I have officially begun calling myself a Boston gal. Not because I was born and raised here, but because I have spent the last four years of my life here. There is also a slight possibility that I hate Connecticut and only spent my first four years of life in Queens, NY, therefore making me feel like an imposter if I call myself a New Yorker. To me, Boston is a smaller much more managable version of New York and I have grown to love it. The power of a city exhilirates me… the ability to have almost anything delivered and picked up at anytime, being able to just quickly run outside your apartment for a pack of butts, and always having your friends very close by are all things that I have grown accustomed to… possibly a little too much.

I have spent most of my summer indoors, isolating myself for no particular reason, but spending most days inside. The convenience of the city had gotten the best of me and I have found myself beginning to resent it… I don’t get the charge that I used to get from Boston and since I am not a drinker and rarely, if ever, go to bars… I dont have a lot to say about being over 21 in Boston. I suppose it doesn’t really matter what age I am… I find myself in a jaded state of mind over Boston.

My most enjoyable moments of the summer were actually spent outside tanning and swimming in small-town rural New Hampshire… not in a fast-paced city. I didn’t want to go back to Boston, but was convinced to do so for the Fourth of July. I dragged my feet on the issue ever moment, although I purchased a grill and everything needed for a BBQ, I didn’t want to spend my Fourth in a city I had grown to hate. I hate to use the phrase, but my day sparkled. I loved being on the roof of my apartment building over-looking all of Beacon Hill… and when the fireworks with the Boston Pops started and I had a front-row seat and I remembered why I fell in love with the city in the first place.