Do I have bed bugs? Good question.
Maybe not. But I feel like even if you don’t, once you get to the point where you’re googling “What do bed bug bites look like,” you’re 90 percent there, anyway.
Why am I sharing this gross tidbit (just be glad I decided not to take pictures) instead of keeping it to myself? I guess because bed bugs are rampant in New York City, and the thought that I might have them is, in some sick and bizarre way, making me feel like a genuine New Yorker.
Maybe I’m making up this fake affection for my ailment. Which would make sense, since it’s a potential source of embarrassment and shame, and I often try to find ways to turn those into a positive (see also: stand-up comedy 101).
But also, it’s been almost a year since I moved here. I haven’t taken the city by storm...but I’ve also weathered the storms that it’s thrown at me. I’m here, and it feels like I might be gaining some momentum, if I can just stay out of my own way for a while.
This feels like it should be a longer post, with more over-thinking-my-existence crap (quickly becoming my specialty).
But the short story here is that I might have bed bugs. And New York is so screwed up, I can’t decide whether that makes me happy or sad.
p.s. How does my head look that small in the picture I just took?