I went looking with Ricky (who is moving out on his own soon, too) yesterday knowing pretty much nothing about how to find an apartment for myself. Necessities, in my mind, are all aesthetically based. I know what I want everything to look like and if it doesn’t feel like me, then it’s out. I knew I wanted lots of natural light and bookcases or room for bookcases and nice views and plenty of dancing room in the kitchen when I want to recreate scenes from “The Big Chill.”
But I guess there are things like safety and budget and utilities and other words that when I hear them, all I can make out is a cacophony of Charlie Brown adults yelling. And I’m like, “Huh? You mean I can’t just wave this plastic wand I bought at Target and have a confetti of awesome shoot out and make everything exactly how I want it without having to really think too hard or pay moniez?”
It was interesting because even though I am clearly not a child anymore (clearly, after I make a reference to plastic wands and irresponsibly use the letter “z”), I felt like one going into these places. Awkward as always, I was the shy little girl who I can’t seem to outgrow, pretending to be an adult. I kept amusing myself by imagining the conversations sounding something like, “How do you do? What a wonderful establishment you have here! Do you fancy my monocle and top hat? What great joy it is to be an adult in search of an adequate dwelling space!” and then I chuckle heartily as I check my pocket watch.
Instead, I sat mostly in silence when they’d ask if there were any questions (which, yeah there are. Like, has anyone ever been murdered here? Is it okay if I accumulate an abnormal amount pets because I now have my own space that I can save stray animals in? Will my life be like the fun times I see on episodes of “Living Single” if I move here?) Then, I found it. As soon as the lady opened the door to the apartment, I smiled. It was how I always imagined living on my own would look like.
I feel like this point in my life will be something really special and defining. Before I get older and become someone I probably wouldn’t recognize today, I want to be independent--even though I’m sensitive, shy and insecure, I feel like this is the right decision. And I am fully aware that I will probably cry hysterically my first week there, worrying that I’ll be alone in my apartment eating cereal out of the box as my dinner for the rest of eternity, but I know I’ll get over it. Or just write about it and hopefully get some type of book deal that becomes a movie and then I can just buy stuff to fill the void. Company is nice, but so is La Mer eye cream.
Since there was no Saturday Morning Song (sorry for the already present blogging inconsistencies!) here's one I thought was appropriate for this entry.