Okay. So it's really frigging cold outside. I get that. Believe me, I do. All the same: it does not have to be this hot inside, does it? I swear to god, I had all the windows open, I finally turned on the A.C. because turning off the heat (much less adjusting the temp) is not an option in this place, unless I'm profoundly dim and just haven't found the magic switch these past two and a half years, which is always possible. But so anyway: in the few moments before I turned the A.C. back off (partly out of guilt for wasting energy, partly because the kickback that's no doubt from the pigeon shit that got into the vents as well as the dust damn near killed me), the temp reads at nearly 90, okay. 21 degrees outside. 90 in here. And I know people who aren't getting their heat turned on at all, so it sucks to complain about having too much, I guess, but: jesus, is there such a thing as a happy medium?
Mainly: NYC is just getting to me. I hate the crowds. More specifically, I hate crowds jammed into teeny tiny spaces, and thus against me, brushing up against my personal bubble or aura or whatever the fuck it is (not to mention my precious bodily fluids), it BUGS me. I hate the weather extremes. I hate that I feel like I'm coated in a thin layer of grime more or less constantly during the summer, and a good chunk of the winter too for that matter. I hate the dirt and the dust and the noise, I hate that I have headaches and can't breathe properly for at least 3/4 of the year. And mass transit is getting damn old, too, these days. Or maybe it's me ("it is I," fine, whatever) who's getting old. I don't know. All I know is, today, and for a while now: NOT. HAPPY.
And frankly, I never really gave that much of a damn about deli food.