The current situation, as the writer sees it:
Apartment living -
It's like being a hotel suite with an abnormal amount of familiar items clogging up the space ("Doesn't that look the the old lamp from the master bedroom? Does this silverware trey look just like the one Mom's had since the 70's? Is it me, or does that TV look exactly like the old one that we exiled to the basement?).
Of course, it doesn't take long for the hazy first impressions to drift away and for the more dreary reality to surface with a kick: - that is the old finicky TV that works better during inclimate whether and mints aren't going to be left on your pillow; which is just as well, since you're camped out on the couch.
Cardboard boxes and overflowing Tupperware storage containers line the walls and choke up the already narrow hallway (if that's the proper word for the short space that connects the single bedroom from the kitchen nook and is bordered by the bathroom on one side and the air conditioning/hot water heater closet on the other).
I'm resisting the urge to make a regular tally of days spent here, for fear that I'd be overly melodramatic about my condition, or even worse, that the total may actually grow truly troublesome.
Truth be told - it's not bad. I've lived in worse housing arrangements. I have more space than my college dorm room - though it's shared by a larger amount of people, and I'm already used to people opening and shutting doors and trouncing around at all times of the day.
It's a house - it's just not a home. We're all looking forward to having more space - and privacy, as soon as things clear up. Pray it comes soon.
