Cold Feet

This fall, my husband and I are both heading to graduate school. Chris will be going to Syracuse University, while I am bound for NYU. Chris is out of town for about 48 hours right now - visiting Kutaisi with Didi John - and I'm suddenly realizing that living apart has major bummer potential. That, and everything that I've heard so far says finding a place to live in New York City is a nightmare.

My husband's apartment-mate-to-be, who is moving from Brooklyn to Syracuse, said that people posting available rooms on Craigslist often receive 100+ inquiries on the day of their post, and suggested (helpfully, I think) that I think of looking for a room as an experience analagous to auditioning for a reality-TV show.

Gulp.

Add to that this essay at Lost Writers and I find myself reconsidering whether it might better behoove me to move in with my Dad in NJ and just commute into the city and forget the whole thing.

But part of the draw of the NYU Journalism/Cultural Reporting and Criticism program was the opportunity to live in (and study in, and write about) what is arguably the greatest city in America (corny, complicated--maybe also true). Of course, that's what draws most people to New York, and why it's such a horror show to find a place to live there.