Sanity! Gone in a New York Minute

...And today I wonder if I have gone mad. I mean, realistically, it was bound to happen. And I like to think of myself as a particularly realistic person. Or, as Adam would probably say, annoyingly and steadfastly cynical. I don't know.

Nothing bad happened today. It was business as usual, riding the subway to Bloomsbury, doing some fun stuff (image research for an elections book), feeling intimidated by the smart, pretty and well-dressed ladies around me, and then riding the subway home. I did make a stop at the Garden of Eden (AKA the insanely gorgeous and overpriced foodstuffs emporium) for a couple things, but that was pretty much it. Perhaps the only detriments to the evening have been the unnecessary fire alarm (using the oven does it every time...gah) and the loud bass beats emitting from the apartment below. Mayhaps it has stopped now.

Regardless, I'm feeling freaked. I'm by myself here for the next 8 days, and maybe that's just it. It's a bad time to be alone. I'm not worried about safety or any such thing, it's merely that little doubting voice that peeps up every once in a while that says, "Are you really up for this? Are you really that type of person?"

Because honestly, I'm half swashbuckler and half milquetoast. It pretty much depends on the day as to which half rules. And no matter how much I love the word 'milquetoast,' (a very timid, unassertive, spineless person, esp. one who is easily dominated or intimidated), I would not like to be one. I prefer piracy.

Confidence ebbs and flows...but it's always there. Generally a little coo-cooing and a kick in the pants helps. So, let's move on to something infinitely more interesting...

Observations of a New-New Yorker

• Not all subway cars were created equal. Some are white and blue and clean as a whistle. Others smell like slow, sweaty death. If you try to always seek out the clean cars, you will fail, inevitably. They are a mystery not to be conquered.
  
• The kids at the end of the block never stop playing basketball. Ever. They are playing when I leave in the morning at 8 AM, and they are playing when I return at 6 PM. I assume they eat and sleep at some point, but one never knows.
  
• There is only one thing that New Yorkers love more than cursing and honking, and that is fruit. Fruit is everywhere. If you do not have fruit, and would like to procure some, simply walk 10 steps forward or backward, and you're sure to bump into some Haitian mangoes or a Bing cherry.
  
• There are an inordinate number of crazy people in New York. I suppose this is obvious to most, but it is really quite astounding to see. They are generally not scary crazy people; most of them simply talk to themselves a lot. It makes me question our definition of "crazy," and want to know what happened to these people to make them so. Par example, Adam and I were waiting for a train last weekend and a very thin black guy was sitting there on the ground waiting for the train, too. He talked to himself quite energetically, all while rolling up his trouser legs to inspect his knees. But it was the gold wedding band on his finger that really caught my eye. This man had a wife somewhere. What happened to him? To her? New York is so full of stories. It is a real shame that his is so locked up behind those intense conversations with no one.
  

So, those are my thoughts for the day. I look forward to hearing yours.