I’m not your next Carrie Bradshaw

I’ve hit the 2 month mark of living in the city.

I’ve only taken public transportation once. I have yet to see the bean. And I have not fallen madly in love with a Cubs player. Am I failing at being a Windy City citizen? Probably.

I have realized that I have taken counter space for granted my entire life, and next time I go home, I will cook all of the things just because I have room to do so.

I have realized that people here aren’t as receptive to squeals about how cute their dogs are when they’re on a walk.

I have realized by the amount of groceries I get in one trip that I probably scream country bumpkin instead of the other chic grocery store customers that will only buy wine, brie, nice crackers, and a pineapple and call it a day.

I have considered using the website “MeetUp” to make friends since smiling at strangers is getting me nowhere.

I have realized that I am nowhere near as stylish as I thought I was.

I have realized that I need to spend more time on hobbies that aren’t “snacking in bed.”

I have realized just how expensive this city is.

I have realized that I might need reasons other than adult human interaction to commit to graduate school.

I have realized that I am willing to fit a litter box in my tiny apartment just to have something to love.


And finally, I have realized that I miss people who know me/get me, that this whole adult shit is hard, and maybe Sex and the City put unrealistic expectations of city living in my head.

Oy vey.

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