Every day, I look around my apartment and I sigh happily. I love it so much. It’s just a standard, 670-square-foot apartment with white (or taupe) walls and oatmeal-colored carpet, but it’s so much better than the place where I was living. I stayed in my old apartment too long – nine years! – and grew very tired of its Smurf-blue walls and weird, non-complementary almond trim. I didn’t have a view of anything but my neighbors’ ugly yellow house about 10 feet away, and eventually hated the hardwood floors that constantly seemed (and probably were) dirty. I had a shower stall that I poked halfway out of if I dared bend over to wash my toes or pick up something I’d dropped since there was no room BECAUSE IT WAS A FUCKING SHOWER STALL WHAT KIND OF MONSTER DESIGNS A SHOW– ahem. Sorry.
I hated most of my neighbors, primarily because I lived in the first-floor apartment, and living downstairs from anyone is a nightmare. Neighbor set #1 hosted All the Parties. Neighbor set #2 walked softly but humped loudly. (Seriously. Porn stars don’t even come that loudly.) Neighbor set #3 were awful art school hipsters and that’s all I want to say about them because I just got my blood pressure to come back down. Stupid jerks with the beer cans on the porch and the thumping around and gah! aneurysm.
I made sure my new apartment was on the top floor. Now I can hear the rain on the roof and I have a view (of the parking lot, but it’s a view, damn it) and I have access to a pool again and my downstairs neighbors are kind of screamy, but it’s nothing compared to life at the old place. I’m no longer afraid of my kitchen (can’t really explain it; just was) and I go to the grocery like a normal person now. I don’t always like going, but I don’t have to sit in the car psyching myself up/fending off an anxiety attack anymore. I’ve hosted more people in the past six months than I had over in the near-decade I lived downtown. It’s pretty amazing when your home is actually the sanctuary it’s supposed to be. Now I just need to get some art on the walls. And buy a vacuum because damn.
I hated most of my neighbors, primarily because I lived in the first-floor apartment, and living downstairs from anyone is a nightmare. Neighbor set #1 hosted All the Parties. Neighbor set #2 walked softly but humped loudly. (Seriously. Porn stars don’t even come that loudly.) Neighbor set #3 were awful art school hipsters and that’s all I want to say about them because I just got my blood pressure to come back down. Stupid jerks with the beer cans on the porch and the thumping around and gah! aneurysm.
I made sure my new apartment was on the top floor. Now I can hear the rain on the roof and I have a view (of the parking lot, but it’s a view, damn it) and I have access to a pool again and my downstairs neighbors are kind of screamy, but it’s nothing compared to life at the old place. I’m no longer afraid of my kitchen (can’t really explain it; just was) and I go to the grocery like a normal person now. I don’t always like going, but I don’t have to sit in the car psyching myself up/fending off an anxiety attack anymore. I’ve hosted more people in the past six months than I had over in the near-decade I lived downtown. It’s pretty amazing when your home is actually the sanctuary it’s supposed to be. Now I just need to get some art on the walls. And buy a vacuum because damn.
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