Cramp.

Being born with ambition in Portland garunteed me for a diagnosis of anxiety. 

Having an internal drive for success in a town where people work half time in the industry of serving food and drink (but full time at drinking and partying) has lead me to consistently disappointing relationships and remarkably unsatisfying employment experiences. 

I feel like the only person who has some place to be, the only one rushing to meet a deadline, which I had to set for myself purely because I want to accomplish something with my life. 

I've gotta move away before my high strung nature is driven completely insane by this laxidasical town. I already tried once.

A few years ago, I saved up money for six months and livd in NY for three months. I failed to find a job or apartment, and quickly bailed on my dreams, flying comfortably back to my easy west coast life. 

But I hate it here. I crave a struggle. I want to fight for the life I want and I need to impress myself. 

This aching need to return to The City feels like a bad foot cramp that will only go away if I push into it, wearing out the muscles until they finally give up and let go.

The only cure for this poorly located ambition is a few years of hard living. And then, maybe, I will finally be able to stroll aimlessly down the street, no plans ahead of me but a vague commitment to whiskey with friends.