My friend's wife murdered their daughter. There's no way around it- this is something that happened and has shaped the past two weeks of my life and will change everything going forward. I am putting it out there, not because I want to bring you down, but because it's something tragic that happened, that I was close to, that is affecting how I am feeling.
I have been making mistakes at work recently. I hate it, not because they are mistakes but because they are items I shouldn't be missing. I have no one to blame but myself, but I need to learn how to just accept them and move on. I love my job, I love my career, but I cannot let these things dominate my life.
My dad says, work to live, not live to work. I thought I was lucky, that I had found a place where my life and work could meld in a joyous way. While this has happened, I wouldn't call it joyous. The friend I mentioned, is also my coworker; his daughter a student.
Two of the people that reached out to me after the tragedy were Magic players. These are people who I share a game with, but reached out, not for advice on the game, but to console me. My life and work, they are inseparable, for now.
I feel, sometimes, that I never really get away. I live where I work- I have a phone that I carry with me all the time. I am constantly tethered to my desk. I finally got away, and went home for a few days and it was glorious.
I sat in traffic, anxious about missing the show. Drew told me I would have to get there early to make sure I got a spot in the loft. The commute had other ideas. Somehow, after the wrong turns and red lights (with a little help from Dad), I made it to the venue and promptly whiskey myself inside. I was person number seven.
The bands all kicked ass. The place was packed. I could not believe how much fun I had, and how I longed for such an event in Westchester. When one band laid into NoFX's "Linoleum" I launched myself into the pit, and barely left for the Menzingers set.
Let me tell you- I was a mess. Tank top and jeans, my Reeboks a dungy shade of gray from the bottoms of shoes and spilled beer. Coated in a layer of my sweat, a layer of sweat from everyone else, plus a fine mist of beer shower. The place was a whirling dervish of joy, and I long to feel that again.
I walked around my old haunt on Saturday, just happy to be able to walk around town. I went to a bar and had a delicious beer, and finally heard good music on the juke. The Ramones sang to me before the siren song of the Dillinger Four made me long to return. After a night out with my sister, I drove home on Sunday.
And now? Now I search everywhere nearby for something with character. I'm from Brooklyn, dammit, and everything here lacks soul. I want a coffee shop, not a Starbucks. I want to know that this bar plays Johnny Cash and that one plays the Ramones- I don't want them all to play Dave Matthews.
New York might be unique, but please, there must be people here that do not want the same old cookie cutter life, over and over.
I miss the city- I long for the smell of exhaust and the bustle of streets. I can't walk anywhere up here.
My life- it's not bad. I just miss my home town. Thankfully, it's only an hour away.