On my own

Dear Diary,

I moved, all by myself. That means no Karl, no Shaun, no Mickey—I am completely alone. I’m not afraid. On the contrary, I fucking love it.

It’s like, I’m young. As much as I hate to admit it sometime, I am really young and there’s a lot I don’t know, just because I haven’t had the chance to experience it yet. So there’s no need to rush and live life like my idols, it’s okay to take my time and enjoy this portion of my life. What I’m trying to say is, I have roommates.

I moved back to the East village, in an apartment that’s nicer than the one I had when I went to NYU but still nowhere near as nice as my old place in midtown. What’s different now is I have people who can spilt the Netflix and con ed bill, what’s nice is when I’m lonely I can pop my head out the door and find new friends to talk to. I’ll admit, I was (or still am) apprehensive about living with new people when I’m so used to being independent and on my own. BUT, maybe this will be cool.

Fun, even.