t you still on pacific coast time? you are nowhere near tired. i know you thought you’d have a nice run in the morning. but let me tell you — no. you will have another glass of wine. you will talk to the british bartender who will give it to you for free, and then you’ll talk about patricia arquette in a bar with strangers at three in the morning because new york thinks you’re hilarious for walking into a bar wearing a red coat. deal with it. and there’s a cab who will get you home in five minutes. so stop complaining.

but listen. i’m tired. and my stomach feels weird, because i somehow had three dinners tonight, because it’s important to eat fries after every three glasses of wine. and pierogies. and chicken fingers at four in the morning. don’t question it! just eat it. it’s important. i’m sure we’ll enjoy the run tomorrow. but it’s not going to happen before two in the afternoon and YOU’RE JUST GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT. okay? fantastic.

please let me go to sleep right now, new york, because my eyes hurt and my skin feels weird and my stomach feels weirder and while i love my friends with all of my heart, i can’t believe i spent most of tonight with my diamond turned toward my palm in order to feel safer walking the streets alone, with my ipod in my ears and twenty bucks in my pocket because i knew where we were going tonight was crazy cheap. i’m so tired. i’m going to sleep now, new york, and you can’t stop me. you really can’t. please. i’m so tired. why are you crueler than aspen? at least there i have the excuse of weird oxygen. why do i keep having to say, “but i’m not a princess?” if i’m not, then how come the doorman knew who i was tonight, when i walked in at almost six in the morning? i’ve never seen the man before, and he knew me by name. new york. you give me false expectations of what a life here is like. why do you make it so appealing, yet remind me constantly that this is not the normal new york life? it’s such a tease. you are fantasy made tangible for nanoseconds. and while i thank you for that, i also wonder why i keep getting this new york treatment. what are you trying to tell me?

i must sleep. it is well into tomorrow already.

good night, new york.

if i can make it here, while under constant cushy perks, is it because i made it in los angeles?

and if so, why don’t i have more money?

and if it doesn’t matter, then why can’t i come here more than once a year?

and… um, why did everybody make me think it’d be so cold i couldn’t see straight?

good night, new york. i know this is the first time i’ve said this, but i think i love you.

that might be the lack of sleep talking.

in fact, i’m sure of it.

good night, sweet new york. please let me get some rest. i have so much more to do this week.

zzzzz.