It’s late Thursday morning on a cold, wet, and rainy day. I’ve moved 3 times. But I’m kinda getting used to it. I’m like a gypsy in the night and some day I will master the ability to be packed and ready to go in under 2 hours. (Not likely though.) I’m finding myself lacking in the vocabulary department now but man I had a lot to say last night, and this morning for that matter.
Lately I feel a little…stretched to thin perhaps, at the breaking point and under so much weight that a soft breeze might just topple me over.
I guess I should explain not only my current living situation but my most recent one as well: In March 2011 I was living in a broken down 1st floor flat of my best friend’s mothers house. I was only paying 20 dollars a week for a room on a vacant floor so I can’t really complain there. (Although she couldn’t really charge much more than that anyways not for the space- not when the roof caving in and causing my Donnie Darko like death was a credible fear) I did however have access to the heated upstairs, free range on the food, and the ability to have my boyfriend over at all hours of the night. It wasn’t picture perfect but it was the perfect amount of closeness and privacy that I prefer. My best friend slept upstairs in a bright pink box of a room. It was rough at times, especially in the dead of winter, when my room was unheated, and previously that my bed was at my old apartment. Before I moved my bed I was sharing with my best friend, Marse, and sometimes her boyfriend Shamir or sleeping on the couch. Still no complaining. Always happy to have a roof over my head, food in my belly, and tile under my feet. Not to mention a job to go to in the AM.
So like I said those times weren’t perfect but they we’re good times. Every morning Marse and I would barrel down the stairs to the sound of the dog barking excitedly and the click clack of heels and the crash of the glass door against it s frame. Marse would barrel out the drive way like a bat out of hell ( one morning she in fact broke the side mirror on the passenger side- “It was either coffee or the mirror and the mirror had to go”)
Anyways…That was then. Now I live in the infamous Schenectady Stockade. Renowned for its diversity, for its art, for its theatre (Proctors <3), for its Victorian styled original and well maintained architecture, for its yearly flooding, and most notably, for its Massacre in the late 1600s. So now I’m really a starving artist. Struggling to make ends meet, late on my phone bill, and paycheck away from losing everything I’ve worked so hard for…
They say art imitates life right? I think my life is just a straight up masterpiece. Sometimes a documentary. Last night, as I’m standing in the pouring rain outside the door of my large yellow castle unable to turn the lock with my key… a tragedy. Thankfully surrogate mother numero – well I’ve lost count now, Moya to the rescue.
Standing in the pouring rain, having just left a conversation about stability, not sure whether to laugh or cry over the irony – welcome to my life.
24/7, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, 22 years and counting…
Still happy to have not only a roof over my head but an apartment that has as much, or more personality than I do.
1. Free heat that is either so hot you become nauseous and have to open all the, barely operating windows AND only works when it wants: alternating between nauseating hot or inhumanly cold
2. Heater that on occasion runs so hard it makes mad noise comparable to the nearby trains and starts spraying scolding hot water all over my rumpus room .
3. Plumbing that fails horribly ( sink in the kitchen-leaks, sink in the bathroom-leaks, bathtub-leaks, toilet barely flushes)
Despite all this I have a 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, with an original marble sink, an old fashioned self standing tub, high vaulted ceilings, kitchen, rumpus, and “waiting area”/ shoe and coat room, a walk through closet and a 3 windows that overlook downtown Schenectady. All for 550 a month, heat and hot water included XD My college is walking distance, although i rarely make it to class, and I’m less than a hop skip and a jump to all the major bus lines. Not mention I’m across the street from the train station and around the corner from the Grey hound.
So no matter how much I feel like running I can’t escape the feeling that I am, finally, home.