I've been in NYC for a year now. Although I've performed a perfect 180 on my career, hammered down, and put more than just 3000 miles between me and my past, it still feels no easier than when I first arrived.
The hardest part has been the lack of means to make things with my hands. I look at people around town going on with their lives completely oblivious to this compulsion. Sometimes I wish I could think like them. I wish I didn't want a garage. I wish I didn't want a lathe. (Seriously, why the fuck would I want something that weighs 800lbs and is a bitch to move?) Normal people don't give a fuck about a welding machine. It makes my brain hurt sometimes. I've made some true friends over this last year who understand my affliction. They let me make messes in their shops, but it's still not the same as having your own.
I left a whole lot of tools back in California. I used to have 24 hour access to everything I needed to make my thoughts become reality, and now all I have is an angle grinder and a crescent wrench. The other day I used a rock to straighten out my sissy bar.
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