Delinquency.

I think I imagined life here to be much more free.

I remember the seagulls I snapped photos of in Brooklyn that one time — I pictured it like that — or dog parks, my head back howling loudly with every setting sun, outdoors, no motive but to run.

I imagined time would stretch easier here.  Because when I walk out of my office door there’s nothing left to look at, to read, to learn, under pain and pressure of pre-defined success.

I plainly pictured these eleven weeks to be the revival of summer 2007, which I wrap into one word — “wandering” — when I was profoundly happy and did so much of nothing at the fresh age of eighteen — when I decided this place was mine — when amidst the crowds I felt alone, comfortable, at peace, not lonely.  I should have known better.

It hasn’t been like that.  The first half of summer has been a crush of strained plan-making, of research into my next steps, of expanding my network though not my net worth, and struggling to stay awake.

I haven’t found the time to reclaim myself and my city.  This is my challenge, then, for my remaining weeks.  See more.  Do less.  Embrace the quiet.  Because, come early August, life will get a lot louder.