So it's better my sweet that we hover like bees

I have walls up right now. Thick walls. Steel walls. Wall I can't even get through. Walls that seperate my emotions from the world. Walls that seperate me from my emotions. I always know when I do, it's an old, familiar feeling. It's a tenseness in my shoulders I carried from childhood to young adulthood. It's hypervigilance. It's relying only on sarcasm and wit for conversation instead of depth. It's saying out loud I don't care enough times to convince the vulnerability inside me that it's true.

When the walls are up it's easier for me to just keep on truckin'. Move to New York. Find a job. Start dating. Autopilot. The walls keep me from asking what the next step is, what I actually want; until I drink for something like seven hours straight on a Friday night and wake up with a hangover that is only rivaled by drinking too much free crappy champagne and sweet drinks at a bachelorette party in Vegas last year (AND I WAS DRINKING GIN AND TONIC, not even my usual whiskey {thank god}) and ask myself what the fuck I'm doing and if maybe I'm too old for this shit.

Am I?

Did I not move to New York precisely so I could be doing things like eating bacon wrapped hot dogs at 3am?

Fuck. Someone tell me what I'm doing.

I kind of want to date Mark, but I know how hard the distance thing is without a committed effort from both parties.

I kind of like the freedom of being single but I envy the women my age on the train with a diamond on their finger and miss the certainty of knowing with whom I'm going to spend the rest of my life.

I love being back in the kitchen but I miss feeling like my job serves the greater good.

I like my red hair but I hate how quickly my roots grow in.

Dinner and a movie Thursday but I have no idea if I want it to go anywhere.

I'm not used to this. I'm a planner. I always know the end game.

There's no sure footing.