I winged into The City with trepidation. Thank you 9/11. I will never feel safe flying into JFK again, my imagination runs rampid contorting fantastical images of my 757 spiraling into the newly opened 9/11 memorial. The one plane out of the thousands that land in JFK each day…. Thank Allah that did not happen.
I arrived with less pocket money than I have ever had in my life combined, I was promptly pushed into Over-Drafting when I was charged for withdrawing money too many times on my third day in the city. Fresh off the Irish Island, I found myself winching at the screeching of Subway breaks, flinching away from the crush of strangers on the crowded path to the Egress from Associated’s metal cart blockade, or anywhere really… 
I felt my mind stretching, grasping at tendrils of memories from six months ago. How fast the knowledge goes when not utilized! Which end of the L train platform is the closet to my apartment again? Where is The Whitney located? —- “No thank you Sir. I do not need a map or your Iphone instructions. I simply need a moment to remember.”—- Helpful New Yorkers ask me if I am alright, offer me directions and tips on the best places to visit in the city. I grin, biting my bottom lip. I was a New Yorker I want to shout. I just have to remember how to be one again. Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s insulting to offer someone directions unless they are literally staring at a map? What if their face simply looks perpetually confused and lost? Perhaps, like mine.
I got an apartment. It is shoddily built and there are bedbugs. I now understand the utter helpless terror that the critters are. My housemate and I have sat up for many nights staring at each other across the kitchen table in a futile attempt to never climb into our beds. The cool, flickering florescent light above us highlights the ever-darkening shadows under our eyes. When we do eventually admit defeat, we crawl into bed with great trepidation, leaving the lights on, hoping that the burning electricity will scare the little munchers away. It never works, they munch and move. As I lay there, perhaps in the dark, I feel a gutteral scream welling up in my stomach. It is all I can do to simply pass out and let the bug feast. There is hope: we have contacted the Department of Health. The landlord has 3 days to spray the apartment before the fines begin and the building is condemned…
After a long day running errands out-of and around the office, when my eyes are bleary from staring at accounting numbers on my Imac for hours- I return home to sit and smoke on the fire escape listening to Fatboy Slim -Praise you, The Mastersons-Birds Fly South and New Order-True Faith, because why not?
I stare unseeing, out over the car-lot three stories down, across the backyard laundry towers sway twisted haphazardly up with nearby tree branches. On the ground wild cats Yeowl over territory, they are real New Yorkers too. 
I flirt with the young man who runs the corner bodega and always slips me free Gushers and Oatmeal Creme sandwiches..If only he’s slip me fresh fruit or veggies I’d appreciate it more. I bond with the couch surfers my neighbor entertains-practicing my Spanish, Dutch and contemplating where I wish to travel next. My neighbor is on the Olympic team for fencing. He travels to a different country each week. Istanbul and Tibet are high on my travel list due to conversations with him…
Most days after work I dash to The Secret Theater, Irish Rep, Mint or to the Broadway Studios to complete electric hangs, focuses and to run lights/sound for a show. Ankle tucked safely around the top ladder rung I lift Fresnels above my head, highlighting the actor’s charming face in just the right way.
They are all small festivals and one acts, these shows. (In New York plays festivals happen every day of the year. It ensures that they are all original and brilliant, theoretically.) I like them because I am paid in cash and because I can work them around my day job.
I know I will get bored with them soon. Perhaps I am bored already; this summer I will begin stage managing again. From the world of theatre, there is No Exit.
I am still wary of coffee and the truths that are declared over the hot beverage…But the drinks, (pint margarita’s from divey Soft Spot on N10th or Lit Lounge in LES. Along with the various uncouth beers from McManus, The Morgan and Tandum) flow quickly, allowing for the perfect balance of intoxication, control and enjoyment. Politics, philosophy and the daily personal tragedies of my friends bubble to the surface as playful conversation. 
The inevitable insanity that comes from self-awareness is only blatantly displayed by the Vetran sitting on my street corner each morning (with his cardboard sign) muttering under his breath: “everyone in New York is my Enemy”…. And by my infatuation with the arts: I enjoyed parts of The New Museum’s Ungovernables, a show about my generation and the 2011 uprisings including the Arab Spring, Occupy and the Austerity Measures. and the Youtube video Kony 2012 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4MnpzG5Sqc) I love the dance at The Whitney with it’s Biennial, the dance (performed by non-dancers), the sculpture and the video montages were jarring and impersonal to me. Just like numbness. Visiting PS1 I see the sexuality that is Clfford Owens and of course The Armory Show with world Modern Art juxtaposing world Contemporary Art(pretentious much?)
I soak it in, go see friends installations and performances. I borrow a bike and cross the Williamsburg bridge into China town just because I want to race the M train down the path towards the tunnel. (I cram all thoughts of my previous bike accidents on the bridge away from my mind.)
This is my second time living in NYC. I am really do it this time. I even driving a van in the city and elbow my way onto overly-crowded Subway, something I would never have contemplated last year. I draw the line at refusing to give up my seat for the elderly however. I am young. I can afford to stand in heels for another 30 minutes -thus enabling the 78 year old gentleman who disproves of my reading material (The Fountainhead or Cunt) may sit instead. 
This is my new york: Late night comedy with Jon Steward and John Oliver, Techno, Live shows with Arial dancers at House of yes and house music until 5:30am at that four story rave the other night… you know the one, it was a few nights after we went to The White Party. One of these days I will make it up the Lincoln Center to see a ballet or Opera show. They have student rush tickets for only $25.
As soon as I can afford to eat something besides beans (bought dehydrated, then sprouted and eventually cooked) and rice I will be there. Perhaps I will even venture into a movie theater someday soon. I find myself longing for nature (already), The Hunger Games is shot in my hometown. That is kind-of like being in nature right? It’s shot in the Appalachians? Or perhaps I’ll simply travel to DIA, North Adams (Mass MOCA) or NH for a wedding to see nature….
There are many things to be done yet. And hopefully there always will be.
intrepid trekking 