My lease at my apartment was up in May and, in June, I was offered a full-time position in a town between 30 and 40 minutes from my parents' house. My plan, then, became to live with my parents for a bit, save a little, and then move closer to work. Six months later, I was twenty-five, still in my parents' house, and sharing a room with my rabbit, Eleanor, and way too much stuff. Most of my belongings were in boxes, piled in our garage, made inaccessible by other storage. I'm pretty introverted, and also terrible, so living with people and exchanging pleasantries started grating on me and I found myself transforming into that most loathsome version of myself who glowers whenever people greet her and actually gets annoyed when people ask how she's doing. I tell people a lot that it's hard for people to like me if they live with me, but the truth is: it's hard for me to like me when I live with other people. Someone will cheerily greet me as I walk in the door and the monster inside me will roar about never getting a second to herself and the rest of me will spend the remainder of the day chiding myself for being such an insufferable bitch.
So I decided that I needed to move out, and I put it on my 2017 list as an attempt to really ensure that it would happen.
And it did!
Towards the end of February, I was finding myself particularly deplorable, and I decided that it was time. I asked my dad if he wanted to help me look at apartments on Presidents' Day (because, no work, yay government holidays) and he agreed.
Asking my dad to apartment hunt with me was a stroke of brilliance on my part because as soon as my dad knew what areas I was looking into and what my price range was, he started researching for me. He compiled a list of a dozen or so apartment complexes, their addresses, their listed rent, and any listed pet deposits/fees. This was convenient because my fantasy self does this sort of research and is thorough and reasonable in her decision making, but my actual self just keeps rereading chapter 39 of The Raven King and posting selfies on Instagram.
On the morning of February 20th, though, I called the apartments complexes that sounded best and set up appointments. Then, we headed off. That day, my father, brother, and I looked at four or five apartments. We ate at 54th Street Grill (Thanks again, Dad! Seriously, people, bring your fathers with you when you're looking for apartments. Dads are the best.) Then, we headed back to my parents' house.
There were two apartments that I was considering. They were, of course, the first two we looked at. The first one would definitely let me take my rabbit with me, but there was a $300 non-refundable pet deposit and a $10/m pet rent. The second one needed to think about whether or not they would let me bring my rabbit as they didn't allow cats or dogs.
The second place called me back. They wouldn't let me bring Eleanor. So the decision was made for me. (Although, they did say I could get rid of my rabbit and then live there and that would be cool for them. But, like, sorry guys, I cannot even fathom how good of a deal something would have to be for me abandon this rabbit I agreed to be responsible for. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a terror who bites my butt whenever I clean her cage and tries to eat ALL OF MY BELONGINGS and refuses to go back into her cage but I LOVE her.)
That week, I had Friday off because I worked on Saturday. So, on Friday, I called and asked if the first apartment I saw was still available. It wasn't. But, they said there was another comparable apartment that would be available later in March. "Okay," I said, "Can I go ahead and bring by an application?" They agreed, and so I did.
"We'll process your application and run a background check on Monday, so you'll probably hear back from us on Tuesday," they said.
So, then I waited. And at the tail end of February, they called me and told me my application was accepted. They also informed me that the people who had an application on the first apartment I saw had not been approved. So, I could have it, if I wanted. And I did! I moved that weekend.
The last time I moved, it was a little bit terrible. I'm awful at asking people to help me with anything, so, I didn't. I had a roommate that I was going to move in with, but he had to work during our move in day, so the only person I had to help me was my father. (Still, we loaded the truck and unloaded it in just two hours. We're awesome.) Then, later, we had to move my roommate! It was exhausting. Leading up to our move in day was stressful trying to coordinate with my roommate. The day itself was hot, muggy, and it kept raining. By the end of the day, I was sick.
This time, I had my parents and a whole host of friends agree to help me out. (Thanks, guys!)
On Tuesday, I found out I would get the apartment. On Friday, I picked up the keys and my parents brought by some of my things. On Saturday, my friends helped me load up all of our cars and then unload them at my new place. One of my friends even hung out for another few hours helping me unpack things. (I still have more unpacking to do, but a lot of it is done thanks to my friend.) Since that was all a whirlwind, I didn't move myself there right away. Eleanor and I stayed with my parents until Wednesday of last week when I finally loaded her up, packed up my bedding, and finally stayed there over night.
Since then, I've been unpacking slowly. (Although, Eleanor has been trying to encourage me to unpack faster by attempting to climb into, toss around, and/or eat anything that isn't put away.)
I wanted to hold off on writing this blogpost until everything was done and lovely and pretty so you could see pictures of my (admittedly kitschy) decor and neatly organized bookshelves. But as this past week and a half has progressed, I've been confronted with the reality that doing things, in general, is slow and time consuming. Someday, hopefully before the end of the month, I'll get everything organized and put away and I might even write up a blogpost so you can see it. Until then, I'll be tearing through boxes, looking for things, and feeling a little bit like Rory Gilmore in A Year In The Life (except... with a job and an apartment and access to my underwear and... you know what, nothing like Rory Gilmore in A Year In The Life, I guess.)
For now, there's a sort of chaotic charm to this half-boxed life. My kitchen isn't properly stocked. As a result, I had Oreos (left over from a party this past weekend) for breakfast for three days in a row. I drank milk the day after it expired (maybe not a huge deal for most of us but certainly something I wouldn't knowingly do in other circumstances). I burned the first pizza I tried to bake but, rather than throwing it away, just reconciled myself to eating ash-flavored pizza. I ate three fork-fulls of cold, week and half old, Chinese leftovers for dinner last night.
Every morning, I sit on the living room floor and get ready for the day, allowing Eleanor to get out of her cage, explore, and play. Then, she gives me a headache as I try to wrangle her back into her cage.
It's nice though, to have a place that's all my own.
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