I have officially been living alone in my own apartment (!!!) for four days now, which makes me completely qualified to talk about living alone. Right?
Varenka has officially gotten into a top school for a grad program, where she will be studying something which I am not capable of explaining, but it sounds very smart. She is now off doing that in a location. Congratulations to Varenka and her unwavering intellectual abilities.
Hence, I am now living alone for the foreseeable future. I decided to renew the lease on our two bedroom apartment all by myself for many various reasons, including the fact that apartment hunting is hard and apparently finding a one-bedroom apartment in Place-Where-I-Live that is safe, habitable, and not a zillion dollars is just not a reality. Seriously. I looked at 16 different apartments. And I’m sorry, perfect-and-beautiful-apartment-with-high-ceilings-and-hardwood-floors-for-1000-a-month, but living across the street from the highest density crime area in the city is NOT AN OPTION for a small female living on her own. No matter how unbelievably flawless and adorable the green walled kitchen is. Or the claw foot antique tub. Or the AMAZING CHICKENS in the spacious verdant wonderland of a backyard. CHICKENS. FRESH EGGS FOR DAYS.
I could have loved you, perfect-and-beautiful-apartment-with-high-ceilings-and-hardwood-floors-for-1000-all-inclusive-a-month. You unbelievable tease.
Alas, it was not to be, so I remain living in heinous-wallpaper-in-every-room-makes-me-feel-like-a-hipster-apartment. Also known as the here-take-65%-of-my-paycheck-I-don’t-need-to-eat-this-month apartment.
Here. I still live here.
At any rate, living alone for four (!!!) days has brought to light certain irrational fears I apparently have about living on my own. Fears such as:
– Becoming a hoarder and having a pile of my stuff fall on me and I die.
– Choking on food, dying, and having cats eat my face à la Sex in the City. I don’t even live with a cat. But my neighbours have one.
– Leaving the oven on all day and then dying from brushing my hair and producing static which sparks and then KABOOM.
– The possibility of there being a flood at night that’s so intense my bed floats away with me in it. Or I drown.
– Getting tangled in the sheets and dying.
– Falling in the shower and dying.
– Not being able to open a jar and dying. Somehow. Maybe from starvation.
Basically I’m terrified of dying alone and no one finding me for days. That’s totally a thing.
Other people have these fears though, right?
I’m feeling gross today, internet. Headachy and lightheaded and gross.
One of my favorite things to do when I’m feeling disgusting is imagine where I’ve live if I didn’t live in an apartment that looked like 1960 threw up on it, because I firmly believe that your surrounding impact how you feel about life, and the wallpaper surrounding me right now is making me feel like finding the original decorator and slapping them across the face.
Floral wallpaper? In every room? Really?
I want light and airy and clean space. Is that too First Worldy of me, internet?
Anyways, look at the pretty pictures: