Introspection.

This afternoon I secured what will probably be a twice-weekly afternoon volunteer archivist position in a local environmentalist organization. I'm still looking for more work in the area, hopefully something that pays money to at least keep me in high-end chocolate, but it's a start, it gets me out of the house, and it's near a nice coffee shop with thick, rich lattes that sells all sorts of sodas and chocolate bars. I got there way too early, so I ended up walking two blocks over to said coffee shop and stopped at a diner next door for lunch, where I had an hour-long lemonade and enjoyed the wait for once, chatting with the waitress about the age of the diner and realizing I felt comfortable in the urban environment.

The part of living in New York right now that's getting to me isn't just the lack of storage space and good bedding. One of the shops I went into had some nice handmade mugs that were big enough for a decent serving of soup, and budget aside I couldn't have bought them because there's no place for me to put them. Same with just about everything else that isn't perishable, and even then, given the kitchens at the residence hall, I have to be even more selective than before.

By moving into the residency hall, it's not giving up dirt and lawns: it's giving up almost all control over my living space and most of my autonomy that I've been developing for the past few years. I can't get up and get a drink of water in the middle of the night because I need to get my key and go to the bathroom and bring a cup with me. There's at least a dozen people using the same fridge and freezer so I won't be able to cook for myself so much anymore, the laundry machines are a dollar each in quarters, things that I've gotten used to not having to think about. I know the people in charge don't want me to say it's a dormitory, but thinking back on college, it really is. Just with a gussied-up name.

I've gotten used to being able to control more and more parts of my world, and losing so much of that at once is more than a little jarring. Also kind of depressing. I could manage city life if I had a reasonable apartment, but a dorm room smaller than a refurbished janitor's closet doesn't quite make the cut.

Still, knowing what's bothering me does make it easier to deal with the problem. As does something that'll get me somewhere else at least twice a week.