Tomorrow will be my last day in New York. I tried to go to bed before 1 tonight. Was unsuccessful. laid in bed and felt my whole body pulsating. Telling me to do something say something do jumping jacks, no point in sleep when you have a mind racing with nothing going through it.
have forgotten the bliss of rest and beds. no longer see the need for it. time will be better spent focused on just about anything besides sleep.

this trip has taught me I am not cut out for New York living. cannot keep up with the pace and the hustle. I can perform quite well, and even give directions to the poor tourist that asks if she can pick up the F where you pick up the 1. But when it boils down to it. just need a place to sit for an hour and have a fucking cup of coffee. It takes me an hour to do anything, and by that time a million people have done a million different things, and all I've done is found out which train to take and decided how I'm going to find a coffee shop where I can sit and do nothing. But once I was there I had 10 minutes to sit and eat and then I was gathered up to wander the west side. Even the parks have a hard time feeling lonely. Sitting in a garden, and I thought I was alone with the greens only to spot a brick building in the corner of my eye.
I spent a moment on top of my brother's roof, staring out into the city, clutching a glass and some tobacco wondering what the hell I was doing here. It began to rain, and I began to get dizzy and mad that I was so privileged. My matches got soggy, and I cursed.
My brother spoke of the drive. The NYC drive for success. And how he has caught that, or has always had it. Don't know what to say or how to relate. Big plans Big big plans he says.

My plan is to go back home. sit on my roof .look at the stars. And then find something other than myself to focus on. Perhaps a cup of coffee? Or a beer?