I thought this was supposed to be fun

As I step out of my artificial cool into the heat of another tan city day, I remind myself that this is supposed to be fun.
This is, in fact, what I am supposed to want, what I have been working towards for several years. Working and living and careening against millions of people as they themselves careen against each other as they prentend to be alone in the city; that is what I signed up for.
This city practically blisters and crackles as I trudge up the stairs to the platform. I pass a pidgeon sitting on a chick who has died, how melodramatic of it. Old wooden planks hold up the crumbling steel beams. The pidgens do the job of a city lookout, eyeing and warning to any unauthorized disturbance. The train screeches up and I get on and sit down, readying myself for another day at work and reminding my self that this is supposed to be fun. As I sit and think, a cold thin stream of pale blue doubt cuts its way through my stomach. I stare out the window and watch the citys impressive skyline come into view. The huge concrete humps waiting and watching for all fools to arrive. I stare and my eyes ache.
Im waiting as I often wait, for that wave of excitement to pulse through me as it has my friends and is supposed to for me. The wave of excitement that one feels when they have made the right choice, that they are where they should be. I wait and grow dark, not with the knowledge that I might have chosen incorrectly, but with the tinny sour spark that there might not be a right choice, that maybe nothing is correct.
The fallback idea that runs through my head as I scream though the city is that I should move away to a great cold lake. The idea is always pristine and ideal and possessing a foggy movie quality to it as it materializes in my head. As I invision this idilic seascape of sorts complete with my own garden and a view of the lake, the same cold thin stream of pale blue doubt cuts a course though my middle. I come to the same realization that this would not be what I picture. Waking to a grey and awkward landscape that always teeters between frozen and alive would present the same sort of problems, the same doubts. Instead of the bustleing throngs of people, I would set out into an abandoned and sparse population. The idea fades and the tinny sour spark returns. I remind myself that this is supposed to be fun.