A Place of One's Own

Once upon a time I had my own apartment. The rent was too high, the neighborhood wasn't great, and my air conditioner didn't work. On several occasions I had to re-light my heater pilot with a match when it went out, and once my toilet broke and it took two days before someone came to fix it. My kitchen had the ugliest brown lacquered cabinets, and I swear my upstairs neighbors had a pet elephant who enjoyed tap-dancing. The frat boy wannabes (who were in their mid-thirties) across the way played their awful music too loud, and if the kids weren't using my back-patio to play hide and seek on, they would always be screaming in the pool (which was right on the other side of my patio).

But, despite all of this...I had my own apartment. I had my own living room, and my own bedroom, and my own kitchen, and my own bathroom. I could decorate however I wanted, and watch whatever I wanted on TV.

I'm starting to really miss my old place...especially today when I'm being charged with the task of cleaning 'my' room.

A sampling of photos from my apartment in Simi

First off, it's really hard to keep your room clean when you have to figure out a way to keep all of your stuff in there...which is tough, since my room at my parents' house isn't that much bigger than my queen-sized bed that's in there. I have maybe a 12"-border around my bed, and mom won't let me hang anything on the walls (which are no longer the teal of my teen-hood, but a shade of gray that reminds me somewhat of a prison cell...apparently it's supposed to be 'classy' but it just feels depressing). How am I supposed to feel like this is my room if I'm not allowed to put any of myself into it? With none of my travel pictures, or even pictures of my friends the blank walls just make me sad. Plus, I am really starting to miss my stuff. Every time I visit the storage unit, I see all my chairs, and my lamps and my decor...and I just miss it.

Working less than 30 hours a week, along with the three semesters it will take (at least) to get all my ECE certification means it's going to be a long while before I'll be able to see the light at the end of the 'living with my parents' tunnel.

I feel like the only way I'm ever going to be able to move out is if I:

a) Inherit a house that is already paid off and has no property taxes attached to it

b) Win a bajillion dollars by playing the lottery, because a bajillion dollars should cover rent for a while

-or-

c) Get married

none of these are likely solutions...especially since I don't even play the lottery.

I guess I'm just destined to live the life of a twenty-five year old teenager...