when you're living in new york, space is inevitably an issue. not just physical space but social space, emotional space, breathing space. when you're sharing these spaces on a tiny island filled with masses of people, the issues tend to be magnified in such confines. it takes an infinite amount of respect and patience to put up with the affronts of others at those fleeting moments when their lives intersect with yours...like the man clipping his nails (which to me is the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard) on the subway this afternoon or the group who noisily rehearsed scenes while i stressed out over a last-minute paper in a coffeeshop. fortunately escape is usually at hand, doors open and close, and you never have to see the offending party again (too bad disturbing memories can't be shaken so easily).
home usually offers some reprieve, except if there's four in an apartment. living and dealing with each other from day to day, personalities and quirks and all, is more than enough...without also having to deal with boyfriends, friends, lovers and others. when this unwanted traffic settles into a pattern of fixed regularity, it swiftly wears down the reserve of patience so carefully built up over the years.
i need to move out.
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