Difficulty to write
I have had a glut of material to write about recently and so the fear of putting my thoughts into words has increased, and so I have not done so.
Reading what I wrote a few months ago embarrasses me. Especially my mindless remark that there are no reasons to justify my like of New York City. The reasons abound. My lack of eloquence is due to an intellectual languor, an unexplained apathy for sharing my experiences.
My life in this city can be described as wonderful without descending into verbose coloration. There are aspects about my life that I regret, most notably that I am not sharing my life with my family. The sense of purposelessness that sometimes assails me when I think of my current life - which is hedonistic, selfish and lonely and deliciously so - has only been eased by observing other selfish and lonely people.
Since arriving in New York I have met and befriended quite a few people. Some have since disappointed me, which is not surprising, and some have surprised me utterly by not disappointing me.
Reading what I wrote a few months ago embarrasses me. Especially my mindless remark that there are no reasons to justify my like of New York City. The reasons abound. My lack of eloquence is due to an intellectual languor, an unexplained apathy for sharing my experiences.
My life in this city can be described as wonderful without descending into verbose coloration. There are aspects about my life that I regret, most notably that I am not sharing my life with my family. The sense of purposelessness that sometimes assails me when I think of my current life - which is hedonistic, selfish and lonely and deliciously so - has only been eased by observing other selfish and lonely people.
Since arriving in New York I have met and befriended quite a few people. Some have since disappointed me, which is not surprising, and some have surprised me utterly by not disappointing me.
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