And Then Good Things Start to Happen

The Connecticut leaves are golden. The days are rainy and some nights are frozen and others nearly balmy; though I haven't visited the park yet, I imagine what it will look like - yellow everywhere with hints of red. It's on my agenda for Saturday, my last day in the city.
Things improved dramatically on Tuesday, my second night in the East Village. I met a girl named Jayde from England, who is here after graduating from design school. Loneliness caused desperation and in this state, I fairly flung myself on this girl, who said she hadn't yet visited any bars because she is here on holiday alone, and hasn't felt confident enough to visit any nightspots - Oh, come with me, I said. We'll go out. I have been very lonely - I had spent too much time in midtown, where there are too many tourists traveling in couples and families.
And we did go out. We brought a Brazillian girl named Danielle with us. We drank overpriced drinks and listened to live music. We took a cab all the way uptown and navigated the subway back downtown.
Last night, we had coffee and cake at a nearby shop. An Austrailian woman fron the hostel joined us and we were four girls, sipping lattes and eating muffins on a cold evening in November in a cheap shop and I was extremely happy. I almost got enough sleep last night.
Today is my last day working in our Connecticut office, and I'm glad that at least it's a sunny day. Working from here has been stressful. I wish I could think of a better word. I wish I could write how sometimes, I get so frustrated at work that I need to put my head in my hands and take deep breaths and let a few tears leak out to relieve pressure.
I wish I could write about my daily headaches and the stiff tendonitis that leaves my hand muscles hard and aching.
I wish I could write about how hard I work and how quickly I fall into place with the bottom line: Make more money. Make more money.
I want to write about my boss who did everything he could think of to persuade me not to apply for a job opening in a different department, and when I finally said I wouldn't, acted like he could have cared less to begin with, and how goddamn infuriated I was, and how I implied he owed me some fucking gratitude, to which he said: Take a vacation.
On Monday I will be in Accra. It will be hot. I will be confused and discombobulated and jet lagged. But for 11 whole days after today, I am going to do my best Not to Think About Work.
So much left to do that I have not done - gone to the park, gone ice skating, called my friend Randy's friend Patty, bought my family gifts, have yet to visit the Empire State Building.
Was surpised to find that nearly every foreigner I've met wants to visit Ground Zero. Though I am not a New Yorker, one of the girls asked me about it, and I squirmed uncomfortably - I've got no wish at all to see that spot, none at all. I do not want to go where so much blood was shed.
I told her something that was part truth and part lie: It feels like a very long time ago that it all happened. And I cannot remember what things were like before it. I can't remember that things weren't always like this.