a home

So I here I am right back in my spot in the Immigrant Rights Clinic at NYU, finally starting to think about the rest of my life, OMGWTF, and most pressingly, how the hell I am going to find an apartment and move my shit to Chicago. I am in New York for a 40 hour layover before heading back to Palo Alto, which is a shame, since I would like to stay here forever. (Sorry I'm here but I wasn't able to see you!!!) When I went to the bathroom, the combination lock on the door was changed by building maintenance so I stood outside the door for 15 minutes pressing different combinations of numbers until I found the correct one, because I am fucking genius and am also unemployed. My August travels have helped me to achieve my goal, which was to forget everything I learned for the bar. I can't remember what duties a lawyer owes to his clients, but I just sat down and read the N.D.I.L.'s ethical cannons for judicial employees, and learned about the franking privilege and how I am not permitted to participate in any partisan or nonpartisan political activities. New York is beautiful. The weather is perfect and the people are cruel, mean bitches. After being the friendliest little fucker in Ireland for eleven days, I got off the plane at Newark and smiled at people like an idiot, and was spat on(literally - ptoo!) within two hours by a crazy person (whom I smiled at, like an idiot) who also muttered "You people really disgust me, you really do," so I returned the favor by later telling some French tourists they ought to be sorry for almost hitting me with a water bottle. Oh, to be angry forever in this dirty old town! But I am off. Find me an apartment in Chicago, please? I have spent the last few days thinking about B.H., with her man baking in a village halfway around the world; A.O., combing through Spanish archives somewhere thousands of miles south of here; O.Z. collecting blisters with C.Y. on glaciers; R.A. pretending to be Mrs. N.D. in Egypt; J.S., who may be in Arizona, or may be in Brooklyn, and I don't know, and I'm sorry, and what happened?; K.C., now Mrs. S.F., honeymooning in Barcelona; H.E. halfway to Kilkenny; T.F. in green and temperate Kennebunk; Boo, whose mood my mom describes as "blue"; C.M.'s Marco studying alone for eight months for the Italian foreign service exam; C.H. by a pool in Monrovia; R.W. and O.L. jumping into bathtubs filled with foam bricks at Google Zurich; my S.H. deconstructing, in theory, in praxis, in Atlanta. So many dispersed and distant people, and one black and white dog, I wish were around me always. Wahhh!!! Why is the world so big? Since I will never get around to blogging about the four fun-filled days around K.C.'s wedding, I'll just link to R.W.'s Picasa page, where you will find 323 photographs documenting the experience. Be forewarned: there are skirts and dresses. Uck.