A Real Person Lives Here
As an undergrad, I moved, at a minimum, once a year. Although I have some fond memories of the undergrad nomadic lifestyle, say, rolling a futon mattress down Bascom Hill in a purloined laundry cart, when I started grad school I vowed that I would find an apartment I really liked and stay put for however long it took me to finish my PhD so I could live like a Real Person instead of a student.
So far, so good.
I’ve lived in the same apartment for two years now, and just renewed my lease for a third. It’s a nice enough place, in a great location, with a super landlady. And I finally reached my goal of Real Person apartmenthood this weekend.
What is the hallmark of Real Person apartmenthood, you ask?
The complete absence of milk crate/plastic tub/cardboard box furniture. Woohoo!
No more stacked-milk-crate “bookshelf”. Or large piles of books and magazines all over the place due to inadequate storage, for that matter. I now own not one, but two real bookshelves.
No more large plastic tub “nightstand” with an Itty Bitty Booklight. In its place, a medium-sized dresser with a real lamp.
No more cardboard boxes as yarn storage. I now have nice little organized corner with appropriate storage for yarn and tools.
I’ve hung real pictures in real frames with real nails instead of gobs of poster tack.
It feels like a real home, like somewhere I actually mean to stay, and I feel pretty happy about it.
You’ll remind me of this feeling when I’m going to have to move all that new stuff in about three years, right? Did I mention that I live in a third floor walk-up?
Chipanglish
CogKnition
Gustatory Circuit
I feel like I should send you a housewarming gift or something. :p