Achievement, aschmievement. Here I find myself, lying in the same bed from which this blog was woefully born, in Sunny San Diego, California. I suppose the only difference is that I'm missing three holes in my left knee and I'm not hopped up on Vicodin, taking cues from David Ducchovny on Netflix (instead I'm stone cold sober and watching as many nuclear crisis flicks I can get my fingertips on).
Let me be straight. The world isn't falling apart, yet. There are much worse places to be than my parent's house. For all I know the DSS could have shipped me off to be that poor shmuck in Libya. All the same, my dream of living on the East Coast has all but evaporated into the 73 degree San Diegan sun.
But I'm not finished with you yet, New York. Not by a longshot. And it will take every keystroke and every minute of slaving over a hot hard drive on my lap (that's why it's called a laptop, right?) to cling to the damp, freezing, blighted, wintry conditions I treasure so dear.
I've got cabin fever.
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