I have yet to move, nothing else in my life is set up, I’m sure as hell not ready to enter the real world.  Inspite of that, everything is perfectly in order for me to begin grown-up life as a New York cliche.

I just graduated from a north east liberal arts college with a BA in a perfectly useless field. I am broke as a joke. I have no where to live. I have a job that would be considered decidedly shitty to most other people and barely pays minimum wage.  I find myself singing Avenue Q simply because it sickly mirrors my life.

I have 4 days left before I take residence on a friend’s parents’ couch in Westchester county and start artsy job. Ushering at a big huge theater in the city. Which I am psyched for. Even though the training I endured for it was mildly painful (perhaps because I sat for 8 hours on the Chinatown bus for 3 hours of paid training which almost covered the monetary cost of my ticket…but if time is money- ouch). The training itself was straight out of a movie. Complete with the perfectly cast orientation leader who was gay gay gay and queeny and had a tone like you wouldn’t believe. He loved being up infront of us acting in the one man show “Don’t Touch the Patrons and Tuck in Your Staff Shirt”! Limited one night Off-Broadway showcase! Theatre people are weird. I am one of them. Guilty. But I was sitting there watching us with outside perspective. We are ridiculous, annoying, clicky as hell, dramatic, loud, exclusive. And we love it. No wonder actors get a bad rap.

Four days. Four days to realize I have too too much shit. Waaaay too much shit for the shoebox living that is New York. Four days to decide what I can live with out, what I can hope to not miss. Four days left of living in this depressing post industrial town. And my luxurious gigantic apartment. Yes, I can appreciate it as both those things after a few page clicks on craigslist. Four days of shitty restaurants, depressing people watching, horrible public transportation, no creative stimulation. Four days of safety in this bubble that I can’t even call my own any more.  Four days and then who knows how long of not being in a play, not having a strong unit of friends right there for me to root for me during auditions or come hold my hand if I relapse into Tonsilar Phlemona.

Exciting. Scary. duh.

I’m still trying to figure out why I cried for 3 hours after graduating. Crying through all hugs, all good byes, at absolutely every worst possible moment-to-be-crying. Whether it was sadness about all the things I know and will miss or fear of all the things I don’t know.  Yes, likely a mixure of both but I can deal with the known. How ever sad it may be. And hard to let go. The unknown…that’s harder.