You might think that growing up is all about talking stock of your desires, the realities you face, and the choices you need to make in order to live a self-sufficient, respectable existence. That’s why – if you’re like many young broke people (i.e. every inhabitant of North Brooklyn) –
As a starving, malcontent, narcissistic New York City writer, you have one of two options: writing in your apartment or writing in someplace that is decidedly not your apartment. The former is a simple premise. If you’re having trouble with it, you might consider giving up writing in favor of
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If the amount of ex-boyfriends/ex-people I used to bone trying to get back in touch with me out of nowhere all of a sudden is any indication, it seems this new year has especially been about taking inventory of one’s life. It’s a time of self-reflection, a High Fidelity-style “what