Crying in my coffee

Yesterday was great. Saw Sin City, went for a run (intimidated, erm... inspired by the gorgeous women in the movie - even though they have personal trainers, chefs, and body make-up), walked around Park Slope, got some laundry done, designed and made a dress that I'm really happy with, read a bit further into the fantastic book I'm reading (Everything is Illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer... who I was privleged to see tonight at a reading given at the poetry center @ the 92nd St. Y - he's 28 and has had 2 best sellers published, what the hell am I doing with my life?), and generally had a nice day.

It was great on the outside. It was rather sad on the inside. Not a boundless-happiness-dripping-from-every-pore kind of day. Just a little too into my own head and a smidge too deep into my emotions for a nice Sunday. Wish I could silence the doubts and fears for just a week. They're persistent buggers, that's for sure. Sometimes I think I have them beaten and just then, in that brief moment confidence they come back to slap me in the face just because they can.

Fuckers. I just want to have a good time in New York. I moved here to fulfill myself and I'm still doing a whole hell of a lot of holding myself back. That's no way to love yourself. No way to be fair and good to yourself.