Oh, this reminds me.

See, I’m one of the few people who actually got to see one of the 21 performances of “Carrie” on Broadway.

And I still have the Playbill.

And it’s in excellent condition.

Oh, and it’s signed by Betty Buckley, Linzi Hateley, and Gene Anthony Ray, because I was a 14-year-old starfucker and I really wanted their autographs and I made my parents wait with me at the stage door after the show until they came outside.

How much do you suppose it’s worth?

I slept poorly last night. Well, no — I slept fine until morning came. I went to bed just after midnight, and I woke up several hours later to the VERY loud pitter-patter of raindrops on my air conditioner. My clock said 4:57. I tossed and turned for the next two hours, then finally fell asleep again, then woke up to my alarm at 7:50, then pressed my snooze bar a couple of times.

When I next looked at my clock it said 11:11.

Uh-oh.

I must have accidentally turned off my alarm instead of pressing the snooze bar. I started to worry, because I hadn’t called in to say I’d be late, like I did one morning last week. I thought to myself that it had to be a dream. No such luck — if you’re conscious enough to think you’re dreaming, you’re not dreaming. Then I saw that my shaving cream and my razor were on my window sill, and I got out of bed and I couldn’t turn my fan off, which I have on when I sleep in order to drown out noise (that was some loud rain). Then I went into my bathroom and began flossing my teeth.

Then my alarm went off.

I was still in bed. I looked over at my clock, and it said 8:17.

Ugh.

Stupid sleeping brain.
—–

Here’s an update on my moving plans.

In the spring, I decided I was going to move to Manhattan.

In early summer, I decided I was going to move to Brooklyn.

Now I’ve decided it’s going to be Manhattan after all.

I made this decision a couple of weeks ago. I was really big on Brooklyn for a while. Park Slope is pretty, there’s a nice park there. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d still be far from Manhattan. Having taken the F train out to Brooklyn several times in the last few weeks, I’ve realized how long a trip it is. And Brooklyn still isn’t Manhattan. Better than Jersey City, yes, but… well, I really want to give Manhattan a shot. And I’m tired of being scared of it.

Why are the things we most want the things we most fear? Living in Manhattan is one of those goals I’ve never quite been able to achieve. When I finished law school, I assumed I’d find a job in Manhattan and then move there. Things didn’t quite work out that way, as I discussed yesterday. But now it’s doable. I don’t know why I’ve always been so scared of living there. I was born there, for chrissakes.

It’s just something I need to do.

My lease ends November 1. I need to give my landlord two months’ notice, so lately I’ve been thinking of asking him if I can get out on October 1 instead. Something’s holding me back. I guess it would just be easier to ride the lease out. One month doesn’t make much of a difference, anyway.

So. Here’s what I want. A studio or one-bedroom. $1100 or less. Somewhere in Manhattan below 100th Street. In the spring I saw a cute little $1100 studio on 9th and 24th in Chelsea, but lately the only apartments on Craigslist that remotely fit my criteria are on the Upper East Side. I could live with that. I’d prefer elsewhere, but I could live with it. It would still be better than Jersey City. The Lexington Avenue line can’t suck more than the PATH train. Plus I’d be close to at least two Barnes & Nobles.

So I will move to Manhattan by November 1. Almost two months later, I will turn 30. Therefore, for about two months, I’ll be able to say that I’m living in Manhattan in my 20s. I told this to my mom, and she said, “So after that, you’ll be living in Manhattan in your 30s. What’s the big deal?” The big deal is the fear of the impending three-oh, the fear that I’ll have to totally grow up, the fear that I will move to Manhattan just in time to not be allowed to have fun anymore. Which is totally ridiculous, because of course you can enjoy your 30s. I hear they’re wonderful — I hear most people think their 30s are a better decade than their 20s, in fact. But psychologically, it’s still a little scary.

I’m going to try to stop letting my fear squelch my desires.

Cages or wings,

Actions speak louder than words

That’s from a song from the musical “tick, tick…BOOM!”

Which, come to think of it, is about a guy on the verge of turning 30.