November 30, 2002 | 10:00 PM

I don't want to go back to Boston.

I don't want to go back to Boston.

I don't want to go back to Boston.

My life in Boston is a succession of things that need to be done, thr grim pleasure I receive from accomplishing them, and momentary outbursts of going hog wild to relieve the tension and anxiety.

I have a great job. A great apartment. Classes at one of the world's most presitigious institutions. Nice friends. And people to make out with on a regular basis. I am greatful for my life. I am blessed. But I'm bored out of my tree. There's just not a lot of magic. I've fallen out of love with so mnay things and people.

I feel like I finally beat a video game after years and years of trying. And now all I can do is go back and play the hardest level over and over again. Only it's not really very hard anymore. It's just rote. And I remember how it used to be exciting and interesting. It's not anymore. I'm sick of working in an office (even though it's the greatest office in the world.) I'm sick of waking up at the same time every day. I'm sick of all the stupid bloody memories good and bad that confront me on a daily basis. I'm sick of how disappointed I am in the people I know who waste their potential and drink their paychecks (yes, I am looking in the mirror here too.)I'm sick of the politics inherent in every single relationship I have. I'm sick of how fucking expendable I feel to everyone I know. I'm sick of not being in love-- not with a boy and not with my life. I'm sick of jealousy and envy. I'm sick of everything costing an arm and a leg and the T only running until 12:30. I'm sick of knowing where everything is. I am so sick of cowardice and lackluster bullshit. I am sick of answering the same questions over and over and I'm sick of running into the same fucking people. I am sick of not being on stage. I am sick of it all.

Bitch bitch bitch. I know I know. I have it so fucking good. But if you're given the best bottle of wine in the world and you don't even like wine, does it matter whether it's Dom Perignon or Wild Irish Rose?

I don't want to start over somewhere new, where nobody knows me. I want to love and feel loved and love what I'm doing. And I don't. I don't love anything that I'm doing. And I don't feel loved at all.

I don't want to go back to Boston.

Dear Hannukah Fairy,

Please create a blizzard so I can get snowed in here and not have to go back for at least a couple days.

Love,

Anna

Oh cheer up-- I'll feel better tomorrow.