If there were an hour-long HBO series about my life in New York it would be called..."Wrecks and the City." It would start with excessively punny reflections on the baggage in my life. And I don't just mean emotional baggage about moving far away from all that is home and comfort. I mean real baggage, too. You'd see me hauling impossibly heavy bags of groceries and pieces of furniture up the treacherous 39 steps. I'd careen wildly around the Upper West Side with a cart stacked with office supplies, parcels, and notebooks. I'd resignedly hail taxis, because I can't manage to get all my stuff on the subway without killing myself.

For much of the series, I'd be setting up my classroom in a weird outfit. I'd grumble and wish for someone to help me, preferably the Mr. Big in my life. But alas, I'm the biggest (loneliest) wreck in this city.