quibbling hipsterhood, documented!

I feel like I am a reasonably interesting person
SO
WHY CAN’T I BE MORE LIKE DYLAN MORAN IN BLACK BOOKS.
HE’S ALLOWED TO ASK QUESTIONS AS SENTENCES.
WHY IS THIS SO HARD.

I even bothered to come up with a list of resolutions while I was in the shower:
1) watch more TV.
2) care less.
3) lose another ten pounds.
4) write all this tomfoolery down, even if I later regret what I have to say because it is permanent and cannot merely be erased with one keystroke like about a hundred of my posts before this. Physically write the fuck down and then don’t touch it. Don’t.
5) eat an entire bicycle’s worth of metal shavings.

I also had a loose idea of a plan about my post-collegiate life. Okay, getting married to a stranger in Europe didn’t really work out as planned so the next steps were pretty simple, you’d think. Dozens of my acquaintances have done it already.
a) find city job and
b) move there.

But after this weekend, do I honestly think I can do this? I do not.
Heeeeere’s Johnny why not:
+ To answer a question with a question: ______________
+ I will be expected to have friends who smoke up out on balconies and criticize the production processes used in the new Drake album.
+ I’ll have to pay foreigners to carry my mattress up 10 flights of stairs.
+ I’ll have to find roommates and pay rent and frequent laundromats.
+ Brooklyn is a place that feels negative. Not in the sense that it’s for the cynical or empty, but that I am going to bleed dry there and die.
+ I am scared.

Which is funny, considering what I’ve done so far, re: living in London twice, gallivanting up and down Bulgaria, doing something really stupid in Wales. Wait.

But I cried all the way home and sobbed my way through SoHo like a little baby. Why? I thought daylight would clarify but it did not. It’s like I’m being forced to choose between one life and another, except neither of them really want me in either direction and I can’t say either choice is a real life. I mean, really, these are first world problems. One life, I am entitled to in a familial sense. The other– well, fuck that. I have become bored and am going to go back to watching Black Books. HOWZAT FOR FUCKING UP TENSES.

Addendum:
While I don’t traditionally like Amanda Palmer and she tends to drag on a bit, I do like this. We have more in common than I would expect.
http://blog.amandapalmer.net/post/15120706154/the-wedding-blog

Conclusions? I am a sad fuck and I am not married to Neil Gaiman. Happy New Year.