#302: ABODE HUMBLE ABODE

Sometime over this last week at work, an e-mail went out to all the employees that a condo unit in a heritage building in my area was up for rent with the possibility to buy after a year. I forwarded the e-mail to the Fiery One, thinking that it sounded like a nice dream to get us kick started into actually looking for a new place.

The Fiery One and I have lived in this tiny apartment since we got legally bound to each other four years ago. (I don't mean to make it sound like I don't like being legally bound to him, but the usual words sound much too defining, too title-like: "I am married" is a statement of basic being in the world rather than a statement of choice, and it makes me want to choke some days). During our time in this building, we have had a wildly fluctuating relationship with the apartment, and several times we have expressed to each other how we really need more space or better neighbours or stable walls or paint that actually stays stuck to the ceiling.

The building we presently live in is at least eighty years old and is not being kept up to its potential. Half of our walls have long running cracks through the plaster, cracks that split so violently the paint is lifted in small flaps. A couple of years ago, an upstairs neighbour left her bathtub running, which caused extensive damage to our bathroom ceiling and walls. The least amount of repair was done by gorillas who tracked in mud and left a fine layer of plaster dust covering our entire apartment, and the shower head does not safely stay on the wall to this day.

When we first moved in, the building manager seemed to pick fairly nice tenants, which was one of the big drawing factors to moving in here, but later his brother took over the job and started allowing freaks and criminals to move in. I do like our present building manager, but he doesn't seem to have the proper filters to weed out sketchy individuals. For instance, we have a newer neighbour living a floor above us who likes to shout insults and obscenities at random people on the street. Just yesterday I heard him yelling You are such a fucking loser! Yeah, you. You getting into the grey van. You are such a fucking loser! A couple of days before that he was shouting at some poor guy that he was a worthless idiot. Throw in a couple of drug dealers, my ex-stalker, and some guy who tried to molest me on my way out the front door one morning, and we all know it's time to move on.

Yes, so, back to the e-mail I forwarded to the Fiery One. He set up an appointment to go view the place. We weren't sure that we could afford it, but we thought that it would help motivate us to get out of the place we're in. Secretly, I had already decided that I wanted it without seeing it, such is my desire to get out of here and my hatred for apartment hunting.

We loved the place. It has high ceilings, tons of sunlight with windows facing both east and north, a bedroom, an office, a living room/dining room, an old-fashioned kitchen with a tip-out flour drawer and a metal cold cupboard, a bathroom with a black and white checkered floor, and it's pet friendly. There is storage space and in-house laundry and recycling. It's within walking distance of everything we need, and the neighbours seem nice.

Need I say it? We took the place. There is a month of overlap between this apartment and that one, so we can take a whole month to move in if we want to. Last night I kept dreaming that I was walking our art over to the new place. Then I dreamt that I moved books over on a little red wagon. I dreamt about the cool fold-down table in the breakfast nook. When I woke up this morning, I lay there relishing the idea of having my own breakfast nook and imagined eating toast over a magazine there. I imagined the nook a pale shade of butter yellow.

Having found this great place with little to no effort out of the blue feels very kismetty. My cynical side wants to hold off on the excitement in case some badness befalls the situation, but honestly, my cynical side has been irritating me lately, so in defiance I am allowing myself to experience joy overflowing.


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"Dearborn North Apartments" by Lola Haskins

Elan MorganComment