I am a young, young person who is trying very hard
"That age when you’re on the train to Paris even though you’re broke and unemployed because friends you love are there and you won’t see them for a while because you decided to move to England after college to chase a handsome hairy boy you know you’re gunna marry but your parents are all whattt, you’re on your own because a) they’re poor and b) they’re “what??” and no one wants to hire you ‘cause you have a strange last name and talk funny and you wanna work and be a productive human but really you’re okay with having a little flat in the butt fuck nowhere countryside with amazing friends and a glorious boyfriend who cooks yummy food and puts a roof over your head even though you’re the saddest excuse for a housewife and you’re looking out a train window in snowy London on the way to Paris and thinking, ya, this is 22, I’m gloriously fucked and gloriously blessed. Ya’ll get that."

— Anne Marie Sanguini, 
one of my best friends in the whole wide world, basically summing up how the best years of your life need to be the worst just a little bit. 
Interviewer: Describe your perfect NYC day and night.
Lesley Arfin: Buying something and not feeling bad, reading at dusk, walking to meet my friends for dinner and hanging out doing nothing. It’s always summer. 84 degrees. A lot of good jokes are happening. No showers. All love. Nice breeze to fall asleep into clean sheets and a 24-hour marathon of the Real Housewives or something.