March 27, 2007
Getting in the Front Door.
Again, a couple of weeks have gone by and no post on the blog. I’ll bet some of you are thinking, “Oh, another one of those blogs that dies after six months.†Let me assure you, that is not the case. I have been busy with other things and put the blog on the back burner for a bit.
Time to play catch up. Some of my out-of-state friends have told me how much they enjoy my blog (so why don’t y’all leave comments? ; ). This post is an attempt to bring them up to speed on some mundane details in my life.
My apartment is a cute but tiny two-room studio. One of my more contentious friends likes to tell me that there is no such thing as a two-room studio. “If the apartment has two rooms,†she says, “then it is a one bedroom.†But believe me, this place is so tiny that two rooms or one, it IS a studio.
I keep renting this tiny two-room because it is cheap — for the area — within walking distance of work (don’t have to pay for gas or parking), sunny, and has a porch. Not only is my apartment relatively cheap, but also I am so cheap that I have been using the front door hallway as a storage closet. For two years I haven’t been able to go out the front door; if there was a fire I would surely die. When my doorbell rings, I must fling myself down the outside back stairway (nearly killing myself on the three-story descent), dash around snow drifts and cars parked too close to the apartment building, and race breathless to the front door, barely catching the backside of an exiting UPS guy / my cab to the airport / friends who have never been to my place before / someone else’s friends / my pizza delivery.
Last weekend the close quarters finally broke me and I coughed up the money for a 5 x 5 self-storage unit. On Sunday I actually opened my front door. Still a few more boxes to move out, but my front door is nearly unobstructed.
Ah, nothing says spring quite like a front door found.
(Nancy, do you remember my crazy, dirt cheap, furnished two-room studio next to the train tracks and across the street from Lake Monona? : )
Garden variety North American Nomad. Born in the Midwest; lived and worked on the West Coast and abroad; studied in the South. Recently spotted putting down roots in New England.