The other day I came across two notes on my phone from the beginning of February, and I thought I’d share them because quite frankly they make no sense so why not make the whole internet think I’m insane ??!!
Every night I fall asleep watching the Brooklyn Bridge (yes my shade is that sheer.) I can see cars entering and leaving the Financial District, and a lot of times when I can’t fall asleep I start thinking about the randomest things. Every person in every car has a different story, a different purpose. Where is the person in that small car going? Are they going home to Brooklyn after a long day of working extra hours at their office on Wall Street? Did they make a wrong turn like my dad once did and is now forced to cross the East River when all they wanted to do was get to the seaport? It’s 12:45 am on a tuesday, what could you possibly have to do that consists of crossing the bridge to Manhattan? I mean I’m not a partying expert but don’t you wait for the weekend to do that stuff? Then I think about stuff like how many people actually cross the bridge, whether it’s going to brooklyn or leaving. Is it thousands? Millions? There isn’t a toll or anything so there’s no way to even count. There’s so many people in New York that it’s literally impossible to know everyone and their stories.
This year for school I live in the newest building that is only a block away from the school. I cross the street I live on the corner of, cut through the courtyard between the hospital and Spruce Street Elementary, cross another street and then I’m right in front of my school. Last year, I lived four blocks away, and while I know it’s barely a commute I still considered it to be one. I’ll never forget the first time I walked out of my building freshmen year and turned the corner towards my school. I felt like such an adult, blending in with all the workers of the Financial District making their way to their jobs. While I’m loving the short commute, (and not pathetically being drenched in sweat from only walking a whopping four blocks) the one thing I miss is the stories I’d make up for the people I passed on the street. It was fascinating because I would never pass the same person twice, and everyone had a different story. I’d pass a man in a suit and pretend his name was Joe, and he was on his way to Au Bon Pain on Fulton Street to get his morning coffee before heading to his office. One woman I named Connie, she was pushing an older woman in a wheelchair headed toward the school. Was this woman her mother? A friend? Nope, Connie was a nurse and would take her patient out for a walk on some mornings because she hated being trapped in her room all the time. Sometime I’d wonder, “what do these people think of me? do they even notice me like I notice them? are they as intrigued by me as I am by them?” Maybe I’m crazy (probably) but I miss being able to do that silly morning ritual on my walks to school.
So those are my late night thoughts from February. If you think I’m a psycho and never want to read anything by me again, I understand. If not, then cool I’d love to think I haven’t totally lost it. To view my last late night thought click here !! Until next time..