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July 31, 2003Be it ever so humble...
Slaughter the fattened calf! The prodigal son, who limped back from Los Angeles with so piteous a gait, is gearing up for another stab at independence! About three weeks from now, I’ll be moving into my own apartment! Its roughly 850-square-foot bounty will be mine to do with as I see fit, and is more room that I’ve ever had at my sole disposal. Also, it’s near UCR, which means the drive to school might be shorter than the subsequent search for a parking space.
Not only is the complex’s location perfect, but my unit’s location within the complex is a thing of beauty. While I probably won’t be able to jump into the pool from my front door, I could probably toss a 16-pound bowling ball into the pool from there. Not that I’d have any reason to do that, mind you—I just want to give you an idea of how close I’ll be to the pool. The laundry room will also be conveniently close (within throwing range of an eight-pound ball, say).
I actually apartment-sat for a friend of mine who lives in this complex a few summers back. The month I spent in her place really sold me on the complex—and, specifically, on her unit. When I first started sniffing around for an apartment, I’d fantasize about the perfect scenario: that my friend would win a house and leave me her apartment.
Would you believe that my future apartment’s front door is all of 30 feet from hers?
The mechanics of the move will be a pain in the butt, as they always are to some degree or another, but I’m also looking forward to this process. After all, my last move was a retreat. It was the best idea, and my finances at the time made it necessary, but it still felt like a psychic demotion.
If my books could cheer, I’d have gone deaf the moment I got the good news about the apartment. Once I’m completely unpacked, it will be the first time in about three years that I’ll be able to look at all of my books at once. I have about eight boxes of books right now, the contents of which, quite frankly, I’ve forgotten. That’s not counting the various piles of books around my room or my shelves (some of which are filled two books deep). To my books, this is like Nelson Mandela finally getting sprung from his South African prison cell.
My getting this apartment—or any apartment in that complex—was no sure thing, not by a long shot. I spent a nervous week as the Powers That Be decided whether or not I was worthy (read: financially solvent) enough to live there.
Now I just have to figure out what to call my new apartment. Too bad Hef snagged "The Grotto"...
Posted by patrick at July 31, 2003 12:41 AM
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