I'm Officially Too Old And Without A Story To Tell

Since I moved back to the Bronx, the nights I have spent out in the City has greatly diminished. I used to go out at least 1-2 nights a week. Now, I'm lucky if I leave my couch 1 night out of a 2 week period. And usually I'm home by 11pm when I do go out. Aging has made me tired.

I miss the city so much though--Even more so when I finally do manage to get myself off my couch. But the thought of having to ride the 6 train back home for an hour makes me want to hurt myself. I miss the 15 minute cab ride home. Going out in the Bronx is ok, but it's not the same. Our choices here are limited.

I was on the UES this past Saturday. I left around 1 am and while walking to the train, I passed by all the bars on 2nd and 3rd avenue. And I realized something: I didn't actually miss going to bars. I just shook my head as I passed the group of young twenty-somethings yelling and screaming down the block. I scoffed as I watched 2 drunk girls trying to get each other into a cab, each of them hoping the other knows where they live. I rolled my eyes I as saw some dude try to bring home the silly little girl he just met that night.

I don't miss that. But, as I was halfway to the train and waiting for the light to change I looked at all the cabs passing me by and just wanted to cry. It was 1:30am, I was tired and I wasn't even halfway home. I finally made it to the train platform to discover that the train had just left and I had another 10 minutes. As I waited, I looked around and noticed that among the garbage on the platform, there was a bunch of red stuff on the floor by the bench. Looking closer and putting it together was some soiled bounty towels that was on the bench, I realized it was blood. I wrinkled my nose, shook my head, took a picture and logged it into the memory bank.

Because I realized this: I don't have any more good stories. I thought about this while sitting on the train for 40 minutes. I've blogged less this year than ever before and I realized, it was a cycle. I don't go out, I don't see people and things, I have nothing to say, I don't blog, I watch a lot of Netflix, I go to bed. Yes, the city is dirty and noisy and there's lots of stupid people, but I had stories at least. When I'm older and tied down with kids and a husband (or two), I'm not really going to have stories. NOW is the time to be a part of the stories. So, for the next few months, before it gets way too cold to leave the house, I resolve to go out, meet new people, and find some stories. My couch will be there; I can spare a night or two out a week. It's not even that comfortable,anyway.


This is the only story I have: