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After months of searching, weeks of planning, two mental breakdowns, and two days of moving, I finally did it. I moved into my own apartment. For the first time ever, I have no roommates and am as close to being self sufficient as possible (still clinging to the Verizon Family Plan for dear life). It’s a studio, sure. And yeah, the kitchen’s a little cramped. But you know what? It’s mine, and frankly, I’m kind of obsessed with it.
I had a lot of apprehensions about living alone, especially the first few days. What happens if I go crazy? What if I get locked inside my apartment? What if I get lost on my way home because of the new commute? At one point, this stuff kept me up at night. It was actually the first of the two mental breakdowns.
But now that I’ve been here for a full day, I have to admit it’s pretty sweet here. I won’t get too far into it, but these are some of the highlights.
This is a seemingly ridiculous quality, but honestly it’s so important to have. When you’re looking for a new apartment and the deadline is quickly approaching, it’s easy to look past a place’s flaws, like not having air conditioning or screens on the windows or flat floors or locks on the doors. After living in a place like that for a year, I forgot how amazing it feels to sit down in a chair and not have it slide backwards. I certainly forgot the blissful dance that air conditioning plays on your skin when the sweat first starts to form.
I’m not the kind of person who would walk around my apartment naked when my roommate wasn’t home. It’s not that I’m not comfortable with myself or whatever, it’s just not my thing. However, now that the only person I have to worry about seeing my private, intimate moments with myself is myself (and maybe the people in the building across the alley), I’m giving it a shot. I’m talking about pooping with the door open. I’m talking about walking through the living room naked to get to the shower. And yeah, I’m talking about diddling myself with the lights on.
Although, I will say that last one left me feeling shameful.
Talking to myself.
This was totally expected and completely on brand for me. I think out loud all the time, and normally it leads to conversation with whoever is in the immediate vicinity. I’m not exaggerating when I say that within the first 45 minutes after my movers left, I talked to myself five times. Honestly, I think that’s fucking great. Sure, I probably sound like a psychopath to my neighbors, but it’s not like I’m talking to Satan and reciting Slayer lyrics in spoken word. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m trying to figure out if my bakers rack would make more sense in the cramped kitchen or if I feel comfortable enough putting it in the closet space. I’m thinking I’ll lean towards closet space.
I live in a retirement community for young people.
For those familiar, I moved from a house in an actual neighborhood where families lived called Logan Square to a high rise studio apartment building on the lake shore in Lincoln Park. Essentially, I went from a place where people had yards to a place where I’m greeted by a barrage of car horns when I walk out the front door of my building, and I fucking love it. There’s an energy here that I can’t really explain, but it gets me excited to be a part of it. This unspoken bond from person to person on the street that makes you think, “I don’t know him, but that guy just gets it.” Maybe it’s that I’m closer to the hustle and bustle of downtown now.
Or maybe it’s because literally the only people I’ve seen in my new neighborhood are under the age of 35. I swear to god, I’ve been walking around my apartment building and the immediate surroundings for the last few days and everyone looks to be right around my age. Where did we all come from? Is anyone else at the tip of their budget as well? I don’t think I’ll ever know. Just because everyone looks like I can relate to them doesn’t mean I actually plan on doing it. Why would I? I have an entire apartment to myself now, and I intend to make the most of it..