First of the month. Paid my rent and utilities. Utilities have been creeping up as winter sets in, but I can’t complain; I pay $200 a month for this room.
Is the room great? Not exactly. But I’ve made it kind of nice: mini fridge, four thriving plants, Nespresso, loveseat, Logitech Z625 sound system (overkill), MacBook Neo set up as a desktop unit, nice IKEA computer chair (doesn’t compare to my old Aeron with a custom headrest made by former HM employees — can you tell it still hurts losing it?), and a two-meter IKEA Hovet mirror hung horizontally along the wall, perfectly level. Art to come.
As I write this, the hallway is flooded with smoke from a toaster oven that was left on too long. Concrete buildings don’t typically catch fire, right?
I suppose I’m a bit out of place here. I love it, but I’m also accustomed to nicer things — not that I’ve ever been rigid in my preferences. I sometimes feel like this is the type of place progressive kids from SF would talk up, but if they had to live here, it would take some serious adaptation. The usual niceties are frequently missing: hot showers, a legitimate kitchen, a bathroom that isn’t shared by six people, a toilet that reliably flushes, and a terrifying Doberman you pray doesn’t catch you using the stairs.
I’m really enjoying my time here. I mean that. And yet there are several times a week when I want to scream and wake up stateside.